as one of these. The moment was poignant for
Neale, exceedingly bitter, and revealing.

Slingerland was not long in sighting buffalo. After making a careful
survey of the rolling country for lurking Indians he rode out with
Neale, Larry, and two other men--Brush and an Irishman named Pat--who
were to skin the buffalo the hunters killed, and help load the meat into
wagons which would follow.

"It ain't no trick to kill buffalo," Slingerland was saying to his
friends. "But I don't want old bulls an' old cows killed. An' when
you're ridin' fast an' the herd is bunched it's hard to tell the
difference. You boys stick close to me an' watch me first. An' keep one
eye peeled fer Injuns!"

Slingerland approached the herd without alarming it, until some little
red calves on the outskirts of the herd became frightened. Then the herd
lumbered off, raising a cloud of dust. The roar of hoofs was thunderous.

"Ride!" yelled Slingerland.

Not the least interesting sight to Neale was Larry riding away from
them. He was whacking the buffalo on the rumps with his bare hand before
Slingerland and Neale got near enough to shoot.

At the trapper's first shot the herd stampeded. Thereafter it took
fine riding to keep up, to choose the level ground, and to follow
Slingerland's orders. Neale got up in the thick of the rolling din and
dust. The pursuit liberated something fierce within him which gave him
a measure of freedom from his constant pain. All before spread the great
bobbing herd. The wind whistled, the dust choked him, the gravel stung
his face, the strong, even action of his horse was exhilarating. He lost
track of Larry, but he stayed close to Slingerland. The trapper
kept shooting at intervals. Neale saw the puffs of smoke, but in the
thundering din he could not hear a report. It seemed impossible for him
to select the kind of buffalo Slingerland wanted shot. Neale could not
tell one from the other. He rode right upon their flying heels. Unable,
finally, to restrain himself from shooting, he let drive and saw a beast
drop and roll over. Neale rode on.

Presently out of a lane in the dust he thought he saw Slingerland
pass. He reined toward the side. Larry was riding furiously at him,
and Slingerland's horse was stretched out, heading straight away. The
trapper madly waved his arms. Neale spurred toward them. Something was
amiss. Larry's face flashed in the sun. He whirled his horse to take
Neale's course and then he pointed