It took an hour for Pilchuck and Hudnall to agree on a horse that Tom could ride. Having been a farm hand all his days, Tom was a good horseman, but he was not a bronco-buster. Finally the selection was made of horse, saddle, bridle, blanket, and spurs. When this purchase was paid for Tom laughed at the little money he had left.

“Things come high, an’ they ain’t worth it,” complained Pilchuck. “But we haven’t any choice. That’s a good horse—young enough, strong, easy gait, but he never saw a buffalo.”

“What of that?” asked Tom, with a little check to his elation.

“Nothin’. Only the first buffalo he sees will decide a lot.”

Tom regarded this rather ambiguous remark with considerable misgiving and made a mental note of it, so he would not forget.

What with their purchases, and Tom’s baggage, which they got at the station, the party had about all they could take back to camp. The afternoon then was a busy one for all concerned. Tom donned rough garb and heavy boots, suitable to life in the open. The change was not made without perception of an indefinable shifting in his spirit. He was about to face the perils of the frontier, and serious and thoughtful as he endeavored to make himself, he could not repress an eager, wild response. He tried out his horse, which he named Dusty, because at that time nothing but a bath could have removed the dust from him. Dusty gave a creditable performance and won the approval of all save Pilchuck. Hudnall, and his daughter Sally, particularly liked the horse. Tom saw that he could sell or trade at his discretion, and so for the time was well pleased.

The rest of the afternoon he spent helping Burn Hudnall arrange and pack the big wagon that was to transport their precious outfit, and later, out on the plains, haul the hides they expected to get.

“I was tellin’ father I’d like to pick up a boy somewhere,” said Burn.

“What for?” inquired Tom. “We can take care of this outfit.”

“Sure, for the present. But when we get out among the buffalo we’ll need some one to drive the wagon an’ keep camp while we chase an’ kill an’ skin buffalo.”

“I see. Then the idea will be a main camp kept by your father, and the rest of us in pairs with wagons and outfits will range all over?”

“I reckon that’s Pilchuck’s idea. From what I can gather there’ll be a lot of hustlin’ an’ movin’ when we strike the herds of buffalo.”

“I should think it’d be a chase with no time for camp,” said Tom.

“Reckon so. Anyways we’re bound to know soon,” replied Burn, grimly.

At sunset Tom heard the cheery call of the women folk to supper; and he was not far behind Burn in getting to the table, which was a canvas spread on the ground. They all appeared hungry. Hudnall loaded his tin plate, filled his cup, and then repaired to the wagon, and set his supper upon the seat. He was too big to squat on the ground, cross-legged and Indian fashion, but his stature enabled him to stand and eat from the wagon seat. Pilchuck, too, had his peculiar habit. He set his plate down, and knelt on one knee to eat.

They were all excited, except Pilchuck, and though this in no wise distracted from a satisfying of hunger, it lent a sparkle and jollity to the occasion. Tom was not alone in having cut away from the humdrum of settled communities and in cherishing dreams of untrammeled country and future home and prosperity.

After supper he again walked into the town, purposely going alone. He did not pry into his reason. This third visit to the main street did not satisfy his vague longing, whatever it was, and he retraced his steps campward.

When he reached the end of the street passers-by became scarce, and for that reason more noticeable. But Tom did not pay attention to any one until he heard a girl’s voice. It came from behind him and had a note of annoyance, even anger.