He yelled for water. Presently, after he had washed, he espied the great buffalo hide which Sambo had carefully stretched where it must command instant attention.

“You hoss-ridin’ nigger!” he exclaimed. “Been huntin’ yourself.”

Yas, suh. Yas, Kuhnel, I ben. Ain’ dat a mighty fine hide?”

“Best I ever saw,” declared Lambeth, smoothing the glossy fur. “Biggest I ever saw, too. … Sambo, see heah. You give it to me.”

“I’se powerful sorry, Kuhnel,” replied Sambo, shaking his kinky head. “But I done cain’t do it.”

“Reckon you gave it to Rill?”

Sambo shook his head solemnly.

“No, sah. I didn’t. Missy Rill killed de buffalo dat wore dat hide. Jest one shot, Kuhnel. Plumped over de biggest bull in de herd.”

“Terrill!”

“Yes, Dad,” replied Terrill, coming out from her hiding-place.

“Is this heah nigger lyin’ to me? Did you shoot a buffalo?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she returned, nonchalantly. “Aboot like murderin’ a cow, I’d say. I don’t think much of buffalo-huntin’.”

Lambeth whooped and gave Terrill a tremendous hug. When the other hunters returned he proudly acclaimed Rill’s achievement, which indeed immediately took precedence over many and eventful deeds of the day. Nineteen buffalo, selected for their hides, had been killed by the party, all, in fact, that could be skinned and cut up and hauled in that day. They could not leave the meat out on the prairie for the wolves to haggle. Lambeth had accounted for three of the slain beasts, and appeared elated. He loved the chase and had never indulged it as now appeared possible. If the camp had been a merry one before, it was this night a circus for Terrill. The hunters had too many drinks from the jug, perhaps, but they were funny. They stretched and pegged buffalo hides until midnight.

“A hunter’s life for me!” sang Hudkins. “Too bad one more day will load us up. They shore come too easy.”

On the morning of the third day after this successful start the hunters were packed and ready to return to San Antonio. Lambeth’s horses were headed west from the Colorado. Here was the parting of the ways for the hunters and the pioneers. For Lambeth the real journey began from this camp.

“Stick to your direction an’ don’t git off. Four days … eighty miles to San Saba River,” advised Red Turner. “Then haid west an’ keep yore eye peeled.”

Many were the gay and kindly good-bys directed at Terrill, one of which, from the old Texan, Hudkins, she thought she would never forget.

“Good-by, sonny.