Being aware that Rose and myself felt rather downhearted over our deserted village, the Doctor one day said that, as he had made the proprietors of Rome “howl,” he would give us two lots each in Hays, and did so.  We finally came to the conclusion that our old town was dead beyond redemption or revival, and we thereupon devoted our undivided attention to our railroad contract.  One day we were pushed for horses to work on our scrapers—­so I hitched up Brigham, to see how he would work.  He was not much used to that kind of labor, and I was about giving up the idea of making a work-horse of him, when one of the men called to me that there were some buffaloes coming over the hill.  As there had been no buffaloes seen anywhere in the vicinity of the camp for several days, we had become rather short of meat.  I immediately told one of our men to hitch his horses to a wagon and follow me, as I was going out after the herd, and we would bring back some fresh meat for supper.  I had no saddle, as mine had been left at the camp a mile distant, so taking the harness from Brigham, I mounted him bareback and started out after the game, being armed with my celebrated buffalo-killer, “Lucretia Borgia,”—­a newly-improved breech-loading needle gun, which I had obtained from the government.

While I was riding toward the buffaloes I observed five horsemen coming out from the fort, who had evidently seen the buffaloes from the post, and were going out for a chase.  They proved to be some newly-arrived officers in that part of the country, and when they came up closer, I could see by the shoulder straps that the senior officer was a captain, while the others were lieutenants.

“Hello! may friend,” sang out the captain, “I see you are after the same game we are.”

“Yes, sir; I saw those buffaloes coming over the hill, and as we were about out of fresh meat I thought I would go and get some,” said I.

They scanned my cheap-looking outfit pretty closely, and as my horse was not very prepossessing in appearance, having on only a blind bridle, and otherwise looking like a work-horse they evidently considered me a green hand at hunting.

“Do you expect to catch those buffaloes on that Gothic steed?” laughingly asked the captain.

“I hope so, by pushing on the reins hard enough,” was my reply.

“You’ll never catch them in the world, my fine fellow,” said the captain.  “It requires a fast horse to overtake the animals on these prairies.”

“Does it?” asked I as if I didn’t know it.

“Yes; but come along with us as we are going to kill them more for pleasure than anything else.  All we want are the tongues and a piece of tender loin, and you may have all that is left,” said the generous man.

“I am much obliged to you, Captain, and will follow you,” I replied.  There were eleven buffaloes in the herd and they were not more than a mile from us.  The officers dashed ahead as if they had a sure thing on killing them all before I could come up with them; but I had noticed that the herd was making towards the creek for water, and as I knew buffalo nature, I was perfectly aware that it would be difficult to turn them from their direct course.  Thereupon, I started towards the creek to head them off, while the officers came up in the rear and gave chase.