s, al
menos!" (It is true--three days, at the least!)

"Ay, hombre! an' with a smart chance o' sunshine at that, I guess."

This conversation is carried on by two or three of the men in a low
tone, but loud enough for the rest of us to overhear it.

It reveals a new phase of our dilemma on which we have not before
reflected. Should the Indians stay to "jerk" their meat, we will be in
extreme danger from thirst, as well as of being discovered in our cache.

We know that the process of jerking buffalo beef takes three days, and
that with a hot sun, as the hunter has intimated. This, with the first
day required for hunting, will keep us four days in the ravine!

The prospect is appalling. We feel that death or the extreme torture of
thirst is before us. We have no fear of hunger. Our horses are in the
grove, and our knives in our belts. We can, live for weeks upon them;
but will the cacti assuage the thirst of men and horses for a period of
three or four days? This is a question no one can answer. It has often
relieved the hunter for a short period, enabling him to crawl on to the
water; but for days!

The trial will soon commence. The day has fairly broken. The Indians
spring to their feet. About one-half of them draw the pickets of their
horses, and lead them to the water. They adjust their bridles, pluck up
their spears, snatch their bows, shoulder their quivers, and leap on
horseback.

After a short consultation they gallop off to the eastward. In half an
hour's time, we can see them running the buffalo far out upon the
prairie: piercing them with their arrows, and impaling them on their
long lances.

Those who have remained behind lead their horses down to the
spring-branch, and back again to the grass. Now they chop down young
trees, and carry faggots to the fires. See! they are driving long
stakes into the ground, and stretching ropes from one to the other. For
what purpose? We know too well.

"Ha! look yonder!" mutters one of the hunters, as this is first noticed;
"yonder goes the jerking-line! Now we're caged in airnest, I reckin."

"Por todos santos, es verdad!"

"Carambo! carrajo! chingaro!" growls the cibolero, who well knows the
meaning of those stakes and lines.

We watch with a fearful interest the movements of the savages.

We have now no longer any doubt of their intention to remain for several
days.

The stakes are soon erected, running for a hundred yards or more along