t is, than cross that cussed dry plain atween th' Crossin' an'
th' Cimarron. I'd ruther have water than empty casks, airy time; an'
fur's th' Injuns air consarned, 'twon't be long afore ye'll have ter
fight 'em all th' way from th' frontier ter th' Mexican settlements.
They'll be gittin' wuss every year."

"Yer talkin' good medicine," replied Tom, thoughtfully. "'Twon't be safe
fer any caravan ter run inter one o' them war parties. Thar cussin' th'
whites a'ready, an' thar bound ter jine han's ag'in us when th' buffaler
git scarce."

The hunter slapped his thigh and laughed uproariously. "Cussed if that
ain't a good un! Why, th' man ain't alive that'll live ter see that day.
They won't git scarce till Kansas is settled solid, an' _then_ there'll
have ter be a bounty put on 'em ter save th' settlers' crops. Why,
thar's _miles_ o' 'em, pardner!"

"I've _seen_ miles o' 'em," admitted Tom; "but they'll go, an' when they
once start ter, they'll go so fast that a few years will see 'em plumb
wiped out."

"Shucks!" replied the hunter, "Why, th' wust enemies they got is th'
Injuns an' th' wolves. Both o' them will go fust, an' th' buffalers'll
git thicker an' thicker."

"_We_ are thar worst enemies!" retorted Tom with spirit. "Th' few th'
Injuns kill don't matter--if it did they'd 'a' been gone long ago. They
only kill fer food an' clothin'; but we kill fer sport an' profit. Every
year that passes sees more whites on th' buffaler ranges an' more hides
comin' in ter th' settlements; an' most of them hides come from th'
cows. Look at th' beaver, man! Thar goin' so fast that in a few years
thar won't be none left. Thar's only one thing that'll save 'em, an'
that's a change in hats. Killin' fer sport is bad enough, but when th'
killin' is fer profit th' end's shore in sight. What do we do? We cut
out th' buffaler tongues an' a few choice bits an' leave th' rest for
th' wolves. Th' Injuns leave nothin' but th' bones. Why, last trip
acrost I saw one man come inter camp with sixteen tongues. He never even
bothered with th' hump ribs! I told him if he done it ag'in an' I saw
him, I'd bust his back; an' th' hull caravan roared at th' _joke_!"

"Danged if it warn't a good un," admitted the hunter, chuckling. "Have
ter spring that on th' boys." He turned and looked around. "Them fellers
on th' bank air shore havin' a good time. They got likker enough,
anyhow. Cussed if it don't sound like a rendezvous! Come on, friend:
what ye say