“We can never thank you enough,” returned Tom, with emotion.

  It was indeed with a thankful heart that he saw Singleton and his soldiers, leading their pack-horses, ride off down the river. After that Tom worked as never before, and not only got all his work done, but considerable of the others’. The Hudnall outfit went to bed late and got up early. By the time the July sun was blazing over the prairie the three heavily laden wagons were moving toward the northwest. Tom had the biggest load of hides in his wagon. The women rode on the drivers’ seats with Hudnall and his son.

  The route lay along the swell of the slope as it gently dipped to the river, then up on the level prairie and northwest toward the far escarpment of the Staked Plain, a sharp gray landmark on the horizon. Tom followed fairly good wagon tracks until they all appeared to converge in one well-trodden road. Here for hours good time was made. Tom did not mind the heat or the flies or the dust. Over and over again he had counted the earnings Hudnall owed him, and the sum staggered him. Hundreds of dollars! But splendid as that was, it shrank into insignificance at the good fortune of having Milly safely away from Jett and the Indians.

  Hudnall made a noon stop at a shady crossing of a little stream. Here the horses were watered and fed and the travelers partook of a light meal. When the journey was resumed Tom could no longer resist the desire to look back along the road in the hope that he might see the soldiers coming. Really he did not expect them before camp that night, yet he was unable to keep from looking back.

  All through this morning’s travel they had skirted the ragged edge of the buffalo herd. Long, however, had they passed out of hearing of the guns of the hunters. Then early in the afternoon they ran into a large herd coming from the north. It was not a grazing herd, nor could it be called a stampeding herd; but the movement was steady and rapid. Hudnall drove way off the road to try to get round the leaders; this move, however, resulted in the three wagons being caught and hemmed in, with a stream of buffalo passing on both sides.

  Tom believed it was a rather ticklish situation. The herd did not appear to be more than a mile wide, but the end toward the north was not in sight. The wagons were halted to wait until the herd had passed. The buffalo split round the wagons, probably fifty yards on each side, and they loped along lumberingly, not in any sense frightened. They raised dust enough to make the halt very uncomfortable, and noise enough to make it necessary to shout in order to be heard.

  Tom’s dissatisfaction had to do solely with the fact that Hudnall had gotten far enough off the road to miss the soldiers, if they came up presently. Hudnall, however, did not mind the halt, the discomfort, the loss of time, or the probable risk, should the buffalo become frightened.

  To Tom’s utter amaze, Hudnall presently took up his gun, and picking out bulls running somewhat away from the massed herd, he dropped four in as many shots. On that side the herd swerved away, the inside ranks pressing closer toward the middle, but they did not stampede. Then Burn Hudnall, not to be outdone by his father, dropped three buffalo on his side. The shooting served only to widen the oval that encompassed the wagons. Then the intrepid and indefatigable hunters proceeded to skin the slain beasts, regardless of the trampling mass passing so closely by.

  Tom, contrary to his usual disposition, did not offer to help; and when Hudnall yelled something unintelligible he waved his hand at the herd.

  It required two hours for this herd to pass the wagons, and another hour for the Hudnalls to complete skinning the seven they had shot. The women complained of the hot sun and the flies and the enforced wait. Tom spent a good deal of that last hour standing on top of the huge pile of hides in his wagon, scanning the horizon in the direction of the Red River camps.

  “Hey, Tom, you might have helped along,” said Hudnall, as he threw the wet hides up on his wagon.

  “You might have been run down, yourself,” retorted Tom.

  “Father, I think Tom’s scared of the Indians the soldier talked about,” remarked Sally Hudnall, a little maliciously. She had never quite forgiven Tom for being impervious to her charms.

  “Tom afraid? Nope, I can’t savvy that,” replied her father, in his hearty way.

  “Well, he’s looking back all the time,” said Sally, with conviction.

  Her tone, more than the content of her words, brought to Tom’s mind a thought that when the soldiers did come along with Milly, there might result an embarrassing situation. What was he to say in explanation of his acquaintance with Milly? A moment’s reflection convinced him that no explanation was necessary, nor need the Hudnalls know just yet of his engagement to her. Still, Milly had not been consulted; she would be overjoyed to see him and to meet the Hudnalls; and she was young, impulsive. How would she act? Tom told himself that he did not care the least what she said or did, but all the same an unusual situation for him seemed impending.

  As Hudnall led off toward the road, Tom allowed Burn to fall into second place, leaving him to take up the rear, and from this position he could look back to his satisfaction.

  Soon they were in the road again, and late in the afternoon turned into the military road Captain Singleton had indicated. Here the horses could travel, mostly at a trot. Tom had craned his neck sidewise so many times looking backward that he had put a crick in it, all to no avail. The soldiers did not put in an appearance. Tom began to worry. Suppose Jett had gotten wind of their coming and had moved camp! Might not the Comanches have raided Jett the same as Huggins! Tom had rather a bad hour along the military road.

  At sunset the Hudnall wagons began to draw near a richly green depression of the prairie, where a stream wound its way. And when Hudnall, now far in the lead, turned off the road, Tom was suddenly compelled to pay some attention to the foreground.

  Horses were grazing in the grass; tents shone white against the background of green trees; a camp fire sparkled, and round it stood men. Soldiers! Tom’s heart gave a leap. Captain Singleton had forged ahead, probably during the delay caused by the buffalo herd.

  Tom urged his team to a trot and soon caught up with Burn Hudnall, who turned off the main road towards the camp. Tom followed closely, to be annoyed by the fact that Burn’s wagon obstructed his view. Once or twice Tom caught a glimpse of the tents and the fire; yet, peer keenly as he could, he did not discern any women. His heart sank. If Milly was there she would be out watching the wagons drive up. Tom passed from joy to sadness. Yet hope would not wholly die. He kept looking, and all the time, up to the very halt, Burn’s wagon prevented him from seeing everything. Therein lay his one hope.

  “Hey, Burn, don’t you an’ Tom drive smelly hides right in camp,” yelled Hudnall.

  Thus admonished Tom wheeled his team away from the camp. Burn turned also, thus still obstructing Tom’s vision. But there had to be an end to it some time. The next time Tom looked up, after he had halted the team, he was probably fifty yards from the camp fire.

  He saw soldiers in dusty blue, Hudnall’s stalwart form, all three of the Hudnall women, and then a girl in gray waving an excited hand at him. Tom stared. But the gray dress could not disguise the form it covered. Milly! He recognized her before he saw her face.

  With surging emotions Tom leaped off the wagon and strode forward. In the acute moment, not knowing what to expect, trying to stifle his extraordinary agitation, Tom dropped his head until he came to the half circle of people before him. Their faces seemed a blur, yet intent, curious on him. Milly stepped into clear sight toward him. She was pale. Her eyes shone large and dark as night. A wonderful smile transfigured her. Tom felt the need of an effort almost beyond him — to greet Milly without betraying their secret.

  But Milly was not going to keep any secrets. He felt that, saw it, and consternation routed his already weakened control.

  “Oh, Tom!” she cried, radiantly, and ran straight into his arms.

  Only this was terrible, because she forgot everybody except him, and he could not forget them. She almost kissed him before he had wit enough to kiss her first. With that kiss his locked boyish emotions merged into one great gladness. Realizing Milly, he stepped beside her and, placing his arm round her, moved to face that broadly smiling, amazed circle.

  “Mrs. Hudnall, this is my — my girl, Milly Fayre,” he said.

  “Tom Doan! For the land’s sake!” ejaculated the kindly woman. “Your girl! . . . Well, Milly Fayre, I’m right happy to make your acquaintance.”

  She warmly kissed Milly and then introduced her to Sally and Mrs. Burn Hudnall. That appeared to be sufficient introduction for all present.

  Hudnall was the most astonished of men, and certainly delighted.

  “Wal, Milly, I reckon Tom Doan’s boss is sure glad to meet you,” he said, and shook her hand with a quaint formality. “Would you mind tellin’ me where this scallywag ever found such a pretty girl?”

  “He found me — out here,” replied Milly, shyly.

  “Ah!” cried Sally Hudnall. “Now I know why Tom used to slip away from camp almost every night.”

  “An’ leave off peggin’ buffalo hides till the gray mornin’,” swiftly added Hudnall. “I always wondered about that.”

  Amid the laughter and banter of these good people Tom stood his ground as long as possible; then, seeing that in their kindly way they had taken Milly to their hearts, he left her with them and hurried to unhitch the team he had driven.

  Burn Hudnall followed him. “You buffalo-skinnin’ son of a gun!” he exclaimed, in awe and admiration. “She’s a hummer! By gosh! you’re lucky! Did you see Sally’s face? Say, Tom, she was half sweet on you. An’ now we know why you’ve been so shy of women.”

  Upon returning to camp, Tom met Captain Singleton, who had a smile and a cordial handshake for him.

  “Well, lad, I fetched her, but it was no easy job,” he said. “She’s a sweet and pretty girl. You’re to be congratulated.”

  “Was Jett hard to manage?” queried Tom intensely interested.

  “Yes, at first, I had trouble with him. Rough sort of man! Finally he agreed to let her come to the freighting post until the Indian scare quieted down. He wouldn’t let his wife come and she didn’t want to. She struck me as being almost as able to take care of herself as any man.”

  “Well!” exclaimed Tom, blankly.

  “Lad, don’t worry,” replied the officer, understanding Tom’s sudden check of enthusiasm and warmth. “This Indian scare will last. It’ll grow from scare to panic. Not until the buffalo are gone will the Indians quit the warpath. Maybe not till they’re dead.”

  On the second day following, about noon, the Hudnall outfit, with their escort, arrived at Sprague’s Post, which was situated on a beautiful creek some miles below Fort Elliott. Here the soldiers left the party and went on their way.

  Sprague was one of the mushroom frontier posts that had sprung up overnight. It consisted mainly of a huge one-story structure built of logs, that served as sutler’s store, as well as protection against possible Indian attacks. The short street was lined with cabins, tents, and shacks; and adjacent to the store were acres and acres of buffalo hides piled high. There were a dance hall, several saloons, a hotel and restaurant, all in the full blast. Buffalo outfits, coming and going, freighters doing the same, in considerable number, accounted for the activity of this post. The sutler’s store, which was owned by Sprague, was a general supply center for the whole northern section of Texas.

  Hudnall engaged quarters for the women folk, including Milly, that seemed luxurious after their camping experience. Sally Hudnall was to share her room, which had board floor and frame, roofed by canvas, with Milly; and the other Hudnall women had two rooms adjoining, one of which would serve as a kitchen. Hudnall had only to buy stove, utensils, supplies and fuel, to establish his wife and companions to their satisfaction.

  Tom could hardly have hoped for any more, and felt that he would be always indebted to the Hudnalls. Fortune had indeed favored him by throwing his lot in with theirs.

  Hudnall sold his hides to Sprague, getting three dollars each for the best robe cowhides, two dollars and a half for the bulls, and one dollar and seventy-five cents for the rest. His profits were large, as he frankly admitted, and he told Tom he thought it only fair to pay more for skinning. As for Tom, the roll of bills given to him for his earnings was such that it made him speechless. At the store he bought himself much-needed clothing and footgear, and a new rifle, with abundance of cartridges. Nor did he forget to leave some money with Mrs. Hudnall, for Milly’s use, after he had gone. But he did not tell Milly of this.

  “Tom,” said Hudnall, seriously, when they had turned the horses loose in the fine grama grass outside of town, “I never saw the beat of this place right here for a ranch. Did you? Look at that soil!”

  Tom certainly had not. It was rich prairie land, rolling away to the horizon, and crossed by several winding green-lined streams.

  “Gee! I’d like to shove a plow into that,” added Hudnall, picking up the turf. “Some day, Tom, all this will be in wheat or corn, or pasture for stock. Take my hunch, boy, we haven’t seen its beat. We’ll run up a cabin, at the end of this hunt, an’ winter here. Then by another spring we can tell.”

  Tom found Sprague’s Post the most interesting place that he had ever visited, and considerably much too wild, even in daytime. Dance hall and gambling hell, however, had only momentary attraction for him. Sprague’s store was the magnet that drew him. Here he learned a great deal.

  The buffalo south of the Brazos and Pease Rivers had at last turned north and would soon fall in with the great herd along the Red River. This meant that practically all the buffalo in the Southwest would concentrate between the Red River and the Staked Plain — an innumerable, tremendous mass. The Comanches were reported to be south of this herd, traveling toward the Red; and the Kiowas were up on the Staked Plain, chasing buffalo east; Cheyennes and Arapahoes, whose hunting ground had always been north of this latitude, were traveling south, owing to the fact that the annual migration of buffalo had failed this year. Failed because of the white hunters! An Indian war was inevitable.

  Tom heard that Indian Territory was now being guarded by United States marshals; Kansas had passed laws forbidding the killing of buffalo; Colorado had done likewise. This summer would see all the buffalo hunters congregated in Texas. That meant the failure of the great herds to return north into Indian Territory, Kansas, and Colorado. The famous hunting grounds along the Platte and Republican Rivers would be barren. It seemed a melancholy thing, even to Tom, who had been so eager to earn his share of the profits. It was a serious matter for the state legislatures to pass laws such as this. No doubt Texas would do the same.

  Tom reasoned out this conclusion before he learned that at this very time the Texas Legislature was meeting to consider a bill to protect buffalo in their state. So far it had been held up by remarks credited to Gen. Phil Sheridan, who was then stationed at San Antonio, in command of the military department of the Southwest. Sprague gave Tom a newspaper to read, and spoke forcibly.

  “Sheridan went to Austin an’ shore set up thet meetin’. Told the Senators an’ Representatives they were a lot of sentimental old women. They’d make a blunder to protect the buffalo! He said the hunters ought to have money sent them, instead of discouragement. They ought to have medals with a dead buffalo on one side an’ a dead Injun on the other.”

  Tom was strongly stirred by the remarks credited to General Sheridan, and he took the news-paper to the Hudnalls and read the passage:

  “These buffalo-hunters have done more in the last year to settle the Indian trouble than the entire regular army has done in thirty years. They are destroying the Indians’ commissary. Send them powder and lead! . . . Let them kill, skin, and sell until the buffalo are exterminated. Then the prairie can be covered with speckled cattle!”

  “Great!” boomed Hudnall, slapping his big hand down. “But darn it — tough on the Indians!”

  Tom was confronted then with a strange thought; he, like Hudnall, felt pity for the Indians, yet none for the buffalo. There was something wrong in that. Later, when he told Milly about what he had heard, and especially Hudnall’s expression of sympathy, she said:

  “Tom, it’s because of the money. You men can’t see right. Would you steal money from the Indians?”

  “Why, certainly not!” declared Tom, with uplift of head.

  “You are stealing their food,” she went on, seriously. “Their meat — out of their mouths. Not because you’re hungry, but to get rich. Oh, Tom, it’s wrong!”

  Tom felt troubled for the first time. He could not laugh this off and he did not have any argument prepared to defend his case.

  “Tom Doan,” she added, very sweetly and gravely, “I’ll have something to say to you — about killing buffalo — when you come to me on my eighteenth birthday.”

  Tom could only kiss her for that speech, subtle, yet wonderful with its portent as to her surrender to him; but he knew then, and carried away with him next morning, the conviction that Milly would not marry him unless he promised to give up buffalo-hunting.

  CHAPTER IX

  AS TOM DROVE his team after the Hudnalls, southward along the well-beaten military road, he carried also with him a thought of his parting from Milly — and something about her words or looks was like the one bitter drop in his sweet cup.

  Early as had been the hour, Milly with the Hudnall women had arisen to prepare breakfast and see their men folk off. Hudnall and Burn were having their troubles breaking away from wives, daughter, and sister, so they had no time to note the poignancy of Milly’s farewell to Tom.

  At the last she had come close to Tom, fastening her trembling hands to his hunting coat. She looked up into his eyes, suddenly wonderful, strange.

  “Tom, you are all I have in the world,” she said.

  “Well, dear, I’m all yours,” he had replied, tenderly.

  “You must not stay away long.”

  “I’ll come back the very first chance,” Tom had promised.