“No.  Boys, I hed to give up trappin’.  I couldn’t stand the loneliness—­after—­after...  An’ now I’m killin’ buffalo meat for the soldiers an’ the construction gangs.  Jest got in on thet train with a car-load of fresh meat.”

“Buffalo meat,” echoed Neale.  His mind wandered.

“Son, how’s your work goin’?”

Neale shook his head.

The cowboy, answering for him, said, “We kind of chucked the work, Slingerland.”

“What?  Are you hyar in Benton, doin’ nothin’?”

“Shore.  Thet’s the size of it.”

The trapper made a vehement gesture of disapproval and he bent a scrutinizing gaze upon Neale.

“Son, you’ve not gone an’—­an’—­”

“Yes,” replied Neale, throwing out his hands.  “I quit.  I couldn’t work.  I can’t work.  I can’t rest or stand still!”

A spasm of immense regret contracted the trapper’s face.  And Larry King, looking away over the sordid, dusty passing throng, cursed under his breath.  Neale was the first to recover his composure.

“Let’s say no more.  What’s done is done,” he said.  “Suppose you take us on one of your buffalo-hunts.”

Slingerland grasped at straws.  “Wal, now, thet ain’t a bad idee.  I can use you,” he replied, eagerly.  “But it’s hard an’ dangerous work.  We git chased by redskins often.  An’ you’d hev to ride.  I reckon, Neale, you’re good enough on a hoss.  But our cowboy friend hyar, he can’t ride, as I recollect your old argyments.”

“My job was hosses,” drawled Larry.

“An’ besides, you’ve got to shoot straight, which Reddy hasn’t hed experience of,” went on Slingerland, with a broader smile.

“I seen you was packin’ a Winchester all shiny an’ new,” replied Larry.  “Shore I’m in fer anythin’ with ridin’ an’ shootin’.”

Neale and Larry accepted the proposition then and there.

“You’ll need to buy rifles an’ shells, thet’s all,” said Slingerland.  “I’ve hosses an’ outfit over at the work-camp, an’ I’ve been huntin’ east of thar.  Come on, we’ll go to a store.  Thet train’s goin’ back soon.”

“Wal, I come in on thet train an’ now I’m leavin’ on it,” drawled Larry.  “Shore is funny.  Without even lookin’ over this heah Benton.”

On the ride eastward Slingerland inquired if Neale and Larry had ever gone back to the scene of the massacre of the caravan where Horn had buried his gold.

Neale had absolutely forgotten the buried gold.  Probably when he and Larry had scoured the wild hills for trace of Allie they had passed down the valley where the treasure had been hidden.  Slingerland gave the same reason for his oversight.  They talked about the gold and planned, when the railroad reached the foot-hills, to go after it.

Both Indians and buffalo were sighted from the train before the trio got to the next camp.

“I reckon I don’t like thet,” declared Slingerland.  “I was friendly with the Sioux.  But now thet I’ve come down hyar to kill off their buffalo fer the whites they’re ag’in’ me.  I know thet.  An’ I allus regarded them buffalo as Injun property.  If it wasn’t thet I seen this railroad means the end of the buffalo, an’ the Indians, too, I’d never hev done it.  Thet I’ll swar.”