THE LAST HERD Over gray No-Man's-Land stole down the shadows of night.

The undulating prairie shaded dark to the western horizon, rimmed with a fading streak of light.

Tall figures, silhouetted sharply against the last golden glow of sunset, marked the rounded crest of a grassy knoll.
"Wild hunter!" cried a voice in sullen rage, "buffalo or no, we halt here.

Did Adams and I hire to cross the Staked Plains?
Two weeks in No-Man's-Land, and now we're facing the sand! We've one keg of water, yet you want to keep on.

Why, man, you're crazy! You didn't tell us you wanted buffalo alive.