With Davy and Left-over helping the best that they could, Billy and the Reverend dressed the buffaloes that were near the wagon; and before they were done Hi and Jim came in, packing the best portions of those lying out in the wake of the herd. Even though only the best parts—the humps and rib roasts—were taken, the outfit had what looked to be more meat than they could use. But Hi and Jim were up to snuff.
“We’ll jerk this as we go,” said Hi. “Cut it into strips, fellows.”
So they cut much of the meat into strips about two inches wide and as thick as one’s finger and a foot long, and hung it on cord all around the wagon, row after row. So dry was the air and so pure out here in the great open plains that before the wagon had travelled an hour the strips already were curing hard and dark. They resembled strips of leather. That considerable dust settled on them apparently did no harm.
“Now they’ll keep forever,” declared Hi, striding along after a brief inspection. “You can chaw ’em as they are, or fry ’em; and you’ll find ’em the sweetest meat you ever stuck between your jaws. Thar’s nothing better than buffalo jerky.”
That afternoon they passed another stalled Pike’s Peak outfit—a whole family, this time, with their wagon mired down to the hubs in a boggy place that sometimes was a creek. The canvas top proclaimed: “Root Hog or Die! We’re from Ohio. Bound for the Gold Fields.”
“Started rooting a leetle early, haven’t you?” queried Hi, as the Hee-Haw Express halted to survey.
A thin, sallow woman was sitting on the ground holding a baby. Three children were playing about. A cookstove stood out, with dishes scattered around. A yoke of scrawny lame oxen grazed near.
At Hi’s good-natured hail the woman gave a weak, tired answer.