It was with difficulty that we discovered any traces of anybody ever having camped there before, the only landmark being the single grave, now covered with grass, in which we had buried the three men who had been killed.

The country was alive with buffaloes.
Vast herds of these monarchs of the plains were roaming all around us, and we laid over one day for a grand hunt.

Besides killing quite a number of buffaloes, and having a day of rare sport, we captured ten or twelve head of cattle, they being a portion of the herd which had been stampeded by the Indians, two months before.

The next day we pulled out of camp, and the train was strung out to a considerable length along the road which ran near the foot of the sand-hills, two miles from the river.
Between the road and the river we saw a large herd of buffaloes grazing quietly, they having been down to the stream for a drink.
Just at this time we observed a party of returning Californians coming from the West.

They, too, noticed the buffalo herd, and in another moment they were dashing down upon them, urging their steeds to the greatest speed.