"I kill as many buffalo as I want," I said.

"This I call a 'run.' The wagons come along afterward and the butchers cut the meat and load it." When I went out on my "run" I told him where to shoot to kill.

But when my work was done I met him coming back crestfallen.

He had failed to get his buffalo down, although he had shot him three times.
"Come along with me," I said.

"I see another herd over there.