Once on the plains easterners and westerners alike learned the hard way that while a chase might be exciting, it was not profitable. It was dangerous to both horse and rider, it produced too few hides for each hunter, and it left the carcasses scattered all over the plains.
Smart hunters decided it would be more efficient to kill the buffalo as it stood or grazed, thus avoiding the dangers of the chase and the scattering of the kill. Hunters could easily get within effective range of a small band and shoot several of the animals before the rest became alarmed, if the shooting was carefully done. The buffalo were particularly vulnerable to this type of attack because of their strong herd instinct, poor eyesight, and stupidity.
In a short time the hunters learned that this new method worked best against a small band of five to twenty head feeding at the edge of the main herd, preferably in a hollow or draw, where they were partially out of sight of the others. Because the hunter did all his shooting from one spot, this kind of kill was called a "stand," to distinguish it from the chase. The men who chased buffalo had long been known as buffalo hunters, so the men who shot from a stand, to set themselves apart from the common crowd, insisted on being called buffalo runners, to the confusion of many people.
A good hunter looking for a stand liked to scout the buffalo herd in the evening just as the animals were settling down for the night. He picked out the band he would attack, and planned his approach. Then an hour or so before dawn he eased into position about 300 yards away, downwind, his horse picketed out of sight. He liked a little coversagebrush, a clump of grass, or the edge of a buffalo wallowfor he usually shot from a sitting position and had to move around a little, swabbing out his rifle and reloading after each shot.
The hunters found the buffalo so easy to approach that at first they moved in too close, perhaps within fifty yards or less, before they began shooting, but they soon learned that even the stupid buffalo took alarm at a gunshot so near and often ran away at the first shot, with even a fatally wounded animal able to run a mile or more before dropping. By using accurate, long-range buffalo guns, the hunters found it easy to kill any animal they chose at a distance of 300 yards, and at that distance the buffalo paid little attention to the sound of the gun.
Once the hunter was in position, his rifle loaded, his ammunition laid out within easy reach, he waited until dawn broke and he could clearly distinguish the animals. Then he chose the wise old cow that was the leader and waited until she had moved into position for a good shot, a disabling shot that would not kill at once, either through the lungs or in the spine near the hips. As the cow started to bleed and act sick, the others would gather around, pushing at her with their heads, pawing at her, disturbed by the smell of blood. When one of them turned and started to walk away, a shot caught it in the heart or at the base of the neck, killing it instantly. This usually threw the rest into hopeless confusion, and they milled helplessly about as the hunter chose his targets with care and shot them down until he had wiped out the entire band or, if it was a large band, until he had killed all that his skinners could handle that day, for any animals left unskinned overnight would have their hides ripped by the wolves. Usually two skinners were expected to handle twenty-five to thirty hides, although if they had been resting for a few days because of poor hunting, they might be able to skin out forty or fifty.
If the first stand was a small one, as was usual, the hunter moved on at once to another and continued shooting until he had his quota, or until the herd became alarmed and moved off. When the buffalo were plentiful and feeding quietly, the killing was dull, tedious workshoot, swab out the gun, let it cool, reload, and shoot again. Sometimes a single stand produced a kill of fifty or sixty, with the record being 120. This hunter had several skinners working that day.
As soon as he had finished his kill, the hunter signaled to the skinners, who came up in their wagon and set to work. They took the hide off in one piece, leaving the head and lower legs unskinned. On a well-run outfit they took the tongue, which was put into brine, then packed in a barrel. It was worth 25 cents at the shipping point. The hides were taken to camp and spread out, flesh side up, with strong wooden pegs driven through slits all around the edge to keep them from shrinking or curling as they dried.
Barring rain or snow, the hides were dry enough in a few days to pack. Then they were folded, hair side in, stacked in piles of ten, and bound together with green thong, or they were rolled into bundles of ten each, flesh side out. The fresh skins as they came from the buffalo averaged about 75 pounds for adult cows, and as much as 150 pounds for an old bull. In drying they lost about two-thirds of their weight. Thirty-five bundles or packs made up a full load for a big wagon, about 8,000 to 9,000 pounds, for the haul to the railroad, and represented about two months' work for the crew. In a good season they could expect to bring in three or four loads, plus a few barrels of tongues. Toward the end of the period, when buffalo were scarce, they would also save the best heads for trophies.
Skinning was hard, slow, dirty work, with hands and clothes covered with grease, the hot sun beating down, and swarms of flies all over. Some skinners tried to work out a method in which a draft animal would do most of the work. They drove a big iron stake through the buffalo's head and into the ground, cut the skin loose around the neck, and hitched up a mule to peel off the hide, but too often a chunk or two tore out, ruining the hide. A horse or mule could be a real help in turning a carcass or pulling a skin from under the animal once it was free from the body. Usually the hitch was made on the tail.
When the hides were brought into camp, ignorance, carelessness, insects, and bad weather could spoil many of them. With a poor crew and heavy rain, this might be as many as three out of four. Even with the most skilled, careful handling, the loss seldom could be kept at less than one in five. Any hides put into bundles before they were dry would soon rot, and the hair would slip off. Some hides became infected with beetles.
In the face of such difficulties, plus occasional Indian trouble and periods of poor hunting, most of the outfits did well to break even, and only a few of the best showed a profit. There is no verified record of any hide hunter getting rich, although some of the men in later years told of great success in the old days. One man, Fred Meyer, considered by his contemporaries as one of the very best, kept careful books on his operations for several years. After deducting expenses and interest on his investment, he found that he had averaged about $125 a month for all his work, supervision, and planning. He did admit that he might have squandered about that much more, but with this top man, in his best years, averaging $2,600 a year including his squanderings, it is evident that few fortunes were made from buffalo hides, although a hundred or so might have ended up with a modest stake. This man made his profits by handling the skins carefully, saving and marketing the tongues, and, toward the end, marketing a good deal of meat and some trophy heads, all items neglected by the average outfits.
Tongues and meat for the eastern market had to be cured, smoked, and carefully packed. One hide buyer moved out onto the plains near the hunting camps and bought tongues and meat as well as hides. He preferred the hindquarters, which the old mountain men had scorned, for each one would yield three good solid chunks of meat without any bone, and in nice shape to handle and to market, for they had much the size and shape of the standard cured hams.