There was something, too, about the gathering of buffalo chips, and the seeking of firewood.
It was amusing at first, to see the ladies handle the buffalo chips.
Poor old Buffalo Chips almost fell dead when he saw how I was dressed.
Such a friend was old "Buffalo Chips," who certainly deserves a place in these memoirs of mine.
We drove about two miles after crossing and camped on the bottom, with no fuel but buffalo chips.
The buffalo chips used are droppings of buffalo the year previous.
The country on this day's drive looks like a huge buffalo pasture, the ground being covered with buffalo chips like a farm-yard.
Buffalo chips in both hands, Tad put them in the sack Joe was carrying.
Not forgotten was that long and dismal stretch where buffalo chips were the only fuel.
Many of them were built of buffalo chips and others of light wood that burned fast.