Chet slipped down from the summit of the rise, motioning to his chum to
keep still. For, although the buffaloes were grazing so far away, he
feared that a loud word spoken might startle them.
“Have they skedaddled, Chet?” Dig finally whispered when his chum came
near.
“No.”
“I was afraid that they might have done so. Any chance for a shot?”
“I believe so. I’ll tell you my plan,” Chet returned in a low voice.
Dig was just as eager now as Chet himself to get a shot at the game.
Chet explained quietly how the herd was grazing and what he proposed to
do to overcome the lack of shelter from the down wind side.
Dig dismounted and they led the horses up the rise. They had some small
discussion as to whether they should abandon the outfit while they
stalked the buffaloes.
“You know what Poke will do the minute I take his saddle off. He’ll
roll,” said Dig, with disgust. “And the way he kicks and snorts is
enough to frighten any kind of game into a conniption fit.”
“I don’t think, after all, that the saddles and blanket-rolls will make
the buffaloes suspicious,” whispered Chet. “Now lengthen your rein and
tie your lariat to it. We’ll give the horses all the range possible.”
With the horses at the very end of the tethers the trail boys let them
drift over the rise and out upon the plain. It was noon and they were
hungry, so they began to graze immediately.
Whenever the buffaloes caught sight of the two horses, they were quietly
feeding on the short grass, and moving on like themselves—up wind. A
plains-bred or mountain-bred horse will always point into the wind when
grazing, just as instinctively, as any game animal.
What the buffaloes did not see was the long line dragging behind each
horse. At the end of the lines were the boys, creeping on hands and
knees, or lying flat for a time on the prairie, to breathe.
The horses made a perfect screen for the young hunters. Chet’s plan
included the stalking of the buffaloes to within easy striking distance.
Then they were to spring into the saddles, cast free the ropes, and
shoot from that vantage seat—following the herd on horseback if
necessary, for a second shot.
It seemed as though the plan would go through without a hitch. The
horses were kept moving by the boys at the end of the ropes; but they
did nothing to startle Hero and Poke.
Holding the rope in one hand, each boy dragged behind him with the other
his heavy rifle. If the buffaloes glanced toward the horses they would
see no farther than the saddle mounts themselves. That is the way with
creatures of the wild. With all their apprehension of an approaching
enemy, they are satisfied of their own safety if some other creature
intervenes between them and the enemy. The quietly grazing horses made
the buffaloes perfectly tranquil. The young hunters were making a
successful approach.
The big leader of the herd was on the far side; but Chet Havens had his
mind made up to try for that very individual. It would be a feather in
his cap indeed if he brought down the big bull.
There were two calves with the buffaloes; but they were of grazing age.
Chet was quite sure that these calves would not keep the herd back much
if once it should bolt.
The horses and their owners drew nearer and nearer. Chet had planned to
come upon the buffaloes a little to one side instead of from the
immediate rear. This was so the game would not have to swing their heads
around to see the horses.
The more familiar they became with the sight of the grazing horses the
less likely the herd was to stampede.
At the right hand—the southeast—was a considerable thicket. Chet had
noticed this in the beginning; but he did not consider it a good vantage
point from which to stalk the herd. He was aiming almost directly for
it.
He would, however, have given considerable for just the protection that
thicket afforded as the moment for him and Dig to mount drew near. The
boys signalled each other without speaking. Chet assured Dig that he was
going to try for the big bull while Dig signalled that he would be
satisfied with a much smaller animal and pointed out one of the young
males, nearer at hand.
Chet glanced all around to see if the way was clear, and had just raised
his hand in signal to mount, when not only the buffaloes, but the
horses, evinced sudden excitement.
The whole herd stopped feeding, and the horses threw up their heads and
snorted.
“That old fool, Poke!” Dig muttered. “What does he want to make that
noise for?”
A long grey body shot from the thicket and crossed the plain directly
ahead of the buffalo herd. It was running like the wind; indeed, it
looked to be little more than a streak as it skimmed the sod.
Neither boy had ever seen a running wolf before; but they did not need
to be told what this was. With terror at his tail Mr. Wolf will match
anything on four legs in speed.
And something had certainly frightened this grey rascal. He had
doubtless been lurking in the thicket, watching the buffalo calves and
licking his chops at the sight. Something had started him for the
distant Canadian border, and it looked as though he would get there
presently.
The wolf ran almost against the noses of the herd. The buffaloes huddled
for a moment, the big bull snorting and bellowing. Then, as one
creature, they wheeled in the track of the wolf, and set off at a
lumbering canter that took them across the plain at surprising speed.
“By the last hoptoad that was chased out of Ireland!” exclaimed Dig, in
disgust. “Did you ever see such luck?”
He ran to scramble on to Poke’s back; but Chet commanded him not to
follow the herd at once.
“No use adding to their fright. They may only run a few miles if they
are not molested,” said Chet.
“And not a shot after all that trouble!”
Chet was staring at the thicket rather than after the stampeded
buffaloes.
“What under the sun could have started that wolf like that?” he
muttered.
“Come!” cried Dig excitedly from the saddle, “you’re not going to let
’em get entirely away from us, are you, Chet?”
“I don’t believe we can get near them again today, Dig.”
“Why not?”
“After being scared like that they will be more watchful. And it’s two
o’clock now.”
“I don’t care. Why, Chet, those are real buffaloes!”
“What’s the matter?” laughed his chum. “Did you think they were
imitations at first?”
“Whew!” blew Dig. “I certainly believed they were an hallucination. I
didn’t believe there were such creatures. At least, not along this
trail.
“But now I’ve seen ’em—and been almost near enough to ’em for a shot—I
tell you right now, Chet Havens, my blood is up! Let’s go after those
buffaloes!”
“Even if they lead us to the Arctic Circle?” laughed Chet.
“Well, we have our camp equipment with us. Why not camp for the night
where we happen to be? We can get back to the Grub Stake trail
tomorrow.”
“And poor little Stone Fence?” suggested Chet slyly.
“Shucks! Maybe I’ll lasso one of those buffalo calves,” said Dig,
grinning. “It would sell for more in town.”
It was agreed to pursue the buffalo herd for a way, at least. The
frightened creatures had run from their feeding course. They had
disappeared behind some round mounds to the northwest. This was almost
as much off their trail as the buffaloes’ previous course had been. When
the boys started on a heavy gallop after the game, the Grub Stake trail
lay far to the south.
The distance to the mounds was not above five miles. The horses took up
the trail at an easy pace and when they mounted the first small eminence
the buffaloes were still out of sight.
“Whew!” exclaimed Digby. “I reckon they have run some distance, Chet.”
“See that timber ahead?” replied his chum. “It’s an open piece, and
there is probably a stream in it, or just the other side of it. The
buffaloes have gone no farther than the water, and may be feeding in the
grove. If the latter, then we must approach very carefully. They can see
us on the plain before we can see them in the timber.”
“Now you’re shouting, old boy!” cried Dig, admiringly. “Say! you’re a
regular plainsman.”
“It stands to reason,” Chet returned, “we’ve got to use our heads if we
expect to ever shoot one of those buffaloes.”
“Oh, cricky, Chet! If we only could,” said Dig longingly.
“Keep your heart up. Maybe we shall,” said Chet stoutly. “Now, let me
tell you what I think.”
“Spout, brother, spout.”
“If that herd gets quiet again and goes to feeding, how will the animals
head?”
Dig immediately saw what he meant, and nodded.
“Into the wind, of course,” he said.
“And the breeze holds steady, and is likely to do so until sundown,”
Chet proceeded.
“Well?”
“What we want to do, then, is to make a circle to the west and come up
behind the feeding herd, just as we did before. Let us not cross this
plain to the timber. We’ll keep along the line of these mounds and at
their foot, and find some place to cross over to the timber and the
water under shelter. Come on,” and he swung Hero’s head about.
“Just one minute, Chet,” said his chum timidly, as he urged Poke to
follow the other horse.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t you think we ought to eat?”
“Do you want to waste time now making camp, and cooking, and all that?
Right in the middle of stalking that herd?”
“Whew! I’ll have to pull in my belt a hole or two, then,” grumbled Dig.
“Pull it in then. No stop until we have another chance at the
buffaloes—or until night comes and stops us,” declared his chum firmly.
“We’re real hunters now. We’re not playing at it!”
For two hours they rode steadily. The two boys scarcely exchanged a word
and the horses began to show weariness. Then they came up a dead gully
into the edge of the very piece of timber for which they had been
aiming. There was no water in sight, and both horses and riders were
beginning to suffer for it. The timber seemed more extensive than had
appeared from the round back of the mound across the plain. Nor, as far
as the boys could see, were there any signs of the herd of buffaloes. It
really seemed as though their chase had been fruitless—and the sun was
fast going down.
“Whew!” said Dig, whimsically. “We’re a long way from home, Chet. What
shall we do next?”