Peter gave me a scornful look, and Tawannears laughed.
"Beyond the Father of Waters, brother," said the Seneca, "you will see the buffalo in such myriads as the wild pigeons that flew over the Ohio. The thundering of their hoofs will shake the ground. They will cover the prairie for two days' fast marching."
Peter plucked a blade of grass and tossed it in the air. There was very little wind but what there was wafted it over our heads.
"Goodt!" he grunted. "Dey are upwindt."
"Will Corlaer stalk the buffalo without assistance?" inquired Tawannears with his customary courtesy.
"One shot is enough," returned Peter, and he lumbered away through the grass, his body huddled over until he was wholly concealed.
I started to sit down to watch the Dutchman's exploit, but Tawannears, with a light of mischief in his eyes, prodded me off to the right, and broke into a run as soon as we had placed one of the deceptive swells of the prairie between us and our comrade.
"What ploy is this?" I panted.
"We will surprise Peter," he answered, laughing. "He thinks to stalk the buffalo, Otetiani, and instead we will make the buffalo stalk him."
We fetched a wide semicircle northeastward, and came up on the flank of the herd. But before we approached closely Tawannears halted, and we picked bunches of grass which he arranged on our heads, so that at even a short distance we were indistinguishable from our grassy background. Then we continued, working slowly around the flank of the herd until we were in its rear. Corlaer was nowhere to be seen.