Now he could be seen by the light of the little fire. Frank stared, for his chum was certainly bending over, as though bearing a load. He had heard no outcry that would signify the presence of others in the neighborhood. Ah! surely those were the long slender legs of an antelope which Bob gripped in front of him.
"Bully for you!" exclaimed Frank. "Where under the sun did you run across that fine game? Say, you sure take the cake, stepping out just to knock over a couple of long-ears; and then coming back ten minutes later with a fine antelope on your back. How did you do it, Bob?"
"I don't know," laughed the other. "Happened to start up against the wind, and was creeping up behind some buffalo berry bushes to see if there were any jack rabbits beyond, when this little fellow jumped to his feet. Why he didn't light out when we came along, I never could tell you."
"Oh! he just knew we wanted a good supper, I reckon," Frank remarked. "And now to get busy."
It did not take them long to cut some choice bits from the antelope, which they began to cook at the fire, thrusting the meat through with long splinters of wood, which in turn were held in a slanting position in the ground. When one part gave evidence of being browned the novel spit was turned until all sides had been equally served.
"Remember the way Old Hank showed us how to toll antelope for a shot, when you can't find cover to get near enough?" asked Frank, as they sat there, disposing of their supper, with the satisfaction hunger always brings in its train.
"You mean with the red handkerchief waved over the top of a bush?" Bob went on. "Hank said there never was a more curious little beast than an antelope. If he didn't have a red rag a white one would do. Once he said he just lay down on his back and kicked his heels in the air. The game ran away, but came back; and each time just a little bit closer, till Hank could fire, and get his supper. I've done something the same for ducks, in a marsh back home, trying to draw their attention to the decoys I had out."
A small stream ran near by, at which the boys and horses had quenched their thirst. Sometimes its gentle murmur floated to their ears as they sat there, chatting, and wondering whether their mission to the Grand Canyon was destined to bear fruit or not.
"I can get the smell of some late wild roses," remarked Frank. "And it isn't often that you find such things up on one of these high mesas, or table lands. Do you know, I rather imagine this used to be a favorite stamping ground for buffalo in those good old days when herds of tens of thousands could be met with, rolling like the waves of a sea over the plains."
"What makes you think so?" asked Bob, always seeking information.