But the Saulteur was not quite ready to cross. He went on through the belt of small trees beyond the willows. Walter and Raoul hesitated an instant, then followed. They too wanted a view of the open ground.
Their first glance across the prairie was reassuring. Except for a few birds on the wing, the only living creature in sight was one lone animal; a buffalo from its size and humped shape.
“No Sioux yet,” exclaimed Raoul. “I don’t believe they are coming after us at all. Nothing to be seen, except that one old buffalo.”
Scar Face knew the French word boeuf, commonly used by the Canadians for buffalo. “Not buffalo,” he said, pointing to the creature moving through the tall grass. “Man on horse.”
“What?” cried Raoul.
“Man on horse, buffalo skin over him,” the Indian insisted. “See,” he added, pointing to the northwest. “More come.”
Walter had understood the dialogue and gestures well enough to guess that Scar Face found something wrong with the distant buffalo and that he saw or thought he saw something else beyond. Following the Indian’s pointing finger, the boy strained his eyes. He believed he could make out something,—moving objects.
“More buffalo,” said Raoul.
Scar Face shook his head doubtfully. The three stood gazing across the prairie. The lone buffalo was drawing nearer. There was something queer about it, Walter concluded. Its head was too small. Its shape was wrong.
“He is right,” exclaimed Raoul. “That is a man on horseback, stooped over, a buffalo hide thrown over him.”