"I'm much obliged to you for telling me this, Hugh, and I'll try hard to remember it. I expect I'll get excited when I have my first chance to shoot at a buffalo. They're so big, you see; bigger than anything I ever had a chance to shoot at."
"Yes," said Hugh, "maybe you'll feel that way the first time or two; but, Lord! you'll get used to it after a little while, and you'll only want to kill buffalo when you're hungry. Mind what I tell you, though, about your riding. I'd hate almightily to see you go flying off your horse, when you're after a bunch of buffalo, the way you did that time last summer when you were chasing the wolf."
"That's so," said Jack, "I flew a long way that time, but I hope I'm a good deal better rider now than I was then."
"Yes," said Hugh, "I expect you are. You ought to be, anyhow. But I want you to be as careful as you know how. There's been a whole lot of men killed by chasing buffalo; hooked by them, or had their horses fall with them, or been thrown a long way, and had their guns driven through their bodies. I've seen a lot of accidents in my time. Well," he went on, as he lighted his pipe again, "let's saddle up and move."
As they rode on, through the afternoon, they saw more and more buffalo. Several bunches that they passed were not more than a half mile from them, but, though Jack was very anxious to have a shot, he said nothing, feeling pretty sure that his chance would come before very long. Toward evening they came to a little stream, flowing through a narrow valley where there was wood, and a nice grassy flat. Here Hugh halted, and said to Jack, "I did calculate that we'd go on five or six miles further, to the main creek, but I guess maybe we'll stop here and make camp, and then, before we eat, we'll ride out a little way and see if we can't kill some meat. That last antelope is pretty near gone, and it might be such a thing that we could kill a buffalo."
"All right," said Jack, "that will suit me first class."
They took the packs off the horses, picketed them out, and then, tightening their saddles, rode up out of the creek valley, and toward some rough, broken buttes that rose from the prairie two or three miles to the west. Half an hour's riding brought them to a broken country, and, dismounting at the foot of a hill rather taller than the others, they climbed on foot to its summit. Here Jack saw a curious sight. To the west, many buffalo could be seen; some of them quite near; others, far off. All of them were moving; not running, but walking along in single file, one after another, like so many cows moving through a pasture.
"Why, what are they doing, Hugh?" asked Jack; "and where in the world are they going? They seem to be all travelling, but in different directions. I supposed that when buffalo wanted to go anywhere they all ran off in a great crowd, but these are walking along slowly, but walking as if they were determined to go somewhere."
"That's just what they're doing, son; they're going to water, and each one of them bunches that you see is heading right straight for the nearest water. Some of them look like they was going right down to our camp, and here comes a bunch that are going to pass right close to us. Do you see that trail that passes right at the foot of this hill? Well, that's a buffalo trail, and if I ain't mightily mistaken, them nearest buffalo is going to follow that trail, and come right close by where we left the horses. We'll go down and get 'em and bring 'em up a little further, behind that shoulder, and sit by 'em until the buffalo come, and then you'll have a chance to kill one, and we'll have some fat cow to eat to-night."