“Coming this way?” said Griggs.
“I can’t hold the glass steadily enough to make sure. Yes, I can see now; they’re not coming straight for here, but they seem to be sloping across as if to get to the rich grass. That must be it, I think.”
“Very likely,” said Griggs quietly. “Hunting.”
“Yes, hunting for grass,” said Chris. “Let’s have another look, Ned.”
He caught the glass and took a long look at the dimly-seen distant patch on the plain, to cry decisively without lowering the instrument—
“Yes; you’re quite right, Ned. Why, they must be miles away. I should never have seen them. What eyes you have, Griggs!”
“Been used more than yours have, lad, and that has made them a bit keener, I suppose. Try again, and see whether you can see buffalo.”
“Yes,” said Chris, after a long pause, “buffalo, and they’re coming what you call it—diagonally across the country.”
“That’s right,” said Griggs; “but they’re not buffalo.”
“What then? They’re too big to be wolves.”