"Your gaze is fixed at last," the boy said. "What do you see?"
"I wasn't sure at first, but I've made 'em out now."
"Something living then?"
"Buffaloes. They're miles and miles away, but they've been lying down and rolling and scratching themselves until they make the wallows you see all over the plains. It's not a big band, two or three hundred, perhaps. Well, they don't mean anything to us, except a possible supply of provisions later on. No wonder the Indians hate to see the buffaloes driven back, because the big beasts are breakfast, dinner and supper on the hoof to them."
"And maybe to us, too, Jim. I've an idea that we'll live a lot on the buffalo."
"More'n likely. Well, we could do worse."
"What are you looking at now, Jim? I see that you've shifted your objective."
"Yes, I've caught some moving black dots to the left of the herd. They're obscured a little by a swell, but they look to me like horsemen, Sioux probably."
"If so then they must be hunters, taking advantage of the swell to attack the buffalo herd."
"Good, sound reasoning. You're learning to think as a scout and hunter. Yes, they're Sioux, and they're aiming for the herd. Now they've thrown out flankers, and they're galloping their ponies to the attack. There'll be plenty of good buffalo meat in some Sioux village before long."