As soon as the next day dawned, the eyes of our hunters sought the prairie, but as yet no buffaloes were in sight. Nothing could be seen but the green treeless plain, stretching on all sides as if to the very sky. Only one object could be observed that gave a variety to the aspect around. This was an eminence that rose over the sea-like surface of the prairie—called in the language of the hunters, a “butte.” It appeared ten miles distant, at least; and seemed to stand alone, its steep sides rising like cliffs above the prairie level. It lay in the course they had hitherto been travelling.
“Shall we make for it?” asked they of one another.
“What better can we do?” said Basil. “We are as likely to meet the buffalo in that direction as in any other. We have no guide now; so we must trust to our good fortune to lead us to them, or them to us—which is about the same thing, I fancy.”
“Oh! let us ‘catch up,’” advised François, “and ride for the butte. We may find buffalo near it.”
“But what if we find no water?” suggested the ever-prudent Lucien.
“That is not likely,” returned François. “I’ll warrant there’s water—there generally is where there are mountains, I believe; and yonder butte might almost be called a mountain. I’ll warrant there’s water.”
“If there’s not,” added Basil, “we can return here.”
“But, brothers,” said Lucien, “you know not the distance of that eminence.”
“Ten miles, I should think,” said Basil.
“Not more, certainly,” added François.