“How very round they are!” said François; “why, they are perfect circles! How do the buffaloes make them so?”
“By laying themselves out at full length and spinning round and round like a wagon wheel upon its nave. They revolve with great rapidity, using their humped shoulders as a pivot, and their legs as levers. They sometimes continue this motion for half-an-hour at a time. No doubt they do this, as has been said, to scratch themselves; for, notwithstanding their thick hides and hair, they are much annoyed by insect-parasites. They do it, too, for amusement, or to give themselves pleasure, which is the same thing. You have often witnessed horses at a similar exercise; and was it not evident that they took a pleasure in it? Have you not fancied so?”
“Oh, yes,” cried François, “I am sure horses enjoy a good tumble.”
“Well, then, it is to be supposed the buffaloes do the same. Getting rid of their tormentors, and pressing their hot sides into the fresh cool earth, is, no doubt, a source of enjoyment to them. They are not very cleanly; as they are often seen wandering about, so covered with dirt, that one cannot tell what colour their hide is.”
“Well!” added François, “I hope we shall soon come across one with a white hide!”
Talking after this fashion, our young hunters continued their journey. They had ridden about ten miles, when Basil—whose eye was all the time wandering around the prairie horizon—uttered an exclamation, and suddenly reined up his horse. The others, seeing him do so, stopped also.
“What do you see?” asked Lucien.
“I do not know,” replied Basil; “but there is something yonder upon the edge of the prairie—to the southward—do you see it?”
“Yes; it looks like a clump of low trees.”
“No,” said Basil; “they are not trees. This moment I saw one apart from the rest, and I do not see it now. It appeared to move in toward the mass. I fancy they are animals of some kind or other.”