They went in this way for a mile or more, and then Pat declared he knew they were near the game. Sure enough, peeping up over the top of the tall grass in which they were hidden, the boys discovered that a number of buffalo were either eating lazily, or else lying down; for the sun seemed rather hot at this noonday hour, and the shade cast by the foliage of the trees felt grateful.
How to crawl close enough to pour in a hot fire was the question Pat had to decide; but it did not give him any great amount of trouble to settle that. He noted which way the wind, what little there chanced to be at the time, was blowing; for, in a case like the one now confronting them, that was a prime factor. Then they began to glide along like so many snakes.
From time to time they would cautiously raise their heads, in order to take an observation, and, so far as they could see, the buffalo did not appear to be alarmed.
“We ought soon to be close enough to shoot,” whispered Sandy, after he had raised his head for one of these inspections. “They don’t seem to be afraid of anything right now. Why, would you believe it, there’s a sneaking old gray wolf prowling around there; and none of them pay any attention to him. Looks like they only have fear of wolves when they come in packs.”
“What’s that ye say; a wolf, is it?” whispered Pat; “whist! now, till I be afther takin’ a peep at the same.”
Ten seconds later, and he drew back his head; and Bob could see that there was a black frown on the face of the jovial Irish trapper.
“Bad cess to the luck, it do be surely irritatin’,” he whispered again, as they put their heads close to his. “Be careful now, lads, an’ take another look, to say what that blissed wolf do be afther.”
And as Bob and Sandy did so, they saw the big gray wolf raising up until he almost stood on his hind legs, while the twang of a bow-string came to their astonished ears.