Pat would take no unnecessary chances, however, daring though he was by nature. He felt a weight upon his shoulders, since he had been trusted with the responsibility of Mr. Armstrong’s two sons; and wished to account for them both when they came to the boat again.
By degrees, after going back to the timber belt, they managed to move around until they had reached a point directly behind the patch of trees to which Pat had called their attention a while previously.
“I saw something there that looked like a buffalo on the ground,” whispered Sandy, after they had been crawling forward again for several minutes.
“It’s all right!” declared Pat. “The young bull niver pulled out at all. And ’twas his carcase ye saw, sure. We’re in great luck, so we be, lads.”
“Oh! listen to that!” exclaimed Sandy, as a series of wild yells broke out.
“The game is ended, and the balance of the herd has taken off,” declared Bob.
They raised their heads to watch, and it was a sight well worth seeing, with the lumbering buffalo dashing away in a compact mass, and here and there an Indian brave popping up from the long grass, to discharge his arrow at the fleeing animals.
But they did not seem to drop any, as the distance was too great; so presently they could be seen hurrying back toward the spot where quite a number of slain animals awaited their attention.
“There must be one to every brave,” declared Bob.