Having secreted the boat and both paddles, they concluded to go some little way back, to camp for the night.
"We must do what Pat says all borderers do when in the enemy's country—make a very small fire to cook with, and hide that so that not even the keenest eye could discover it," observed Bob, as they walked on through the forest, both on the watch for game of any sort.
"Well, it will be highly amusing, at least," admitted Sandy; "though, unless we are lucky enough to run across game very soon, we shall have to make our supper off that dried venison; and that I do not like."
"Hist!"
Bob suddenly caught the sleeve of his brother's hunting shirt. Following the direction in which the other seemed to be looking, Sandy caught a glimpse of some moving object to leeward.
"A buffalo! Two, three of them! Oh! Bob, what a chance!" he gasped.
The other drew him down instantly, so that the bushes screened them.
"Now let us crawl up as close as we dare. When we get within good gunshot we will both fire at the same time," he whispered in the ear of his companion.
Bob, as usual, seemed perfectly calm, while of course the younger boy was fairly quivering with eagerness. Still, this would not prevent Sandy from giving a good account of himself when the time came to shoot, for he always fired off-hand at any rate, rather than by long sight, as some marksmen do.
It was fortunate that the wind, what little seemed to be stirring through the forest just then, was coming from the feeding buffalo, and toward the hunters. This prevented the suspicious animals from scenting their human enemies.