“What is it?” asked Roger, immediately.
“A fresh trail!” came the answer, and, looking down, the boys could see for themselves where some large animal had pushed through the deep snow.
“An elk?” Dick inquired.
“No, a buffalo, I believe,” came the reply.
“One or the other, what do we care, so long as we can bag him?” commented Roger. “So let us be on the move. Every minute counts, with the sun so low in the western sky, and night coming on.”
There was indeed need of haste, for the short afternoon would soon be gone and, unless they had the good fortune to overtake the stray buffalo within half an hour or so, all their hopes would be dashed.
They immediately started forward; but the depth of the snow in places retarded their progress, and Roger often drew long breaths that stood for impatience, for he dared not vent his feelings aloud.
Dick, who was always observing little things, discovered that the breeze favored them. The buffalo was heading up into the quarter whence the wind came. This is the habit of most animals, since it allows them an opportunity to scent any lurking danger ahead, such as a panther stretched on a limb and waiting to spring upon them in passing.
Mayhew, who was a first-class tracker, every now and then took a look at the trail as though to decide what chance they had of overtaking the struggling buffalo before night fell.
He made no comment, but Dick, who watched his face, felt that the guide did not feel any too sanguine. Evidently from certain signs, well known to one of his broad experience, Mayhew knew that they were still some distance in the rear of the quarry and that, unless for some reason the lone buffalo chose to stop while on his way to a feeding ground, there was little likelihood of their coming up with him.