Roger must have been greatly impressed with what Dick had said to him, for he remained perfectly still after that, at least so far as giving voice to his feelings was concerned.
Dick had pushed on ahead of his cousin, as he had announced he intended to do on account of holding one of the loaded guns. Side by side with Mayhew he now advanced along the fresh trail. Even a novice could see that some animal must have passed only a few minutes before, for there were places where snow actually fell over into the tracks, as though it had been balanced on the edge of the depression.
The anxious waiting that almost made them sick at heart ended at last. Dick caught a scuffling sound that came from beyond the next line of bushes. Something was moving there, and he could easily imagine that the hungry buffalo, scenting some sort of grass under the snow, might be trying to get down to it.
Bending lower still, they pushed on, with eyes glued on the spot where those significant sounds came from. In another minute they would be able to look over the tops of the bushes and see what lay beyond. Then, if all was well, a lucky shot would procure them the meat of which they were in such desperate need.
No one made a sound so far as Dick could tell, so it could not have been that which gave warning to the suspicious buffalo. Perhaps a shift in the wind carried some taint of their presence to his sensitive nostrils and aroused his fears.
However that might be, Dick heard a sudden snort, and then there came a shout of dismay from Roger, who, standing more erect than the rest, must have been able to see what was going on beyond the bushes.
“He’s on the run, Dick! Oh! hurry, and shoot, or he will get away from us!”
As Dick and Mayhew cleared the bushes with great bounds they saw the buffalo plunging into a deep drift and scattering the snow in every direction. But what thrilled the two hunters was the fact that, in dashing headlong into the drift, the beast had entered a trap from which escape would not be easy.