“No one, sir. We read about them in Gregg’s ‘Commerce of the Prairies.’”
“And you believed it?”
“Why—yes!”
Another long whistle which ended in a laugh.
“I’ve heard of wild-goose chases afore,” said the hunter; “but this beats all of ’em. White buffler! Thet Gregg’s ahead o’ me, and I’ve seen the plains and prairies from the Platte to the Santa Fe. And I’ve seen buffler, too, boys; but nary a white one. We’ve got white horses, white foxes, and the like out here;” but, a short pause, “Gregg may be right. I don’t call any man a liar till he is proven one.”
The young hunters took courage at this last remark.
“I wish you boys war at home in Ohio,” said the frontiersman; “but ye’re here, and I’m goin’ to take care of ye. We’ll strike Fort Laramie one o’ these days, and then home ye go! But, we’re in the jaws of death yet, and mebbe two more Ohio scalps and one Maryland one, may hang at the Loup’s belt afore the week’s out. We’ll go now; Tecumseh can carry three, I reckon.”
“But hold,” cried Charley Shafer. “What will become of those girls—they’re in a demon’s clutches.”
“Yer right, boy,” said the scout of the Platte; “but I guess we’ll let ’em be.”
“No, no!” cried both boys in a single breath. “They shall not be his.”