“Look at the round backs of them; the size of them, too. No cattle that I ever saw are built like those. They certainly are not Texans or the sun would flash on their horns now and then when they toss their heads. It doesn’t look as though those creatures have any horns.”
“Oh, say!” cried Dig. “That’s going too far! We couldn’t see their horns from here, if they had ’em a mile wide!”
“That’s stretching it some,” said Chet, laughing and reaching for the glasses again.
“But what do you really think they are?” demanded Dig, growing more and more excited.
“Going to find out,” announced Chet.
“Oh, goodness, Chet! You don’t think—”
“I’m going to find out what they are,” repeated the other lad firmly.
“By all the hoptoads that were chased out of Ireland! you don’t mean to say that you think those are buffaloes? Oh, Chet!”
“I certainly don’t think they are hoptoads,” grinned his chum. “I’m not sure what they are, but I’m going to find out.” He slipped out of the saddle, to ease it on Hero’s back and then cinch it up for a hard ride.
“Whew! you’re not going to leave me alone?” gasped Dig. “Why, it’s miles and miles over yonder.”