“But say!” Dig asked, “where are his horns? I don’t see any.”
“And you’ll not till you’re on top of him,” Chet replied. “The horns are no bigger than a two year old steer’s. But he can bunt with ’em.”
“Aren’t you right! Whew! let’s be careful how we approach those creatures.”
“We will be just that,” agreed Chet. “Now come on, boy; give me the glasses. See that everything is all right; don’t let any of the tinware joggle. Is your rifle all right? Button your revolver tight in the holster. A six-shooter won’t do you anymore good than a pea-shooter with those shaggy fellows. This old rifle of father’s is the boy to depend on.”
“I’m ready,” said Dig, and they let the impatient horses go again.
They rode on sod, and that silenced the hoof-beats to a degree. When they were all of two miles from the buffalo herd they pulled in and only walked their mounts. And they did not see the buffaloes again for nearly an hour, for they kept to the low places in the plain.
At last Chet left his horse in Dig’s care and reconnoitred by creeping up the side of a coulie on hands and knees. When he saw the first buffalo he ducked quickly, fearful that he had been seen. It was a young bull, not more than half grown; but it looked larger than any horse Chet had ever seen.
He could have made a clean shot at that animal; but Chet had not brought his gun with him. He had not expected to find any of the herd so near. Nor were there any others at this spot.
The remaining fifteen, including the big bison, were out of rifle-shot from this point. And just as Chet spied the land out, the young bull lifted his head, twirled his tail, and started off on an easy trot for the rest of his tribe.
He had not been startled. It was merely that he had chanced to discover he was alone and the sense of fear, more than any other sense, keeps all of the bovine clans in herd. They are not naturally gregarious.