Grazing below them was the royal game they had already chased, and the huge bull was with them. Chet swiftly counted them and found fifteen. It was the same herd they had seen before and from which they had already taken toll of the robe and horns Dig carried behind his saddle.
This was a steep hillside they looked down, and the valley between it and the next rise was narrow. It was, indeed, like a pocket in the hills, and the opposite wall of the pocket was even steeper than this one.
It was an ideal grazing ground for the herd, however. There was abundant grass, a limpid stream ran through the valley, and there was plenty of shade. Chet knew enough about the habits of the huge animals to know that they would not move from such a feeding ground before morning, at least, unless they were frightened.
“By all the hoptoads that were chased out of Ireland!” quoth Dig, in awe, “isn’t that bull a huge one? Did you ever dream of anything like him, Chet?”
“No. He’s the biggest thing I ever saw,” acknowledged his chum.
“We didn’t see him to such advantage before,” murmured Dig. “Oh cricky! how I’d like to catch him!”
“ Catch him!” exclaimed Chet. “Shoot him, you mean.”
“U-h-huh!” grunted Dig. “Maybe.” Then, with a grin: “But I roped that little maverick—why not that buster down there?”
Chet took this as one of Dig’s jokes. He swerved a little toward the men and when he was near enough he spoke:
“It’s too near dark to stalk those fellows to-night. If they’re not startled they’ll be right there in the morning. Better chance to shoot one then.”