After viewing the exposed valley through the glasses for some minutes, Chet announced the programme. Dig, although the originator of the scheme to attempt the corralling of some of the buffaloes, was quite willing that his chum should take the lead.
Keeping the screen of wood between them and the view of the buffaloes, the chums descended the steep hillside into the narrow valley. Its mouth was a number of miles west of their position. Directly opposite, and cut into the more abrupt southern wall of the valley, was one of the pockets that Dig had first discovered and pointed out. They rode there to examine it.
The approach to the gulch could not have been arranged better had it been originally intended for a trap for wild animals. In similar pockets in the hills the boys knew many herds of wild mustangs had been caught by hunters in past years. Now the wild horses were almost as scarce as the buffaloes.
On the left hand the hillside was too steep and rocky for any animal with hoofs willingly to run that way. Sloping up from the waterside on the right hand was a thick hedge of low trees, so closely interwoven that buffaloes, at least, could not burst through the barrier.
The mouth of the pocket was plain, if narrow. It was the only escape in sight—if the herd could be driven this way. Yet the pocket could be closed easily.
On one side stood a thickly branching tree. If it was felled correctly after the animals were enclosed not even the big bull buffalo could make his escape. The chums saw the possibilities of the place with glee.
“Whew!” ejaculated Dig, “it’ll be pie.”
“Couldn’t be better if it were made for us. Now, let’s see if it is really a place in which we can bottle some of the animals.”
“Cricky! we’ll get the whole herd!” boasted Dig.
“Be more modest—be more modest,” urged Chet, laughing. “Wouldn’t you be satisfied with the big bull alone?”