“Say! that would be great,” agreed Dig. “Mebbe we could sell ’em for as much as a hundred dollars.”
“And that’s better than selling a little old maverick for five dollars—eh?” laughed his chum.
The boys trotted their eager mounts up the valley and finally came to the last screen of bushes that stood between them and the buffalo herd. The animals were feeding down the valley, but the wind was not blowing directly in their faces. It was from the southwest; therefore, the odour of the young hunters would not be carried to the beasts.
Chet and Dig again saw the feeding ponies belonging to the two men who had caused them so much trouble. “And maybe we’ll put them in a hole before we get through,” muttered Dig vindictively.
The boys could be sure that the men were close by, when the ponies were so plainly visible. Neither of them would start back for that island camp on the distant river, afoot.
So the boys gave their full attention to the buffaloes. Their rifles were in trim and everything was ready for the charge. Chet had selected an opening in the thicket; he knew the value of a good start in attacking such nimble animals as the buffaloes had already proven themselves to be.
“Ready, Dig?” Chet asked.
“Let her go!” replied his friend, and at the same moment both horses dashed forward.
They appeared upon the plain at full speed. They were aimed at about the centre of the scattered herd. Could they have trusted the two men, they might have helped with the chase and bunched the whole herd. Instead, it split, and a part of the buffaloes went up the valley, while the others fled directly from the two boys, toward the stream.
The heavy rifles cracked almost simultaneously, Chet’s shot brought a vigorous young bull to his knees; but Dig missed his quarry. He came up and put a ball into Chet’s kill, however, while Chet himself put the third bullet through the wounded beast’s vitals.