“You’ll have some pretty blisters before you get through with that stunt,” said Dig.
And he was truly a prophet! Chet was more than an hour cutting down the tree, but he had used good judgment in placing it and when it fell the mouth of the gulch was so closed that no buffalo could get out. But Chet was lame, bruised, and blistered.
“I declare you had the worst half of the job,” Dig said. “But just think, old man! we’ve captured eight buffaloes, including the king of them all.”
“We have them cornered—yes. Now we’ve got to find somebody either to buy them just as they stand in there, or to help us get them out and to a market.”
“Whew! That’s so. We’ve only begun the job, eh?”
“That’s right, Dig,” Chet replied, nodding his head seriously.
“At any rate,” the other boy said, “it’s an ideal corral we have ’em in. There is that trickle of water, and plenty of grass and green bushes. ‘All the comforts of home.’ What buffalo wouldn’t be content in such quarters?”
The boys climbed up the hillside, after tethering their horses, and crept along over the rocks above the pocket until they could see the herd. Strangely enough the big buffalo and his seven companions were feeding quietly and whisking flies at the upper end of the gorge, their panic entirely departed.
“Say! did you ever see a more peaceful scene?” chuckled Digby. “They look as tame as barnyard cattle, don’t they?”
“That’s all right,” replied Chet, “but I’d hate to go down there and try to milk one of those bossies.”