“I’d rather have a supper of deer liver,” Dig returned, smacking his lips at the thought.
“Well, maybe we can shoot a deer. They are not so swift as the antelope.”
“But aren’t antelope easily trapped? I’ve heard Rafe Peters tell about catching them with a red rag tied to a stalk.”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed Chet. “You mean he toled them near enough with a red rag to pot-shoot them. The little creatures are very curious.”
“Oh! then you shake salt on their tails, I s’pose?” grumbled Dig.
Chet had to laugh at this. But both boys, after the noon halt, kept a bright outlook for game. Their supper actually depended upon the discovery of some game which they might capture.
An hour after their noontide stop the chums rode out upon a plain from between two heavily wooded hills. This open space was a great, level valley, through which a stream ran, and it should have been a paradise for ruminant animals.
There was the shelter of the hills on both the east and north; the clear, placid stream; the abundant grass and low bushes; with sufficient shade along the watercourse to attract the herds.
“Hello!” exclaimed Dig suddenly. “What’s been digging up the prairie in that way? Why, Chet! did you ever see the like?”
“Yes, I have,” returned his chum. “You know, when I went to Benway with father that time, we travelled for a week with a herd.”