The Last of the Plainsmen 



&quot; What is it? &quot; suddenly whispered Rude. 



The plainsman lay in strained posture, his ear 

 against the ground. 



&quot; Hide the wagon and horses in the clump of cot- 

 tonwoods,&quot; he ordered, tersely. Springing to his 

 feet, he ran to the top of the knoll above the hollow, 

 where he again placed his ear to the ground. 



Jones s practiced ear had detected the quavering 

 rumble of far-away, thundering hoofs. He searched 

 the wide waste of plain with his powerful glass. To 

 the southwest, miles distant, a cloud of dust mush 

 roomed skyward. &quot; Not buffalo,&quot; he muttered, 

 &quot; maybe wild horses.&quot; He watched and waited. 

 The yellow cloud rolled forward, enlarging, spread 

 ing out, and drove before it a darkly indistinct, mov 

 ing mass. As soon as he had one good look at this 

 he ran back to his comrades. 



&quot;Stampede! Wild horses! Indians! Look to 

 your rifles and hide ! &quot; 



Wordless and pale, the men examined their Sharps, 

 and made ready to follow Jones. He slipped into 

 the thorny brake and, flat on his stomach, v/ormed 

 his way like a snake far into the thickly interlaced 

 web of branches. Rude and Adams crawled after 

 him. Words were superfluous. Quiet, breathless, 

 with beating hearts, the hunters pressed close to the 



dry grass. A long, low, steady rumble filled the air, 



56 



