A BUFFALO DROVE. 25 



at a sober, steady pace we start. An old practised 

 buffalo-runner (for so the western man terms his 

 favourite and experienced horse) will quietly settle to 

 his master's will, for from experience well he knows 

 that probably a hard day's work is before him, and all 

 his strength will be required ; while the youngster or 

 griffin at this work frets and prances, almost pulling 

 his rider from the pigskin. Forbear, rider; curb 

 your annoyance ; give and take a pull upon your 

 snaffle ; soon the youngster will settle down, and this 

 day's work will probably teach him a lesson that will 

 act advantageously on his future conduct. 



Discussing subjects suitable for such occasions, 

 miles are passed; so far, with the exception of 

 numerous bleached bones or an occasional deer or 

 antelope track, no indication of game has been seen. 

 From a knoll a survey is made ; a fresh hole or two is 

 taken up in the girths, and the scarcity of animal life 

 commented upon. To the Indian, of course, the blame 

 is laid ; war-parties or moving villages of redskins are 

 always saddled with being the cause of every disap- 

 pointment and annoyance in wild life. But look there! 

 What is that ? A distant cloud of dust. Buffalo for 

 a thousand, and advancing towards where the hunters 

 are stationed. How is the wind ? is inquired. One 

 wets his fingers with his saliva, and holds it up. In a 

 few moments the position is declared untenable, and 

 both, vaulting on their horses, hurry off to get more 

 to leeward, availing themselves of a swell in the 

 prairie to keep perdu. Having marked well the direc- 

 tion in which the herd is advancing, keeping as much 

 out of sight as possible, scarcely speaking a word, and 

 then not louder than a whisper, the distance between 



