244 The King of the Thundering Herd 



By the time that the setting sun painted 

 the mountain tops as red as the United 

 States soldiers had made the snow in the 

 valley, their work of destruction was nearly 

 finished. They had raked the canyons 

 from end to end. A few buffalo had es- 

 caped, some charging through their ranks 

 in spite of bullets, while others escaped up 

 the steep side of the mountains where 

 the soldiers had thought they could not 

 climb. 



These long-hunted buffalo had become 

 almost as expert mountain-climbers as the 

 bighorn sheep, although they were natu- 

 rally plains animals. 



Major K., the commander of the troop, 

 sat upon his horse on a little rising ground 

 near the center of the upper valley. He 

 was examining the sides of the surrounding 

 mountains with his glass in search of any 

 of the fugitives that they might have over- 

 looked. 



