382 BUFFALO LAND. 



self of their protection, while examining the ridges 

 around. A mile out, the heat and his rough-paced 

 nag proved too much for him, and he threw himself 

 upon the ground for a rest. Lying there, watching 

 idly the little insects wandering about, his attention 

 was attracted to a colony of burrowing ants, who, with 

 a hole in the earth half an inch in diameter, were 

 continually coming up, rolling before them small 

 grains of sand and pebbles, the latter obtained far 

 below, and a small mound of them already showing 

 the extent of their patient labors. The Professor 

 began to mark more closely the tiny builders, im- 

 agining that he could distinguish one of the citizens 

 going down, and recognize him again as he came 

 up again with his burden from below. 



Occasionally, it seemed to the observant savan, 

 something blue was brought out, which glittered 

 more than sand. Looking closer, he discovered that 

 the shining particles were beads of some bright sub- 

 stance, and resembling exactly those worn by the In- 

 dians of to-day. It thrilled him, as if he had been 

 brought face to face with the far-off ages, when the 

 world was young. Beneath, evidently, lay the dead 

 of some forgotten tribe, and horse and man were 

 resting upon a place of sepulcher. There was no 

 mound to mark the spot, and if any ever existed, 

 the seasons of ages had obliterated it. The savage 

 races which now roam the plains never bury their 

 dead, but lay the bodies on scaffolds, or hang them 

 in trees. And so these little ants, robbing the graves 

 far beneath us, were bringing to our gaze, on a bright 

 summer day in the Nineteenth Century, the mysteries 



