s left no track. Over this we rode
forward, heading to the north, and keeping in a line nearly parallel to
the "war-trail."

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

A BUFFALO "SURROUND."

A march of twenty miles brought us to the place where we expected to be
joined by the band. We found a small stream heading in the Pinon Range,
and running westward to the San Pedro. It was fringed with cotton-trees
and willows, and with grass in abundance for our horses. Here we
encamped, kindled a fire in the thicket, cooked our wolf-mutton, ate it,
and went to sleep.

The band came up in the morning, having travelled all night. Their
provisions were spent as well as ours, and instead of resting our
wearied animals, we pushed on through a pass in the sierra in hopes of
finding game on the other side.

About noon we debouched through the mountain pass into a country of
openings--small prairies, bounded by jungly forests, and interspersed
with timber islands. These prairies were covered with tall grass, and
buffalo signs appeared as we rode into them. We saw their "roads,"
"chips," and "wallows."

We saw, moreover, the _bois de vache_ of the wild cattle. We would soon
meet with one or the other.

We were still on the stream by which we had camped the night before, and
we made a noon halt to refresh our animals.

The full-grown forms of the cacti were around us, bearing red and yellow
fruit in abundance. We plucked the pears of the pitahaya, and ate them
greedily; we found service-berries, yampo, and roots of the "pomme
blanche." We dined on fruits and vegetables of various sorts,
indigenous only to this wild region.

But the stomachs of the hunters longed for their favourite food, the
hump ribs and boudins of the buffalo; and after a halt of two hours, we
moved forward through the openings.

We had ridden about an hour among chapparal, when Rube, who was some
paces in advance, acting as guide, turned in his saddle and pointed
downward.

"What's there, Rube?" asked Seguin, in a low voice.

"Fresh track, cap'n; buffler!"

"What number; can you guess?"

"A gang o' fifty or tharabout. They've tuk through the thicket
yander-away. I kin sight the sky. Thur's clur ground not fur from us;
and I'd stak a plew thur in it. I think it's a small parairia, cap."

"Halt here, men!" said Seguin; "halt and keep silent. Ride forward,
Rube. Come, Monsieur Haller, you're fond of hunting; come along with
us!"

I followed the guide a