tching him and remarking:

"Be sure it's in your pocket tight and fast, Will. We couldn't afford to
lose it. Maybe it would be a good idea to make a copy of it."

"I could draw every line on it from memory."

"That being the case we don't exactly need a duplicate, and, as you're a
young fellow, Will, and ought to work, you can take the horses down to
the brook and let 'em drink."

The lad was willing enough to do the task and the horses drank eagerly
and long of the pure stream that had its source in melting snows. All
four had been selected for size, power and endurance, and they were in
splendid condition, the rich and abundant grass of the valley restoring
promptly the waste of travel.

Boyd's great horse, Selim, rubbed his nose in the most friendly manner
against Will's arm, and the lad returned his advances by stroking it.

"I've heard the truth about you," he said. "You can do everything but
talk, and you'll be a most valuable ally of ours on this expedition."

The horse whinnied gently as if he understood and Will, leading the four
back to the rich grass, tethered them at the ends of their long lariats.

"Now, suppose you get out your big glasses," said the hunter, "and we'll
go to the top of the hill for a look. The day is well advanced, the sky
is brilliant and in the thin, clear atmosphere of the great plateau
we'll be able to see a tremendous distance."

Will was proud of his glasses, an unusually fine and powerful pair, and
from the loftiest crest they obtained a splendid view over the rolling
plain. The hunter at his request took the first look. Will watched him
as he slowly moved the glasses from side to side, until they finally
rested on a point at the right edge of the plain.

"Your gaze is fixed at last," the boy said. "What do you see?"

"I wasn't sure at first, but I've made 'em out now."

"Something living then?"

"Buffaloes. They're miles and miles away, but they've been lying down
and rolling and scratching themselves until they make the wallows you
see all over the plains. It's not a big band, two or three hundred,
perhaps. Well, they don't mean anything to us, except a possible supply
of provisions later on. No wonder the Indians hate to see the buffaloes
driven back, because the big beasts are breakfast, dinner and supper on
the hoof to them."

"And maybe to us, too, Jim. I've an idea that we'll live a lot on the
buffalo."

"More'n likely. Well, we could do worse."

"What are