sit here
in this saddle that they're being driven by hunters."

Will heard a low, rolling sound like that of distant thunder. It was
approaching rapidly, too, and it seemed to his heightened imagination
that it was bearing straight down upon them.

"If they are Cheyennes we may be in the middle of 'em soon," he said.

"If we sit still here," said Boyd, "but that's just what we won't do.
We'll gallop ahead until we come to a deep dip between the swells."

"And then?"

"Dismount, keep low, and let the storm drive by."

They did not have much time to spare, as the rumbling sound was growing
fast beneath the tread of the flying herd, and they urged their horses
into a gallop until they came to a dip, which they thought was deep
enough to hide them. Here they dismounted and holding the lariats,
watched as the thunder of the running herd increased, until they saw its
van of lowered heads, short, curved horns and great, shaggy manes, and
then the dark mass stretching back out of sight.

"There are tens of thousands of 'em," said the hunter. "They'll be some
time in going by, and then, I think, we'll see the Indians hanging on
the rear."

The multitude drove on for a period somewhat longer than Boyd had
predicted, and then Will saw naked horsemen crouched low on ponies, some
firing with rifles and others with bows and arrows.

"They're Cheyennes, as I thought," said Boyd, "and they're enjoying a
mighty killing. There'll be huge feasts for days and days in their
lodges. They're so intent on it, too, that there isn't one chance in a
thousand they'll see us."

"But I'm glad I see them," said Will. "It's a wonderful sight. I never
thought I'd look upon its like, the chase of the buffalo herd under a
midnight moon. It makes my blood leap."

"And mine, too, though I've seen it before. This wild country with its
vast plains and its high mountains takes hold of you, Will. It grips you
with fetters of steel. Maybe, when you find the gold you won't want to
go back to civilization."

"If we find it, it will be easy enough to decide what we wish to do. But
the whole herd is disappearing in the moonlight in the west, and I can
barely make out the last of the Indian hunters who are following 'em. I
can see, though, a lot of beasts running low."

"The wolves. They're always hanging on the rear of a herd, hoping to cut
out calves or buffaloes weak from old age. Now they're expecting to reap
a little from the harvest made by the