were out of sight. When the head of the column arrived at the same spot, there were only the two packs, and a message scrawled with a ramrod on the snow. Sergeant Meek read.
"We see buffalo. Camp in nearest timber and wait. Z. M. P."
Every eye sprang to search the landscape. There! Far down, upon the prairie! Black dots—slowly moving across! Buffalo! And where were the hunters? Their tracks pointed onward from the two packs. See! They were running, crouched, down among the billowy swells, as if to head the animals off. It was a desperate chance.
"The breeze is with us," Sergeant Meek cried hopefully. "Quick! For that timber tip, yon, and keep out o' sight. Trust the cap'n and the doctor to do their best. Let's take no risk of spoiling their chance."
The column hustled, with strength renewed. The tip of timber was about a mile distant. The buffalo had disappeared behind a knoll of the prairie; the last seen of the lieutenant and the doctor, they were hastening—stumbling and falling and lunging again, to reach the same knoll. The doctor had forged ahead. He was stronger than the lieutenant.
Then the scene was swallowed up by a dip in the trail to the timber.
