After a breakfast of fresh buffalo-meat we took the road in high spirits. The long-expected sport would soon come off. Every step showed us "buffalo sign"--tracks, wallows, fresh ordure. None of the animals were yet in sight, but the prairie was filled with undulations, and no doubt "a gang" would be found in some of the valleys. A few miles farther on, and we came suddenly upon a "buffalo road," traversing the prairie nearly at right angles to our own direction. This caused a halt and consultation. Should we follow the road? By all means thought every one. The tracks were fresh--the road a large one-- thousands of buffaloes must have passed over it; where were they now? They might be a hundred miles off, for when these animals get upon one of those regular roads they often journey at great speed, and it is difficult to overtake them. When merely browsing over the prairie the case is different. Then they travel only a few miles a day, and a hunter trailing them soon comes up with the gang. Ike and Redwood were consulted as to what was best to be done. They had both closely examined the trail, bending down to the ground, and carefully noting every symptom that would give them a clue to the condition of the herd--its numbers--its time of passing--the rate of its speed, etcetera. "Thur's a good grist o' 'em," said Ike, "leastways a kupple o' thousand in the gang--thur's bulls, cows, yearlins, an' young calf too, so we'll have a choice o' meat--either beef or veal. Kin we do better than foller 'em up? Eh, Mark?" "Wal! I don't think we can, ole boss," replied Redwood. "They passed hyur yesterday, jest about noon--that is the thick o' the drove passed then." "How do you tell that?" inquired several. "Oh, that's easy made out," replied the guide, evidently regarding the question as a very simple one; "you see most o' these hyur tracks is a day old, an' yet thur not two." "And why not?" "Why how could they be two," asked the guide in astonishment, "when it rained yesterday before sun-up? Thur made since the rain, yu'll admit that?" We now remembered the rain, and acknowledged the truth of this reasoning. The animals must have passed since it rained; but why not immediately after, in the early morning? How could Redwood tell that it was the hour of noon? How? "Easy enough, comrades," replied he. "Any greenhorn mout do that," added Ike. The rest, however, were puzzled and waited the explanation. "I tells this a way," continued the guide. "Ef the buffler had passed by hyur, immediately after the rain, thar tracks wud a sunk deeper, and thar wud a been more mud on the trail. As thar ain't no great slobber about, ye see, I make my kalklations that the ground must a been well dried afore they kim along, and after such a wet, it could not a been afore noon at the least--so that's how I know the buffler passed at that hour."