On the left hand the hillside was too steep and rocky for any animal with hoofs willingly to run that way. Sloping up from the waterside on the right hand was a thick hedge of low trees, so closely interwoven that buffaloes, at least, could not burst through the barrier. The mouth of the pocket was plain, if narrow. It was the only escape in sight—if the herd could be driven this way. Yet the pocket could be closed easily. On one side stood a thickly branching tree. If it was felled correctly after the animals were enclosed not even the big bull buffalo could make his escape. The chums saw the possibilities of the place with glee. “Whew!” ejaculated Dig, “it’ll be pie.” “Couldn’t be better if it were made for us. Now, let’s see if it is really a place in which we can bottle some of the animals.” “Cricky! we’ll get the whole herd!” boasted Dig. “Be more modest—be more modest,” urged Chet, laughing. “Wouldn’t you be satisfied with the big bull alone?” “Would a duck swim?” returned his chum. They rode into the gully and looked about them. It was heavily grassed in the bottom; but the sides were almost as steep as a wall. No buffalo—no matter how nimble—could scale those walls. They rode to the head of the gulch. It was some eighth of a mile deep, and there were several tall trees in it. The soil in the bottom was a rich, alluvial deposit that gave verdure of all kinds deep rootage. And there was a free-flowing spring. “Pasture here for a hundred head of cattle, I declare,” Dig said. “If we can get those buffaloes in here, they’ll be in clover until we can find the means of capturing or shooting them.” “And what will Tony and that Steve be doing, I wonder?” Chet said doubtfully. “Whew! I had forgotten them.” “They’re a part of the pickle, all right,” Chet said, “and must be figured on.” “Cricky! it would be a nice note if they not only stole your deeds, but got our buffaloes away from us, too.” “Beginning already to lay claim to the buffaloes, are you?” returned Chet. “Well, we saw them first,” declared the other lad. Feeling that the pocket was secure—if they had the luck to drive the buffaloes this way, Chet laid out the further plan of action, and Dig agreed. They rode back to the brook, watered their horses, hid their outfit, save the serviceable camp axe and their guns, then cinched up and rode through the brook. The trail boys were still hidden from the grazing game by thickets of low shrubs. But they knew just where the buffaloes were. Coming on them from the north side of the valley, Chet hoped to shoot at least one and stampede them across the brook, instead of up the valley toward the spot where the two men were in waiting. As Dig had said admiringly, Chet was “longheaded.” He knew the men wanted some meat, and that was all. If the boys shot a buffalo where the herd now grazed, Steve and Tony would not trouble themselves about the remainder of the buffaloes.