He handed the glasses quickly to his chum. The latter focused them and almost immediately uttered his favourite ejaculation: “By the last hoptoad that was chased out of Ireland! That’s an elephant—not a buffalo, Chet.” “Aren’t you glad you brought that heavy rifle, old man?” “I wish it were a cannon,” admitted Dig, in amazement at the size of the big buffalo. He was grazing with his side toward the approaching hunters, and for several minutes Chet and Dig both gazed upon him through the glasses. His hump was enormous, and so shaggy that he looked as big as an overland freight wagon, painted black. Of course, close to, the buffalo would have been found to be brown—of various shades. The mane is the darker—sometimes almost black, in fact. The bull is much darker than the cow. The great shoulders, neck and head, covered with thick, matted hair to the eyes, make a threatening front for any unsophisticated hunter to face. Dig admitted his distaste for the prospect. “I’ll take your word for it, old man,” he said to his chum. “If I get a shot you can bet it will be from the side. I don’t want that battering-ram headed for me when I fire. I certainly should have what old Rafe calls elk fever.” “Stage fright, I reckon!” agreed his chum. “But say!” Dig asked, “where are his horns? I don’t see any.” “And you’ll not till you’re on top of him,” Chet replied. “The horns are no bigger than a two year old steer’s. But he can bunt with ’em.” “Aren’t you right! Whew! let’s be careful how we approach those creatures.” “We will be just that,” agreed Chet. “Now come on, boy; give me the glasses. See that everything is all right; don’t let any of the tinware joggle. Is your rifle all right? Button your revolver tight in the holster. A six-shooter won’t do you anymore good than a pea-shooter with those shaggy fellows. This old rifle of father’s is the boy to depend on.” “I’m ready,” said Dig, and they let the impatient horses go again. They rode on sod, and that silenced the hoof-beats to a degree. When they were all of two miles from the buffalo herd they pulled in and only walked their mounts. And they did not see the buffaloes again for nearly an hour, for they kept to the low places in the plain. At last Chet left his horse in Dig’s care and reconnoitred by creeping up the side of a coulie on hands and knees. When he saw the first buffalo he ducked quickly, fearful that he had been seen. It was a young bull, not more than half grown; but it looked larger than any horse Chet had ever seen. He could have made a clean shot at that animal; but Chet had not brought his gun with him. He had not expected to find any of the herd so near. Nor were there any others at this spot. The remaining fifteen, including the big bison, were out of rifle-shot from this point. And just as Chet spied the land out, the young bull lifted his head, twirled his tail, and started off on an easy trot for the rest of his tribe.