“Now just look at that!” cried Dave, in vexed tones. “They seem to know that we are afraid to shoot at them, for fear of disturbing the bigger game.” “Puts me in mind of what Ira Sanderson once said,” returned his cousin with a grin. “He argued that a fellow always saw the best game when he was out without his shooting-iron.” “I reckon he was right, Henry; I’ve seen some fine deer when I didn’t have anything to shoot with.” The two young hunters now relapsed into silence, as the meadow came to an end and they entered the forest. Here there was a buffalo trail well defined, having been used by the animals for many years. The trail in general was old, but the fresh hoofmarks of the single animal that had just passed were easily followed by Henry, who was as good on a trail as the average Indian. The forest was a primeval one, with great trees stretching their branches in all directions. Monstrous roots lay sprawled over the trail, and they had to watch out that one or the other did not take a tumble. The air was filled with the songs and cries of birds, while here and there they heard the steady tap-tap of the woodpecker at his work. They could have brought down a dozen squirrels had they felt so inclined, and not a few chipmunks also showed themselves. “That buffalo must have gone quite a way,” remarked Henry, as they came to a halt in the midst of a forest glade. “We have already covered a good mile and a half.” “Don’t give up yet,” pleaded Dave, who had set his heart on returning to Fort Pitt with the news of laying low the bison. “Oh, I’m willing enough to go on, Dave. But we have got to leave the regular trail now.” “Where is the new trail?” “Over yonder,” and Henry pointed with his hand. “It seems to me he left the regular trail rather suddenly,” remarked Dave, walking over to the spot indicated. “Don’t you think so?” “I do.” “What for?” “I don’t know, excepting that something must have scared him—some rabbits in the brush, or something like that.” Once more the two young hunters pushed forward, the trail now leading among some rocks, where walking was anything but agreeable. In some places there were sharp brambles which scratched them not a little. “Henry, that buffalo didn’t come this way for nothing,” whispered Dave. “Just what I think. He was scared, and scared good and proper too. I wish I knew what did it.” “Can there be any other hunters around here?” “That isn’t impossible. A number of the men who were at the fort have gone away in the last few days. Some of them may be in this vicinity.” “If they are I trust we shoot that buffalo first.” They now reached another rise of ground, beyond which was a depression encircled by bushes and rocks. As they mounted the rise they heard a peculiar snort. “Listen!” whispered Henry, and held up his hand. “It’s the buffalo!” answered his cousin. “And hark! Some other animal is there!” “I think I know what it is, Dave. Be careful now and don’t make any more noise.”