They entered a small canyon between two notches, and right down in a hollow, a short distance off, the little new moon flashed a gleam across the water. As soon as they had quenched their dreadful thirst, the mother dropped down heavily among the undergrowth, and the little calf, already refreshed, stepped in and out of the thickets, cropping contentedly among the tender cactus sprouts and arrow weed. Mogul, the calf, perhaps wondered, the next morning as the sun beat its hot way into the canyon, why his mother did not rise as usual from her all-night resting place, and low for him to follow her. After a time he understood, for such is the keen instinct of the wild; she would _never_ rise again. Thus did Mogul, the calf buffalo, begin his lonely life. His brave mother had just managed to lead him into the safe canyon for water, and then had died. Mogul was an unusually fine, large calf, for his age. He was full of courage and daring, but he stayed safe in the canyon, where the forage was plentiful and water never failed him, for a long while, every day growing bigger and stronger. When spring came and the passes began to grow bright with gay-coloured flowers, the water holes bubbled, and prairie chickens called their "Coos, coos, coos" from the thickets; then Mogul began to look about and long for companionship, for he was lonely. He noticed the happy frolics of the jack-rabbits with approving, gentle eyes. Contentedly chewing the cud, he would watch the prairie dogs romping happily in and out of the doors of their villages. A bark from the watching sentinel would sound an alarm note, and, like a flash, they would vanish into a hundred holes. With the sprouting of his small, sharp black horns came a sudden restlessness to Mogul. He remembered the herd, so he determined to leave the canyon and find them. He had never encountered any real danger in his life as yet, never heard the swish of an Indian's arrow, or sighted a painted, brown body topped off with painted feathers, astride a loping pony. Once on the open plains he would soon find out about all these things for himself. Through the mouth of the sheltering canyon travelled Mogul, so full of courage and life that he gambolled and leaped playfully by the way; he would shake his huge, top-heavy head, and rip up great tufts of sage-brush with his sharp horns. Occasionally he halted, bellowing fiercely and stamping. A yellow, diamond-back rattlesnake presumed to coil and rattle at him impudently, right in his path. Knowing no fear, Mogul charged at it, sending it spinning high in the air, then stamping it out beneath his shining hoofs.