"I tell ye wot it is," said Joe Blunt, one fine morning about a week
after they had begun to cross the prairie, "it's my 'pinion that we'll
come on buffaloes soon. Them tracks are fresh, an' yonder's one o'
their wallers that's bin used not long agone."

"I'll go have a look at it," cried Dick, trotting away as he spoke.

Everything in these vast prairies was new to Dick Varley, and he was
kept in a constant state of excitement during the first week or two
of his journey. It is true he was quite familiar with the names and
habits of all the animals that dwelt there; for many a time and oft
had he listened to the "yarns" of the hunters and trappers of the
Mustang Valley, when they returned laden with rich furs from their
periodical hunting expeditions. But this knowledge of his only served
to whet his curiosity and his desire to _see_ the denizens of the
prairies with his own eyes; and now that his wish was accomplished, it
greatly increased the pleasures of his journey.

Dick had just reached the "wallow" referred to by Joe Blunt, and had
reined up his steed to observe it leisurely, when a faint hissing
sound reached his ear. Looking quickly back, he observed his two
companions crouching on the necks of their horses, and slowly
descending into a hollow of the prairie in front of them, as if they
wished to bring the rising ground between them and some object in
advance. Dick instantly followed their example, and was soon at their
heels.

"Ye needn't look at the waller," whispered Joe, "for a' tother side o'
the ridge there's a bull _wallerin_'."