suppose those wolves could have gotten a buffalo calf out from
under the mother? Never. Neither could a whole band of wolves.
Buffalo stick close together, and the little ones do not stray.
When danger threatens, the herd closes in and faces it and
fights. That is what is grand about the buffalo and what made
them once roam the prairies in countless, endless droves."

From the highest elevation in that part of the range we viewed
the surrounding ridges, flats and hollows, searching for the
buffalo. At length we spied a cloud of dust rising from behind an
undulating mound, then big black dots hove in sight.

"Frank has rounded up the herd, and is driving it this way. We'll
wait," said Jones.

Though the buffalo appeared to be moving fast, a long time
elapsed before they reached the foot of our outlook. They
lumbered along in a compact mass, so dense that I could not count
them, but I estimated the number at seventy-five. Frank was
riding zigzag behind them, swinging his lariat and yelling. When
he espied us he reined in his horse and waited. Then the herd
slowed down, halted and began browsing.

"Look at the cattalo calves," cried Jones, in ecstatic tones.
"See how shy they are, how close they stick to their mothers."

The little dark-brown fellows were plainly frightened. I made
several unsuccessful attempts to photograph them, and gave it up
when Jones told me not to ride too close and that it would be
better to wait till we had them in the corral.