scudded before the cold north wind. In the gray twilight, the
lake suddenly lay before them, as if it had opened at their feet.
The men rejoiced, the horses lifted their noses and sniffed the
damp air.

The whinnies of the horses, the clank of harness, and splash of
water, the whirl of ducks did not blur out of Jones's keen ear a
sound that made him jump. It was the thump of hoofs, in a
familiar beat, beat, beat. He saw a shadow moving up a ridge.
Soon, outlined black against the yet light sky, a lone buffalo
cow stood like a statue. A moment she held toward the lake,
studying the danger, then went out of sight over the ridge.

Jones spurred his horse up the ascent, which was rather long and
steep, but he mounted the summit in time to see the cow join
eight huge, shaggy buffalo. The hunter reined in his horse, and
standing high in his stirrups, held his hat at arms' length over
his head. So he thrilled to a moment he had sought for two years.
The last herd of American bison was near at hand. The cow would
not venture far from the main herd; the eight stragglers were the
old broken-down bulls that had been expelled, at this season,
from the herd by younger and more vigorous bulls. The old
monarchs saw the hunter at the same time his eyes were gladdened
by sight of them, and lumbered away after the cow, to disappear
in the gathering darkness. Frightened buffalo always make
straight for their fellows; and this knowledge contented Jones to
return to the lake, well satisfied that the herd would not be far
away in the morning, within easy striking distance by daylight.

At dark the storm which had threatened for days, broke in a fury