to the other slope, and up. Then they three moved on together—one searching either flank, the third in between.
The valley was not wide. Its bottom was level and open except for the snow-covered brush; its sides were dotted with cedars and pines. Keeping near the top of his side, so as to drive anything down hill, Stub hunted faithfully, hoping, too, that he would hear the doctor or Baroney shoot. His eyes scanned every foot before and to right and left, seeking tracks. Even a rabbit would be welcomed—yet he didn't wish to spend his bullet on a rabbit.
He saw nothing to make him draw his pistol. It weighed heavily and rasped his stomach and thigh as he plodded on.
The sun was about to rise above the snowy ridges on the east. They had been hunting for an hour, at least, and had heard never a sound. Then he reached a place where his slope broke sharply into a side valley. A fellow always expected something, at such places. So he stole forward cautiously; he came to a ledge of rock, and peered down. What he saw instantly almost stopped his heart-beating, and dazed his eyes with sudden excitement.
Buffalo! Really? Yes, yes—buffalo! He was not dreaming.
It was more of a basin than a valley, in there:
