A half hour
later the wagon masters called "Roll out! Roll out!" The bugles again
sounded for the troopers to take saddle, and we were under way once
more.
Thus far we had seen very little game in our westward journeying, a few
antelope and occasional wolves, but none of the herds of buffalo which
then roamed the Western plains. The monotony of our travel was to be
broken now. We had hardly gone five miles beyond the ruined station
house--which we passed at a trot, so that none might know what had
happened there--when we saw our advance men pull up and raise their
hands. We caught it also--the sound of approaching hoofs, and all joined
in the cry, "Buffalo! Buffalo!" In an instant every horseman was
pressing forward.
The thunderous rolling sound approached, heavy as that of artillery
going into action. We saw dust arise from the mouth of a little draw on
the left, running down toward the valley, and even as we turned there
came rolling from its mouth, with the noise of a tornado and the might
of a mountain torrent, a vast, confused, dark mass, which rapidly
spilled out across the valley ahead of us. Half hid in the dust of their
going, we could see great dark bulks rolling and tossing.
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