"That's a buck's ear," he replied.
Hardly had he finished speaking when Wetzel intentionally snapped a
twig. There was a crash and commotion in the thicket; branches moved
and small saplings waved; then out into the open glade bounded a
large buck with a whistle of alarm. Throwing his rifle to a level,
Joe was trying to cover the bounding deer, when the hunter struck up
his piece.
"Lad, don't kill fer the sake of killin," he said, quietly. "We have
plenty of venison. We'll go arter a buffalo. I hev a hankerin' fer a
good rump steak."
Half an hour later, the hunters emerged from the forest into a wide
plain of waving grass. It was a kind of oval valley, encircled by
hills, and had been at one time, perhaps, covered with water. Joe
saw a herd of large animals browsing, like cattle, in a meadow. His
heart beat high, for until that moment the only buffalo he had seen
were the few which stood on the river banks as the raft passed down
the Ohio. He would surely get a shot at one of these huge fellows.
Wetzel bade Joe do exactly as he did, whereupon he dropped on his
hands and knees and began to crawl through the long grass. This was
easy for the hunter, but very bard for the lad to accomplish. Still,
he managed to keep his comrade in sight, which was a matter for
congratulation, because the man crawled as fast as he walked.
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