Читать книгу Trail and Trading Post; or, The Young Hunters of the Ohio онлайн

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“Don’t stay away more than an hour!” called out Henry after him.

“Not unless it takes a little longer to get a good chance at the buffalo,” replied his cousin.

The buffalo had crashed through a long stretch of brushwood where the trail could be followed with ease. Then he had taken to the old trail once more, at a point a good half-mile from where he had before left it.

“He is bound for the west, that’s certain,” said Dave to himself. “And more than likely he will keep on until sundown. I may as well give up all hopes of bringing him down. Heigh-ho! such are the fortunes of hunting!” And he heaved a deep sigh.

He kept on for quarter of a mile further, reaching a point where the trail crossed a small but clear stream of spring water. Here the bison had paused for a drink, and resting his gun against a tree, the young hunter got down on his hands and knees to do likewise.

The water tasted so good that Dave took his time and drank his fill. Then he raised his head, started to rise, and looked toward the tree where he had placed his weapon.