Delorier had one, and I rode up to the side of the cart;
there he sat under the white covering, biting his pipe between his
teeth and grinning with excitement.
"Lend me your gun, Delorier," said I.
"Oui, monsieur, oui," said Delorier, tugging with might and main to
stop the mule, which seemed obstinately bent on going forward. Then
everything but his moccasins disappeared as he crawled into the cart
and pulled at the gun to extricate it.
"Is it loaded?" I asked.
"Oui, bien charge; you'll kill, mon bourgeois; yes, you'll kill -
c'est un bon fusil."
I handed him my rifle and rode forward to Shaw.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Come on," said I.
"Keep down that hollow," said Henry, "and then they won't see you
till you get close to them."
The hollow was a kind of ravine very wide and shallow; it ran
obliquely toward the buffalo, and we rode at a canter along the
bottom until it became too shallow, when we bent close to our horses'
necks, and then finding that it could no longer conceal us, came out
of it and rode directly toward the herd. It was within gunshot;
before its outskirts, numerous grizzly old bulls were scattered,
holding guard over their females. They glared at us in anger and
astonishment, walked toward us a few yards, and then turning slowly
round retreated at a trot which afterward broke into a clumsy gallop.
