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In that vague and mysterious way by which reports travel in the air, as it were among all frontier settlements, they had heard that buffalo were plenty in the vast ranges to the westward, the herds moving slowly northward, grazing as they went. It was now the season of wild game, and so the boys were sent across to Younkins's to ask him what he thought of a buffalo-hunting trip.
They were to take two horses, Fuller's and Younkins's, to serve as pack-animals, for the way to the hunting-ground might be long; but the hunting was to be done on foot. Younkins was very sure that they would have no difficulty in getting near enough to shoot; the animals had not been hunted much in those parts at that time, and the Indians killed them on foot very often.
The elders of the party had anxiously discussed the comparative merits of the Smoky Hill and the Republican Fork country and had finally yielded to the attractions of a cabin ready-built in Younkins's neighborhood, with a garden patch attached, and had decided to go in that direction.
The boys gleefully followed Younkins's trail into the forest, making for an opening about a half-mile away, where Mrs. Younkins thought he was most likely to be found. "Major," the big yellow dog, a special pet of Sandy's, accompanied them, although his mistress vainly tried to coax him back. Major was fond of boys' society.
You can have it till Ben comes out, and I'm just a-keeping it for Ben, you know. P'raps he won't want it, and if he doesn't, why, then you and he can make some kind of a dicker-like, and you might stay on till you could do better." "That's a very generous offer of Mr. Younkins's, Charles," said Mr. Howell to Bryant. "I don't believe we could do better than take it up."
But, after a few days of debate, this was thought to be the best thing that could be done. It was on a dull, dark November day that the boys, wading for the last time the cold stream of the Fork, crossed over to Younkins's early in the morning, while the sky was red with the dawning, carrying their light baggage with them.
With that, his keen eyes noticed that the right-hand road was cut and marked with the many hoof-tracks of a flock of sheep. He argued to himself that the sheep-drivers had told him that they were going to California. The California road led up the bank of the Republican Fork close to the trail that led him from Younkins's to the ford across the river.
And, as he drifted off into slumber-land, he heard the good woman say, "Well, he's out of his troubles, poor boy!" Sandy chuckled to himself and slept. It was an anxious and wondering household that Sandy burst in upon next morning, when he had reached the cabin, escorted to the divide above Younkins's place by his kind-hearted host of the night before.
Bryant, as he filled Younkins's tin cup with hot coffee, "our boys have all got the knack of making themselves at home, runs in the blood, I guess, and if you come over here again in a day or two, you will probably find us with rugs on the floor and pictures on the walls. Sandy is a master-hand at hunting; and he intends to get a dozen buffalo-skins out of hand, so to speak, right away."
They had ferried their trunks across the day before, using the oxcart for the purpose and loading all into Younkins's team, ready for the homeward journey. Now that the bustle of departure had come, it did not seem so hard to leave the new home on the Republican as they had expected.
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