Some of the bucks keep smart teams; they do a little rough farming on the reservation.

It would look as if they were going for sloo hay, if anybody saw them." George waited in silence, wishing he could hear the thud of hoofs again.

It was slightly daunting to lie still and wonder where the men were.

It is never very dark in summer on the western prairie, and George could see across the sloo, but there was no movement that the wind would not account for among the black trees that shut it in.
Several minutes passed, and George looked around again with strained attention.
Suddenly a dim figure emerged from the gloom.

Another followed it, but they made no sound that could be heard through the rustle of the leaves, and George felt his heart beat and his nerves tingle as he watched them flit, half seen, through the grass.