The buffaloes showed a great black mass across the plain, extending for fully a mile, and they were moving north at an even gait.
The Panther watched until the last had passed, and he judged that there were fully a hundred thousand animals in the herd.

He saw also the big timber wolves hanging on the rear and flanks, ready to cut out stray calves or those weak from old age.

So busy were the wolves seeking a chance that they did not notice the gigantic figure of the man, rifle on shoulder, who stood on the crest of the swell looking at them as they passed.
The Panther's eyes followed the black line of the herd until it disappeared under the northern rim of darkness.

He was wondering why the buffaloes were traveling so steadily after daylight and he came to the conclusion that the impelling motive was not a search for new pastures.
He listened a long time until the last rumble of the hundred thousand died away in a faint echo, and then he awakened his comrades.
"I'm thinkin'," he said, "that the presence of Urrea's band made the buffaloes move.

Now I'm not a Ring Tailed Panther an' a Cheerful Talker for nothin', an' we want to hunt that band.