That is what is grand about the buffalo and what made them once roam the prairies in countless, endless droves." From the highest elevation in that part of the range we viewed the surrounding ridges, flats and hollows, searching for the buffalo.

At length we spied a cloud of dust rising from behind an undulating mound, then big black dots hove in sight.
"Frank has rounded up the herd, and is driving it this way.

We'll wait," said Jones.
Though the buffalo appeared to be moving fast, a long time elapsed before they reached the foot of our outlook.

They lumbered along in a compact mass, so dense that I could not count them, but I estimated the number at seventy-five.

Frank was riding zigzag behind them, swinging his lariat and yelling.