The deep-worn buffalo trails seemed so fresh the boy's heart quickened with the thought that he might by chance come suddenly upon a stray bunch of them feeding in some deep swale.
He had passed beyond fences, and his course was still substantially westward.

His eyes constantly searched the misty purple-blue horizon for a first glimpse of the mountains, though he knew he could not possibly come in sight of them so soon.

He rode steadily till the sun was overhead, when he stopped to let the pony rest and feed.

He had a scanty lunch in his pocket, which he ate without water.

Saddling up an hour or two later he continued his steady onward "shack" toward the West.
Once or twice he passed in sight of cattle ranches, but he rode on without stopping, though he was hungry and weary.