" So saying, he dropped a lighted match into a big patch
of grass, and in a few seconds a line of fire half a mile wide was
roaring across the plain; above it rose smoke as of a burning city.
"They'll see that," said Tommy, "without the buff'loes have got
'em." So they camped for the day under a huge banyan-fig tree and
awaited developments. About evening, away on the horizon, there
arose an answering cloud of smoke, connecting earth and sky, like
a waterspout.
"That's them," said Tommy. They climbed once more into their saddles,
and set out. Just as the sun was setting, they saw a singular
procession coming towards them. In front rode two small, wiry,
hard-featured, inexpressibly dirty men on big well-formed horses.
They wore dungaree trousers, which had once been blue, but were
now begrimed and bloodstained to a dull neutral colour. Their
shirts--once coloured, but now nearly black--were worn outside the
trousers, like a countryman's smock frock, and were drawn in at
the waist by broad leathern belts full of cartridges. Their faces
were half-hidden by stubbly beards, and their bright alert eyes
looked out from under the brims of two as dilapidated felt hats
as ever graced head of man. Each carried a carbine between thigh
and saddle. These were the buffalo shooters.
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