Tommy Prince steered a course by instinct, guided as unerringly as the Israelites by their pillar of fire.
By miles of trackless, worthless wilderness, by rolling open plains, by rocky ranges and stony passes, they pushed out and ever further out, till at last, one day, Tommy said, "They ought to be hereabouts, some place." 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.