A cowboy is riding his horse through the plains; it's been hours since he's seen civilization, and he figures it'll be hours before he sees any more. He brings his horse to stop, then reaches for his canteen. As he tips the water back, he notices something out of the corner of his eye; a figure laying down in the sand. He figures his eyes are playing tricks on him and he takes another swig of water, but as he squints, he realizes that there is indeed someone out there.
Taking his horse off the path, he rides over and dismounts. There, laying in the middle of nowhere, is an Indian. He's on all fours, his ear pressed into the sand, and his whole body motionless, except quiet breaths.
"Howdy there," the cowboy says.
"Hello."
"If you don't mind me asking, what are y'all doing out here in the middle of nowhere?"
"Buffalo tracking."
This surprises the cowboy. "Buffalo tracking? With your head on the ground like that?"
The Indian nods, then looks down at the ground for a few moments. "Thirty... no, forty buffalo. Traveling in a tightly packed herd. Stampeding, due West." He raises one hand and points. "Five miles in that direction."
The cowboy is completely flabbergasted. "Well I'll be god damned. How on earth can you be so sure of all of that?"
The Indian slowly looks up at the cowboy.
"Because they ran me over ten minutes ago."
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