The Range 



yell of command with a furious grunt. I was para 

 lyzed at the wonderfully swift action of the shaggy 

 brute, and I sat helpless. Spot wheeled as if he were 

 on a pivot and plunged out of the way with a 

 celerity that was astounding. The buffalo stopped, 

 pawed the ground, and angrily tossed his huge head. 

 Frank rode up to him, yelled, and struck him with 

 the lariat, whereupon he gave another toss of his 

 horns, and then returned to the herd. 



&quot; It was that darned white nag,&quot; said Jones. 

 &quot; Frank, it was wrong to put an inexperienced man 

 on Spot. For that matter, the horse should never 

 be allowed to go near the buffalo.&quot; 



&quot; Spot knows the buffs; they d never get to him,&quot; 

 replied Frank. But the usual spirit was absent from 

 his voice, and he glanced at me soberly. I knew I 

 had turned white, for I felt the peculiar cold sensa 

 tion in my face. 



&quot; Now, look at that, will you? &quot; cried Jones. &quot; I 

 don t like the looks of that.&quot; 



He pointed to the herd. They stopped browsing, 

 and were uneasily shifting to and fro. The bull 

 lifted his head; the others slowly grouped together. 



&quot; Storm ! Sandstorm! &quot; exclaimed Jones, pointing 

 rt-ward. Dark yellow clouds like smoke were 

 ing, sweeping, bearing down upon us. They 

 expanded, blossoming out like gigantic roses, and 



45 



