THE CHASE. 33 



gallant hunter closes rapidly on the buffalo ; as I gain his 

 off flank, the reins are gathered in my left hand, my right 

 grasps my rifle just behind the guard, its barrel is thrown 

 across my left arm, and, dashing past him, I deliver my 

 fire. Simultaneously the bull whirls half round, pivoting 

 on his hind legs; with tail in air, head lowered, and eyes 

 glaring, he charges me, and I am only saved from over- 

 throw by the trained agility of my buffalo-runner. A quick 

 glance at the old rogue as he flashes past satisfies me 

 he has been clean missed ; but, as I pull myself and steed 

 together, I hear the crack of my comrade's rifle, and the 

 unmistakable thud of its ball as it strikes. But the bull is 

 only wounded, and still presses onward at a rolling gallop, 

 so losing no time to load, pistols are drawn, and we again 

 close on him one on each quarter. Excited by the novelty 

 of the chase, the size of the game, and the pace we are 

 going at, we empty our revolvers with more rapidity than 

 judgment ; and, though the bull's sides are streaked with 

 gore, his mane flecked with bloody foam, his tongue hang- 

 ing out, and his gait a staggering roll, he still pounds along. 

 We pull up to load, but our horses are quite pumped 

 out, and the pursuit is abandoned. The wolves will have 

 a feast to-night. The gray-coated marauders will capture 

 a prey. 



We stripped the nags, hobbled them, rubbed them with 

 wisps of grass, spread the saddle blankets in the sun to 

 dry, lit the pipe of consolation, and sat down to rest. It 

 was quite evident we had yet to learn ivhere to hit a buffalo, 

 and by practice acquire ability to strike him there. Cer- 

 tainly, had our horses not known more about buffalo 



