OLD JAKE^S NARRATIVE. 95 



goin' wur so bad for the buffler on the barren that I 

 slowed a bit, an' loaded up as fast as I cud. While I 

 wur a-doin' this, the buffler had gained on me, an' wur 

 ahead somewheres. I cud hear him crackin' through 

 the trees an' bushes like one o' them railway injins 

 they hev back in the States, got off the line. I put on 

 a spurt, and soon agin tackled the critter. I guess he 

 heerd me a-comin', for before I could cry ' Columbus ' 

 he wur right atop o' me. 0' coorse, I pulled on him as 

 he kem torst me. But 'twur no go. He didn't even 

 wink, although he got the ball plumb atween the eyes. 

 " I noticed thur wur somethin' wrong wi' the report, 

 but hedn't time to calc'late on that. No; thur wur 

 that all-fired beast gruntin' an' roarin' like all creation, 

 a-pokin' at me wi' his horns as I dodged this-a-way an' 

 that. I wurn't long in seein' a big tree clost to whur 

 we wur fightin', an' ye'd better b'leeve I put for it like 

 a quarter-hoss. I reckin sparks flew from my old heels 

 as I med that tree, and flew up it like a c painter ' wi' a 

 pack o' b'ar-dogs at his tail. Plumcentre wur obleeged 

 to stay below, not bein' able to climb ; but ef ye hadn't 

 come up, I guess I'd made shift to get my claws upon 

 the old tool somehow, and dropped that rotted bull in 

 his tracks I would so ! " 



