304 BUFFALO LAND. 



heartens the pursuer, encourages the pursued. Look 

 out for that creek ! See how the buffalo takes its steep 

 bank — a plunge headlong, which sends the dust up in 

 clouds. Now, as we check and turn into a ford, he is 

 going up the opposite side. 



Another hundred yards, and we are close beside him. 

 The long tongue is hung out, and his head lies low 

 down, as he plunges steadily forward, diverging ever 

 so little as we press up opposite his fore-shoulders. 

 That was a bad shot, my friend, barely missing your 

 horse's head. Shooting at full gallop is like drawing 

 straight lines while being shaken. 



Some of our bullets are telling ; you can hear them 

 crack on his hide. There is a red spot now, not bigger 

 than the point of one's finger, opposite a lung, and drops 

 of blood trickle, with the saliva, from his jaws. Half 

 a score of balls have been pelted into his -big body, 

 and he is bleeding internally. Now the blood comes 

 thicker, and little clots of it drop down. He slows 

 up — there is danger ; look well to your seat ! 



That was a narrow escape, comrade. The bull 

 suddenly whirled on his forefeet for a pivot, and 

 your horse's chest, which was brushing his hind-quar- 

 ters, grazed the black horns as they dipped for a 

 plunge. The pony's swerve barely saved you both. 



Now he stands sullen, glaring at us. The wounds 

 look like little points of red paint, put deftly on his 

 shaggy hide. They bleed inwardly, just crimsoning 

 the brown hair at their mouths. The large eyes roll 

 and swell with pain and fury. He is measuring our 

 distance. 



See him blow the blood from his nostrils. The 



