12 RUSTLINGS IN THE ROCKIES. 



making for the other shore, and are going to cross right in 

 front of us. " Well, here goes for a big bull. Now Rogers, 

 grab a tail." 



And with two or three powerful strokes of the oars he 

 shot the skiff right in amongst the terrified beasts who were 

 making the angry flood boil all around them in their frantic 

 efforts to get away. But when Rogers, this mighty hunter, 

 this stalwart slayer of grizzlies, this terror of Canyon Creek, 

 this red-handed Indian slayer, came to face the music, he 

 weakened ; he turned pale, and his knees knocked together. 



"Get out of here, quick ! " he cried in terror; I don't 

 want to catch one of them old cusses, he'll jump right plum 

 into the boat if I do, and drownd us." 



"Oh, no, he won't!" shouted Allen. "Grab one 

 quick. What's the mater with you? " 



"Get out of here, quick, I say," pleaded the terror- 

 stricken terror of Canyon Creek. 



" Well here," replied Allen, " you take the oars then, and 

 PI! catch one." 



"No, I won't," answered Rogers. "Pull out of here 

 quick, for God's sake. I don't want to be killed by a cussed 

 old buffalo bull." And so there was no recourse for Allen 

 but to pull out, and leave the bulls to pursue their way in 

 peace. 



" Well," remarked Rogers, after they had gone some dis- 

 tance down the river, and he had recovered his breath, "did 

 you ever see such frightful lookin' critters in your life as 

 them bulls was? Why, they was just a puffen' and a snorten' 

 like an old steamboat, and their nostrils was jest as red inside 

 as two coals of fire, and their eyes was as big as a tin cup, 

 and they looked like they had just been varnished. And 

 their tails stuck up and spread out till they looked just like 

 parasols. As sure as you live, Allen, if we'd ever 'a ketched 



