He took my camera and instructed me to go on ahead, in the rear
of the herd. I heard the click of the instrument as he snapped a
picture, and then suddenly heard him shout in alarm: "Look out!
look out! pull your horse!"

Thundering hoof-beats pounding the earth accompanied his words. I
saw a big bull, with head down, tail raised, charging my horse.
He answered Frank's yell of command with a furious grunt. I was
paralyzed 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.

"It was that darned white nag," said Jones. "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."

"Spot knows the buffs; they'd never get to him," 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 sensation on my face.

"Now, look at that, will you?" cried Jones. "I don't like the
looks of that."

He pointed to the herd. They stopped browsing, and were uneasily