calf spun like a top; the lasso strung tighter than wire. Jones
strained to loosen the fastening, but in vain. He swore at his
carelessness in dropping his knife by the last calf he had tied.
He thought of shooting the rope, yet dared not risk the shot. A
hollow sound turned him again, with the Colts leveled. Bang! Dust
flew from the ground beyond the bison.

The two charges left in the gun were all that stood between him
and eternity. With a desperate display of strength Jones threw
his weight in a backward pull, and hauled Kentuck up. Then he
leaned far back in the saddle, and shoved the Colts out beyond
the horse's flank. Down went the broad head, with its black,
glistening horns. Bang! She slid forward with a crash, plowing
the ground with hoofs and nose--spouted blood, uttered a hoarse
cry, kicked and died.

Kentuck, for once completely terrorized, reared and plunged from
the cow, dragging the calf. Stern command and iron arm forced him
to a standstill. The calf, nearly strangled, recovered when the
noose was slipped, and moaned a feeble protest against life and
captivity. The remainder of Jones's lasso went to bind number
six, and one of his socks went to serve as reminder to the
persistent wolves.

"Six! On! On! Kentuck! On!" Weakening, but unconscious of it,
with bloody hands and feet, without lasso, and with only one
charge in his revolver, hatless, coatless, vestless, bootless,
the wild hunter urged on the noble horse. The herd had gained
miles in the interval of the fight. Game to the backbone, Kentuck
lengthened out to overhaul it, and slowly the rolling gap