At a first glance it seemed to Clarence as if the whole plain beyond
was broken up and rolling in tumbling waves or furrows towards them. A
second glance showed the tossing fronts of a vast herd of buffaloes, and
here and there, darting in and out and among them, or emerging from the
cloud of dust behind, wild figures and flashes of fire. With the idea of
water still in his mind, it seemed as if some tumultuous tidal wave were
sweeping unseen towards the lagoon, carrying everything before it. He
turned with eager eyes, in speechless expectancy, to his companion.

Alack! that redoubtable hero and mighty hunter was, to all appearances,
equally speechless and astonished. It was true that he remained rooted
to the saddle, a lank, still heroic figure, alternately grasping his
hatchet and gun with a kind of spasmodic regularity. How long he would
have continued this would never be known, for the next moment, with a
deafening crash, the herd broke through the brush, and, swerving at the
right of the lagoon, bore down directly upon them. All further doubt or
hesitation on their part was stopped. The farseeing, sagacious Mexican
plug with a terrific snort wheeled and fled furiously with his rider.
Moved, no doubt, by touching fidelity, Clarence's humbler team-horse
instantly followed. In a few moments those devoted animals struggled
neck to neck in noble emulation.

"What are we goin' off this way for?" gasped the simple Clarence.

"Peyton and Gildersleeve are back there--and they'll see us," gasped Jim
in reply. It struck Clarence that the buffaloes were much nearer them
than the hunting party, and that the trampling hoofs of a dozen bulls
were close behind them, but with another gasp he shouted,