glimpse of his father ahead of him, then the snow arose in blinding
clouds on the trail of the bison. The whoops of the hunters, the
lowing of the cows, and the menacing glances of the bulls as they
plunged along, or now and then stood at bay, were enough to unnerve
a boy less well tried. He was unable to select his victim. He had
been carried deeply into the midst of the herd and found himself
helpless to make the one sure shot, therefore he held his one arrow
in his mouth and merely strove to separate them so as to get his
chance.

At last the herd parted, and he cut out two fat cows, and was
maneuvering for position when a rider appeared out of the snow
cloud on their other side. This aroused him to make haste lest his
rival secure both cows; he saw his chance, and in a twinkling his
arrow sped clear through one of the animals so that she fell
headlong.

In this instant he observed that the man who had joined him
was his own father, who had met with the same difficulties as
himself. When the young man had shot his only arrow, the old chief
with a whoop went after the cow that was left, but as he gained her
broadside, his horse stepped in a badger hole and fell, throwing
him headlong. The maddened buffalo, as sometimes happens in such
cases, turned upon the pony and gored him to death. His rider lay
motionless, while Two Strike rushed forward to draw her attention,
but she merely tossed her head at him, while persistently standing
guard over the dead horse and the all but frozen Indian.

Alas for the game of "one arrow to kill!" The boy must think
fast, for his father's robe had slipped off, and he was playing