wounded, and charges, he
does so in a straight line, so that his pursuer can leap easily out of
his way. The pace of the buffalo is clumsy, and _apparently_ slow, yet,
when chased, he dashes away over the plains in blind blundering terror,
at a rate that leaves all but good horses far behind. He cannot keep
the pace up, however, and is usually soon overtaken. Were the buffalo
capable of the same alert and agile motions of head and eye peculiar to
the deer or wild horse, in addition to his "bovine rage," he would be
the most formidable brute on earth. There is no object, perhaps, so
terrible as the headlong advance of a herd of these animals when
thoroughly aroused by terror. They care not for their necks. All
danger in front is forgotten, or not seen, in the terror of that from
which they fly. No thundering cataract is more tremendously
irresistible than the black bellowing torrent which sometimes pours
through the narrow defiles of the Rocky Mountains, or sweeps like a
roaring flood over the trembling plains.

The wallowing, to which we have referred, is a luxury usually indulged
in during the hot months of summer, when the buffaloes are tormented by
flies, and heat, and drought. At this season they seek the low grounds
in the prairies where there is a little stagnant water lying amongst the
grass, and the ground underneath, being saturated, is soft. The leader
of the herd, a shaggy old bull, usually takes upon himself to prepare
the wallow.

It was a rugged monster of the largest size that did so on the present
occasion, to the intense delight of Dick Varley, who begged Joe to lie
still and watch the operation before trying to shoot one of the buffalo
cows. Joe consented with a nod, and the four spectators--for Crusoe was
as much taken up with the proceedings as any of them--crouched in the
grass, and looked on.

Coming up to the swampy spot the old bull gave a grunt of satisfaction,
and, going down on one knee, plunged his short thick horns into the mud,
tore it up, and cast it aside. Having repeated this several times he
plunged his head in, and brought it forth saturated with dirty water,
and bedaubed with lumps of mud, through which his fierce eyes gazed,
with a ludicrous expression of astonishment, straight in the direction
of the hunters, as if he meant to say, "I've done it that time, and no
mistake!" The other buffaloes seemed to think so too, for they came up
and looked, on with an expression t