llop. The Bulls snorted restlessly and called hoarse-voiced
to their consorts: "Speed fast, for something evil follows."

The beaten earth groaned in hollow misery; the thrusting weight
of half a thousand head made its breast ache; its plaintive
protest grew into an angry roar like incessant thunder; the
dust, sharp-hoof-pounded, rose like a hot breath, and hung
foglike over the troubled sea of rocking bodies.

Behind, the two horsemen, wide apart like fan points, galloped
with hard-set faces. Eagerly the ponies, bred to the Hunt,
stretched their limbs of steel-like toughness, and raced for the
brown cloud that fled as a broken regiment.

Surely it was wondrous sport, as A'tim thought; surely it was
unholy slaughter, as the Outcast Bull muttered.

Now the galloping brutes were well between the brush walls of the
ever-narrowing stockade. A Calf, speed-strangled, slipped from
the dust cloud and wandered aimlessly toward the galloping
horsemen; Grasshead's pony swerved as the Calf sprawled in his
path.

On the Buffalo galloped; faster and faster rode Eagle Shoe. His
cayuse, the fleetest Buffalo horse of all the Blood tribe,
galloped with the full fear in his heart of the danger that was
behind. Low over his neck crouched Eagle Shoe; one false step--a
yawning badger hole, a swerve at a white rock, a falter, and
crunching hoofs would grind the Redskin to pulp.

Wedge-shaped the Herd raced for the leading horseman; hindermost
labored the fatted bulls, but in front thundered the leader.

With hawk eye, Eagle Shoe swept the stockade wall for the opening
through which he was to slip and let the Herd gallop on to their
destruction. Hi, yi! there it was. Sharp to the left, swinging
his body far out on the side to steady the careening cayuse, he
turned. As he shot through the opening two Indians rose up, and
their guns belched a red repulse in the faces of the Buffalo.

On swept the Herd--on raced the pursuing Redskins, now joined
by Eagle Shoe. An Indian rose like a specter behind the bush
wall, and twanged a hoarse-singing arrow into the quivering flank
of the Herd that was as one Buffalo. His Hunt-Cry of joy,
fierce-voiced, was like the wail of an infant--the roar of the
troubled earth hushed it to nothing.

Fear rode on the backs of the striding beasts, and they were
afraid; and in their hearts was only gallop, gallop, gallop;
there was no thought, nothing but frenzy; no thought of breaking
through the wing sides,