th stretches a line of angry faces, a rolling surf of
wind-blown hair, a row of quivering lights burning with a reddish-brown
hue--the eyes of the infuriated animals. Should our horses stumble, our
fate will be sealed. It is certain death to be involved in the herd.
So is it to turn back. In an instant we should be trampled and gored to
death. Our only hope is to ride steadily in the line of the stampede,
till we can insinuate ourselves laterally, and break out through the
side of the herd. Yet the hope of doing so is but small.

On we rush rapidly as before, when suddenly, to our great satisfaction,
the herd before us divides into two columns, to pass round a low hill in
front. Still on we go, pushing our horses up the height. We reach the
summit, the horses panting fearfully, and the moisture trickling in
streams from their sides. But now the rear column comes on. They see
us, not fifty rods off, but happily pay no attention to us. We
dismount, facing the furious creatures. Should they not divide, but
come over the hill, in a few moments we must be trampled to death. The
herd approaches to within a hundred yards of the hill. We lift our
rifles and deliver a couple of steadily aimed bullets at the
fore-shoulders of the nearest bulls. One gives a wild jump, and limps
on with three legs; the other seems at first unhurt; but just as they
reach the foot of the mound, they both fall down. The whole host are
rushing over them. We rapidly reload. The fate of their comrades,
however, sends a panic into the hearts of the herd. Another falls just
when they are so close that we could have sprung on their backs. At
that moment they divide, and the next we are standing on a desert
island, a sea of billowing backs flowing round on either side in a
half-mile current of crazy buffaloes. The herd is fully five minutes in
passing us. We watch them as they come, and as the last laggers pant by
the mound we look westward and see the stampeders halting. We soon
understand the cause. They have come up with the main herd. Yes,
there, in full sight of us, is the buffalo army, extending its deep line
as far as the western horizon. The whole earth is black with them.
From a point a mile in front of us, their rear line extends on the north
to the bluffs bounding the banks of the river on which we had camped.
On the south it reaches the summits of some distant heights fully six
miles away. When it is known that with our f