no
doubt, waiting for a chance to rush somebody. As no one cared to chance
riding on to her in that jungle, she escaped with the honours of war.
The other shooter came up, having shot nine, and reported that Considine
had had a fall; his horse, not being used to the country, had plunged up
to his shoulders in a concealed buffalo-wallow, and turned right over on
him. Luckily, the buffalo he was after was well ahead, and did not turn
to charge him, but he was very much shaken; when he came up, however,
he insisted on going on. They set to work to find the rest of the dead
buffaloes--no easy matter in that long grass--and all hands commenced
skinning. This job kept them till noonday, when they camped under some
trees for their midday meal, hobbling the horses. Then they rested for
an hour or two, packed the hides on the pack-horses (and heavily loaded
they were, each hide weighing about a hundredweight), and went back to
the hunt, scanning the plain carefully.

They were all riding together through a belt of timber, the blacks
and the Chinaman being well up with the pack-horses, when suddenly the
blacks burst out with great excitement.

"Buff'lo! Buff'lo!"

Sure enough, a huge blue bull--a regular old patriarch, that had
evidently been hunted out of a herd, and was camping by himself in the
timber--made a rush out of some thick trees, and set off towards a dense
jungle, that could be seen half a mile or so away. Hugh and Considine
were nearest him, each with his rifle ready, and started after him
together, full gallop through the timber. The old man was evidently
anxious to make up for his morning's failure, and to take Hugh down
a peg, for he set a fearful pace through the trees, grazing one and
gliding under the boughs of another as only a trained bush-rider can.
Hugh, coming from the mountains, was no duffer in timbered country
either, and the two of them went at a merry pace for a while. The bull
was puzzled by having two pursuers, and often in swerving from one or
the other would hit a tree with his huge horns, and fairly bounce off
it. He never attempted to turn, but kept straight on, and they drew on
to him in silence, almost side by side, riding jealously for the first
shot. Considine was on the wrong side, and had to use the carbine on the
near side of his horse; but he was undeniably a good rider, and laughed
grimly as he got first alongside, and, leaning over, prepared to fire.
Then a strange thing happened.