of his companions caught his shoulder and
supported him for a minute or two. The horses were brought down to a
walk, and finally came to a standstill, though they halted at a point
beyond rifle shot.

"I hope I finished him," muttered Fred Linden, with a snap of his eyes;
"they are seeking my life, and, if I could have my way, I would tumble
every one of them off his horse."

Never was the value of two rifles shown more strikingly than at this
time. The moment his gun was discharged--had he possessed no other--Fred
would have been helpless, and the Winnebagos would have been upon him
before he could reload his piece; for that was in the days of
flint-locks, when the charge had to be rammed down and the powder poured
into the pan before the weapon was ready for use. It may be said,
however, that under such circumstances he would not have fired.

But before the horsemen could wheel about, they would have found the
youth standing at "present arms" precisely as before, and the situation
unchanged, except that one of their own number had been disabled, and to
that extent (which was considerable) the gain was on the side of the
lad.

There could be little doubt that the stricken Winnebago was hit hard,
though after some attention from his companions, he was able to sit his
horse. The three warriors seemed to have lost all interest in Fred, for
a few minutes later they rode off at a walk, without, so far as he could
judge, once bestowing a look upon him.

It struck him as singular that after his stratagem, by which he believed
he gave the impression that he had a party of friends on the margin of
the wood, that the Winnebagos should guide their horses to the very
point. After all, it began to look as though he was not so successful in
that respect as he imagined, and that it was his own courageous demeanor
that for the time had saved his life.

"I am glad they have ridden off in that direction," said the youth to
himself, as he saw them carefully enter the wood, where they were lost
from sight; "for if they had ridden the other way they would have
bothered me in my hunt for Terry."

CHAPTER XXX.

TERRY FINISHES HIS RIDE.

That ride of Terry Clark on the back of the buffalo bull was one which
he could never forget had he wished to do so, which of course he did
not. The first thrill, when the beast dashed off on a dead run, and the
wind began blowing by the ears of the lad, was that of pleasure. He was
havin