to the bull's flank,
Black Boy never flinching for a moment; and at last the drove had
scattered, so that the young hunter found himself almost all alone on
the plain, going at full speed beside his shaggy quarry, the rest of the
herd having left him to his fate.

And now the bull began to grow daring, making short rushes at horse and
rider, but they were of so clumsy a nature that Black Boy easily avoided
them, closing in again in the most pertinacious manner upon the bull's
flanks as soon as the charge was ended.

All at once Bart remembered that there was something else to be done,
and that he was not to go on riding beside the bison, but to try and
shoot it.

Easier said than done, going at full gallop, but he brought his rifle to
bear, and tried to get a good aim, but could not; for it seemed as if
the muzzle were either jerked up towards the sky or depressed towards
the ground.

He tried again and again, but could not make sure of a shot, so,
checking his steed a little, he allowed the bison to get a few yards
ahead, and then galloped forward till he was well on the right side,
where he could rest the rifle upon his horse's withers, and, waiting his
time, get a good shot.

It might have been fired into the earth for all the effect it had, save
to produce an angry charge, and it was the same with a couple more
shots. Then, all at once, as Bart was re-loading, the poor brute
suddenly stood still, panting heavily, made an effort to charge the
little horse, stopped, ploughed up the ground with its right horn, and
then shivered and fell over upon its flank--dead.

Bart leaped from his horse in his excitement, and, running to the bison,
jumped upon its shaggy shoulder, took off his cap, waved it above his
head, and uttered a loud cheer.

Then he looked round for some one to echo his cry, and he saw a
widespread stretch of undulating prairie land, with some tufts of bush
here, some tall grass there, and beneath his feet the huge game beast
that he had fairly run down and shot, while close beside him Black Boy
was recompensing himself for his long run by munching the coarse brown
grass.

And that was all.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

ALONE IN THE PLAINS.

Where were the hundreds of buffalo that had been thundering over the
plain?

Where was Joses?

Where were the Indians?

These were the questions Bart asked as he gazed round him in dismay.
For the excitement of his gallop was over now, and, though they