Now his fingers closed around the weapon, and he clutched it convulsively, leaping to his feet like an acrobat.
At the same moment the steer, bellowing like an insane thing, charged upon him, and he fired into its blue eye.
The ball pierced the brain and killed the brute instantly, but did not stop the headlong flight of it, and before Ted could step out of its way, it struck him with the force of a locomotive. As he went to the ground, the dead steer fell on top of him.
Ted's fight with the steer had been seen, and across the prairie two flying figures simply split the air. When they reached the side of the prostrate steer, they flung themselves to the earth and flew to the rescue of Ted. One was Stella and the other was Bud.
"Is he dead?" asked Stella breathlessly.
"I reckon not," answered the cow-puncher, who, secretly, was very much afraid he was; he didn't see how Ted could help being dead, having been charged by a steer, and having gone down beneath its weight.
He was struggling like a demon to lift the heavy animal from Ted's body.
The bulk of the steer was lying across Ted's chest, whose face was black from the congestion, so that Stella dared not look at him.
"Pump yer gun fer all it's worth," commanded Bud, in a rough voice. "Keep shootin' till yer bring 'em on ther run. We've got ter get him from under this steer soon, er he'll be all in."
Stella had snatched her Winchester from the boot of her saddle, and fired it in rapid succession into the air until the magazine was empty. Then she refilled it, and began shooting again.