When he opened his eyes he found that his father had hauled him from under the wreckage and was gazing earnestly into his face.
"Are you hurt, son?" demanded James Morris quickly.
"I—I—reckon not," was the slow answer. "But something hit me in the—the back. Whe—where is the buffalo?"
"Gone, and Barringford and Henry after him."
"Hope they lay him low."
"So do I. But are you quite sure you are not injured? I thought the animal stepped on you."
"Maybe he did, father. But I'm all right, thank goodness." And Dave stretched himself to prove his words.
The Indians had gathered around and were talking excitedly. Some wanted to join in the hunt, but the frontiersmen under Barringford held them back.
"You let Sam an' Henry go it alone," said Sanderson. "They know wot they are a-doin'."
"That is true," answered White Buffalo. "My white brothers can shoot well—I have seen it."