Fred quickly recovered from his astonishment. He had reloaded his gun, but when ready to fire, was afraid to do so. Too many other buffaloes interposed between him and the bull, and had he discharged his weapon, he would have been as likely to hit Terry as to wound the brute that was carrying him away with such speed.
Running to where the rifle of the boy lay, Fred picked it up, hastily reloaded it, and started after the herd. He broke into a loping trot such as an Indian shows when hurriedly following a trail. He kept his eyes on the fast receding animals, his interest being now centered on the moment when they should reach the wood on the other side of the prairie.
"It will be the death of him if they dash among the trees," he thought; "for he will be struck by some limb and have his brains dashed out."
But such a catastrophe did not take place. The fleeing animals must have known that their headlong speed could not be kept up among the trees and undergrowth; so, when those at the head of the drove were close to the edge of the wood they swerved to the left, and the others followed with the same furious swiftness with which they had sped across the open.
Fred Linden at this time was not a third of the way across the prairie, and he stopped and viewed the sight. He could distinguish the animals much better than when they were tearing straight away from him. They ran, so to speak, from under the cloud of dust that had obscured his vision, which, sweeping backward, left all in plain view.
What he saw, too, showed that the buffaloes possessed varying rates of speed. A dozen were well to the front, still crowding close together, while the rest, also in close order, were strung along at different distances. Still, they were so far from Fred that his view was any thing but satisfactory. Shading his eyes with his hand, he peered through the autumn air in the search for his friend.
"There he is!" he exclaimed, but the words were hardly out of his mouth when he saw he was mistaken. The distance was too great for him to see clearly.
"How long will this keep up?" was the question which he would have been glad to answer, for it included the fate of Terence Clark. If his steed should grow weary and fall behind the others, possibly he would give his rider a chance to leap to the ground and make off; but the likelihood of that taking place was so remote that Fred could feel no hope.