There was something strange and unnatural in its appearance, accompanied, as it was, by the tremulous, thunderous rumbling. By and by, as this uproar came nearer and nearer, a still more curious sight presented itself. The prairie seemed agitated, trembling and quivering with a peculiar, wave-like motion, such as the ocean shows when it is subsiding after a severe storm. There was a sea, a living sea, spreading tumultuously over the plain. Dark, heaving masses were constantly verging nearer, as they moved rapidly toward the northeast. Suddenly light broke in upon the mind of Ned Chadmund.
"I know what it is!" he exclaimed. "They are buffaloes."
"Correct," assented Tom, with a laugh. "They are passing pretty close, but we're out of their way."
The buffaloes surged so near to where the three horsemen stood that more than once Ned started with a fear that they would be overwhelmed; but the hunters showed such calmness and self-possession that he was reassured. All at once a furious trampling was heard, and two of the animals that had become separated from the others in some way, dashed directly by the horsemen and out upon the prairie.
"Now, Ned," called out Tom; "there's your chance! Take that head one! He will make you a good supper if you can fetch him down!"
The lad and his animal were seized with a sudden inspiration seemingly at the same time. Just as the heart of the young hunter swelled with a wild desire to bring down the noble game, the mustang bounded away in pursuit of the very buffalo which had been indicated by the trapper. As the rider saw himself drawing rapidly near the huge body, lumbering awkwardly but rapidly along, he was seized with a fluttering which, perhaps was natural, but which, unless overcome, was fatal to any hopes of procuring any supper. The mustang drew steadily nearer, Ned's agitation increasing every minute, until pursuer and pursued were running side by side.
This was the critical moment when the rider should have fired, and when the horse had been taught to expect him to do so; but when our hero raised the heavy Indian gun to his shoulder, his trembling, together with the jolting of his mustang, now upon a dead run, told him that it would be useless to fire, when the only chance of hitting his prey was by the merest accident. Accordingly, he lowered his gun, in the hopes of quieting his nerves, so as to bring himself up to the self-appointed task. As he did so, his horse began shying off from the buffalo. He was afraid of the horns of the enraged creature, and having given him all the opportunity he could expect, he was not willing to keep him company any longer. The paths continued to diverge until they were twenty yards apart, when the mustang appeared to think all danger was passed. By this time Ned Chadmund felt that he was master of himself, and he turned the head of his horse toward the immense fugitive, still gliding forward at the same terrific rate.
"I'll fetch him this time," he muttered, with a determined air.