“Of course, Joses.”
“Then look here, my lad. I’m going to give you a lesson, if you’ll learn it.”
“A lesson in what?” asked Bart.
“In buffler, my lad.”
“Very well, go on; I’m listening. I want to learn all I can about them,” replied Bart, as he kept on closely watching the great, fierce, fiery-eyed bison bulls, as they stamped and snorted and pawed the ground, and kept making feints of dashing at their approaching enemies, who rode towards them at a good pace.
“I don’t want you to listen, my lad,” said Joses; “I want you to get down and walk right up to the buffler bulls there, and try and lay hold of their horns.”
“Walk up to them?” cried Bart. “Why, I was just thinking that if we don’t turn and gallop off, they’ll trample us down.”
“Not they, my lad,” replied Joses. “I know ’em better than that.”
“Why, they rushed right over us at the camp.”
“Yes, because they were on the stampede, and couldn’t stop themselves. If they had seen us sooner they’d have gone off to the right, or left. As for those in front, if they charge, it will be away from where they can see a man.”