"All right, Paul. You sure did climb some that time!"
"Well, anybody would be apt to, with those black horns right behind him," the other retorted in self-defense.
"They say a miss is as good as a mile, and you did have a close shave."
"But how'm I going to get out of this scrape? That's what's bothering me!"
"Forget it, and trust to your Dutch uncle to hatch up a scheme to fool old Woolly Head. Now listen, and I'll unfold the plan."
"Shoot!"
"Notice that Lanky's galloped after your run-away pony?"
"That's mighty fine of him," ventured Paul. "I'd begun to believe I'd have to do considerable hiking before landing in camp again; or else double-up with one of you fellows. Well, what's next?"
"I'm going to lure that bison of yours off by his lonesome, if I can fix things right."
"Sounds good to me," came the reply. "But first of all, don't denominate this shaggy monster as my property. I don't claim to own a solitary share in him hair, hide, or horns. He belongs to Buffalo Smith; though I'd like to convert him into tough steaks, if only I had a rifle handy."