"I've managed to snatch up that offensive red handkerchief of yours," explained Frank, "from where you threw it when chasing for refuge. It must have been the innocent cause of all your trouble and as tit-for-tat I mean to make it help you out of this pickle."
"Oh! now I get you! You expect to coax the old lummix to chase after you for a mile or so, and so give me a chance to climb down?"
"That's the little game, partner. When you see me wave my hat get a move on, and drop."
"But if he sees me on the ground he's dead sure to come back with a rush, and I'd have to take to the mountains to keep clear of those shiny short horns!"
"Oh, I expect to keep him employed till I see that Lanky's shown up, leading your pony. Get that, Paul?"
"A regular old booster of a scheme, Frank, if only everything works in a groove. Get busy then, and flag him. I'll lie low, so he'll forget all about poor little Paul up a tree!"
Frank delayed no longer, but started waving the red neckerchief violently in the most insolent fashion he could devise. At the same time he called out tantalizingly at the buffalo, daring him to come out and have a nice little run for his money.
More pawing at the ground followed, accompanied with low, hollow sounds that stood for bellows. Evidently the bull was thus engaged in working himself up to a certain pitch of rage, when he would be unable to resist the lure of that flaunting and much hated red flag.
"Whoop! he's off. Frank, get going before he takes a whack at you!" shouted Paul, as the animal suddenly tore away with lowered head, eager to give battle to the reckless enemy who thus dared him.
If Frank had possessed three hands to pull at the reins he could not have held in that frantic cow pony when the little beast saw that lumbering bull charging.