If he had lost his hold, or if the saddle had turned with his weight, it would have been all up with Oscar Preston, for almost at the tail of his horse, which was now running at the top of his speed, came one of those dreaded animals he had seen scurrying off through the dust an hour or so before—a buffalo.
This old rogue, having concealed himself in the grove, had doubtless been watching the young hunter ever since he left the wagon, and waiting for him to come within fair charging distance.
He certainly was a vicious-looking brute as he came full tilt after the horse, with his tail in the air and his shaggy head covered with broad, flat horns, lowered close to the ground in readiness to toss both Little Gray and his rider toward the clouds, and to Oscar's frightened eyes he looked as big as an elephant.
"I am afraid I shall never see home again," said Oscar, who wondered how he could think so clearly when every nerve in his body was vibrating with terror. "My strength is all leaving me. I am growing weaker every moment."
It was a most alarming thought, but right on the heels of it came a gleam of hope. His horse was gaining at every jump—very slowly, it is true, for the buffalo, heavy and clumsy-looking as he was, ran at a surprising rate of speed, but still he was gaining.
CHAPTER XX. A COWARDLY AFTER-RIDER.
Oscar kept his pale, scared face turned over his shoulder and his eyes fixed upon the shaggy forehead of the charging buffalo, from which he could not have removed them if he had tried. The fear that he would lose his hold and be gored to death did not cause him to lose his presence of mind; and when he saw that the gallant little nag, to which he clung so desperately, and on which all his hopes of life depended, was steadily widening the gap between him and his fierce pursuer, his strength and courage came back to him, and in an instant he was firmly seated in the saddle, although, as he afterward declared, he could not tell how he got there.