He hurled two more of his spears with his unerring aim, but they did not seem to have much effect upon the buffalo.
He bellowed with rage and pain, and bled profusely, but continued to fight the dogs with as much spirit as ever.
"I believe I will go after a rifle myself," thought Oscar. "If this battle isn't ended pretty soon I shall lose that buffalo, for it will be as dark as a pocket in ten minutes more. I wonder what is the matter with McCann? He must know what is going on out here."
Talking in this way to himself, Oscar started to ride around the combatants toward the wagon; but no sooner had he put his horse in motion than the buffalo caught sight of him and charged him as viciously as before.
Little Gray set off at his best pace without waiting for the word, and his rider, instead of going toward the wagon, as he had intended to do, directed his course toward the fountain.
Just before he reached it he made a quick turn to the right and galloped down the plain, but the buffalo, which had evidently had enough of the fight, did not follow him; he kept straight ahead.
Harassed at every step by the active dogs, he plunged down the steep bank into the dry bed of the stream, throwing a cloud of sand and gravel into the air, dashed up the opposite incline, and disappeared in the fast gathering darkness. In two minutes more all sounds of the chase had died away in the distance.
"Good-by, buffalo," murmured Oscar, who had once more reined in his horse. "That's what I call provoking. I would willingly have given my best rifle if I could have secured him. There's one thing about it," he added, affectionately patting the neck of his steed, which, with head erect and nostrils dilating, was gazing in the direction in which the game had disappeared, "I shall not be afraid to hunt buffaloes so long as I am on Little Gray's back. If I had only had a rifle instead of a shotgun in my hands I should have had a fine specimen now, for I could have killed him easily enough. Now I'll go and see what McCann has to say for himself."
In no very amiable frame of mind Oscar rode back to the wagon. When he came within sight of it what was his surprise to see his bold after-rider—the dead shot who had killed lions and elephants without number—perched upon the top of the tent, while his driver and fore-loper were snugly ensconced among the branches of a neighboring tree!
He had looked for just such conduct in his Hottentots, for Mr. Donahue and all the rest of his friends had told him that they were the greatest of cowards, but he had expected better things of McCann.