In all the prairie around not another tree was visible, and Billy had noticed this lone sentinel as he was creeping up for a shot at the antelope.
At full speed he rushed for the tree and hastily climbed it, securing a safe seat amid its branches, while yet the herd was some distance away.
But glancing back over the huge drove to his horse he beheld a band of mounted warriors in full chase.
The center of the herd was headed directly for the tree, and the Indians were so following that they must come directly under it.
If discovered Billy knew well what his fate would be. The Indians would give up buffalo meat for a human scalp.
These thoughts flashed through the boy's mind, and he at once decided what he would do.
To remain, was certain death at the hands of the red-skins.
To leave, as he intended, by the means of a buffalo was a fearful risk.
But he would take it; and accordingly strapped his rifle upon his back, picked out his buffalo, a huge bull, and swinging quickly from a limb, watched his chance and dropped down upon the back of his choice.
Clutching the long, shaggy mane he clung for dear life, at the same time holding himself on with his spurs.