Somewhere in a book of frontier-day tales, he had read an account of the remarkable manner in which the Red Man, when in danger of being trampled to death by a thousand stampeding buffaloes, had saved his life. He was now prepared to put this practice to the test. It seemed a desperate measure—just how desperate he had not time to judge.
Gripping his bow that was capable of burying an arrow in the heart of any wild creature, he stood quite still until the foremost buffalo, a powerful beast with gleaming horns, was within ten paces of him. Then, quickly bending his bow, he let fly.
No effect. The buffalo came straight on. The thundering herd was behind him. Already the cloud of snow that rose before them was obscuring his vision. Still there was time for retreat to the plane. Once in the cabin, he would be safe from the murderous tramp of their axe-like hoofs. But the plane! It would be wrecked.
He did not retreat. Standing his ground, with incredible rapidity he fired a second arrow and a third.
The very breath of the foremost buffalo was upon his cheek when with a clatter and a thud it fell at his feet.
And now the real test of the Red Man’s ancient plan of action was at hand. No longer was there opportunity for retreat. The herd was upon him. Through the cloud of snow he saw it but dimly. The sound of clashing horns and cracking hoofs was deafening. Casting himself flat in the snow, directly back of the fallen monarch of the forest, he awaited the outcome.
Without knowing why, he began to count. Perhaps he was counting his own wild heartbeats. “One, two, three, four, five.” Would it work? “Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.” Would he be trampled by those hoofs? “Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.” No time to think of that now.
He felt rather than saw, so dense was the cloud of fine snow, that the herd had divided, that the buffaloes were passing in two columns, one to the right, the other to the left of their fallen leader. They were following the manner of their kind as recorded in that story of other days.
“Thank—thank God!” he breathed.
His plane now was, he hoped, quite safe. It was headed toward the herd. Divided, they would pass to right and left of it. They would divide for a fallen comrade. Would they have done the same for an airplane? Who could tell?