Fortunately they were not far from shelter. Roger had before been, inclined to lament the fact that the mass of dead grass did not allow them to creep closer to the game, but he changed his mind now, when every yard counted against them.
Once Roger caught his foot somehow, and fell flat. Dick seemed to know it, although his back was turned to his chum at the time, for he instantly stopped in his headlong rush and whirled around. It was his intention to stand by his comrade, come what would, to divert, if necessary, the attention of the charging animal until such time as Roger could gain his feet.
It turned out that the sacrifice was not needed, for, nimble as a cat, Roger gained his feet like a flash, and, putting on a fresh spurt, succeeded in reaching the outermost trees as soon as Dick.
They were none too soon. The galloping buffalo was close at their heels. Had the friendly timber been ten paces further off there might have been a different story to tell.
Each boy chose a tree behind which he tried to shield himself. The bull rushed past, but immediately came to a halt, turned and started to chase Roger around the tree which he had taken for a guard.
“Faster, Roger, faster!” called Dick, alarmed lest the animal overtake the boy.
This shout caused the bull to take notice of his other enemy, and he plunged directly toward Dick, who was compelled to make circles around his shelter at a lively pace, in order to keep from being impaled on those wicked-looking short black horns.
Having the inside track the boy of course was given an advantage, but it seemed as though that tough old monster would never tire. He kept on circling the tree, making savage prods at the legs of his intended quarry whenever Dick lagged a little, or, slipping, fell back a step or so.
Roger started just then to give tongue at the top of his voice, thinking that it was not altogether fair to have the game so one-sided. His generous intention was to attract the animal once more toward himself; and in this he fully succeeded.