Now it was Roger who danced a tune that was far from being a stately minuet. Lively boy that he was, that old rascal of a buffalo bull put him to his best paces in order to keep out of danger.
Roger was hard to subdue even at such a time as this. It would have seemed to be the part of wisdom to conserve every atom of his breath for the work before him, yet he was continually bursting out with shouts to his comrade.
“Did you ever see anything so mad as he is, Dick?” he called.
“Be careful, Roger; he almost got you that time, when he drove his head against the tree. It may seem like a frolic to you, but the danger is there all the same!”
“It’s the greatest race I ever had, barring none!” gasped the other, as he continued to dodge the horns that were forever trying to catch him off his guard.
“Better throw your gun away, for it’s likely to trip you!” advised Dick; and hardly had the words escaped his lips than there came another sudden change of tactics on the part of the charging bull, with Dick again doing the dodging.
Roger took this occasion to change his tree, selecting one that offered a little better chance for making a speedy circuit, for of course he anticipated soon coaxing the infuriated animal to turn back on him.
There had been another reason for his change of base which was made apparent a little later on. Dick was making splendid time around that trunk. He also managed to keep a close watch upon his shaggy antagonist, and was thus able to anticipate the latter when, with a sudden stop and a whirl the bull sought to catch him napping and come up in the rear.
“Dick, I’ve got a plan!” cried Roger.
“Tell me what it is then,” panted the other, plainly distressed for want of breath, for the constant struggle to avoid the horns of the bull was telling on him.