The buffalo dashed forward for some paces, when, not seeing me in front, it turned up its eyes and espied me a few feet only above its head; on this it made a furious charge at the tree, which shook so that I feared it would be uprooted or broken off by the force of its blows.
I shouted to Pat to make a diversion in my favour.
“I’ll do it if I have the chance,” he answered; “but why don’t you shoot the baste?”
I told him that I had lost my powder-horn, and that my rifle was unloaded.
All this time the buffalo was going round and round the tree, charging at it, now on one side, now on the other. This it continued doing for what appeared to me a very long time.
Sometimes it retired to a short distance, but it was to return again with its rage seemingly increased.
The tree, which was but a large sapling, trembled to the very roots, and I had to hold on tightly to escape being shaken off.
I entreated Pat to shout, and try to attract the attention of the savage brute.
At last I saw him descending from his tree, and approaching cautiously, in an attitude which showed that he was ready at any moment to beat a rapid retreat. As he got nearer, he began to shout at the top of his voice, clapping his hands. Then he took out a red handkerchief and waved it. The buffalo did not at first observe him, but as soon as it caught sight of the red handkerchief, with a loud bellow it went charging my companion at headlong speed, with its horns close to the ground.
Pat lost not a moment in scampering off, but he had only just time to reach the tree, and to climb up onto the bough from which he had descended, when the buffalo’s horns struck the trunk just below his feet.