They were all riding together through a belt of timber, the blacks
and the Chinaman being well up with the pack-horses, when suddenly
the blacks burst out with great excitement.
"Buff'lo! Buff'lo!"
Sure enough, a huge blue bull--a regular old patriarch, that had
evidently been hunted out of a herd, and was camping by himself
in the timber--made a rush out of some thick trees, and set off
towards a dense jungle, that could be seen half a mile or so away.
Hugh and Considine were nearest him, each with his rifle ready,
and started after him together, full gallop through the timber. The
old man was evidently anxious to make up for his morning's failure,
and to take Hugh down a peg, for he set a fearful pace through the
trees, grazing one and gliding under the boughs of another as only
a trained bush-rider can. Hugh, coming from the mountains, was no
duffer in timbered country either, and the two of them went at a
merry pace for a while. The bull was puzzled by having two pursuers,
and often in swerving from one or the other would hit a tree with
his huge horns, and fairly bounce off it. He never attempted to
turn, but kept straight on, and they drew on to him in silence,
almost side by side, riding jealously for the first shot. Considine
was on the wrong side, and had to use the carbine on the near side of
his horse; but he was undeniably a good rider, and laughed grimly
as he got first alongside, and, leaning over, prepared to fire.
Then a strange thing happened. Before he could fire, the buffalo
bull tripped on a stump and fell on his knees, causing Considine's
horse to shoot almost past him. As the bull rose again, he sprang
savagely sideways, bringing his huge head up from beneath, and
fairly impaled the horse on his horn. It gave a terrible scream,
and reared over.
The old man never lost his nerve. Almost as he fell he fired down
into the buffalo's shoulder, but the bullet had no effect. Man and
horse were fetched smashing to the ground, the man pinned under the
horse's body. The bull hesitated a second before hurling himself
upon the two; and in that second Hugh jumped from his horse, ran
up, stood over the fallen man, holding out the rifle like a pistol
with the muzzle an inch off the bull's head, and fired. A buffalo's
skull is an inch and a half thick, solid bone, as hard as granite;
but a Martini carbine, sighted for a thousand yards, will pierce
it like paper at short range. The smoke had not cleared away when
the huge beast fell to the ground within two feet of his intended
victims. Hugh pulled Considine from under the horse. The unfortunate
beast struggled to his feet, with blood gushing from a terrible
wound in the belly, ran fifty yards, and fell dead.