Recoiling from the shock, the buffalo began to chase Jan around the tree. Though large of body, Jan had a decided advantage over his adversary in this sort of a chase, for he could run round close to the body of the tree, while the huge brute was forced to make a circuit. It was simply a question of wind. If the buffalo could run longer than Jan, he would be overtaken and trampled to death, and there seemed a strong probability that such was to be the case. It was a ludicrous sight, in spite of the danger the Dutchman was in, to see him whip round the tree, the flap of his hunting-shirt streaming in the wind, followed by the buffalo, with erected tail, flashing eye, and lowered head. Jan cast longing glances at the little clump of trees a few rods away. If he only could get to them far enough in advance of the buffalo to climb one, he might be safe. But the distance, though short to the eye, was a great deal of ground to go over followed by an infuriated buffalo bull, Jan thought. But he could not hold out much longer and it must be tried. Away he went at his best speed, the buffalo making half the circuit of the tree before he could turn. By this time Jan had gained a hundred feet, and this was every thing to him. Even this was hardly enough, and though he got to the tree and began to climb, the buffalo bumped against it before he had gained the lowest limb, nearly shaking him from his perch. The animal drew back, cast a single glance of his vicious eye at the Dutchman, who had just laid his hand upon the lowest limb, and then!-- Bump! Jan clasped the tree with all his strength, but his feet were swaying in the air above the head of his enemy. In the mean time he was shouting at the top of his voice all sorts of ludicrous appeals for aid from his companions. Ben’s rifle had been loaded long ago, but he dared not use it while they were running round the tree, not knowing but that he might injure Jan in some way. Jules made no effort to aid him. The moment he reached the tree, Ben rushed to the rescue, calling Jules to follow, who did so, his face wrinkled with laughter. Bump! “Vy you no cooms here?” screamed Jan. “Vy you no shoot dis ugly pig? I can’t holt on mooch longer.” Bump! “Dere he pe ag’in,” screamed Jan. “Help! help! Ach, mein cracious! Ven I cooms out here to shoot puffaloes ag’in den I ish von vool, dat ish all. Ach! gootness! Shoot! Vy don’t you shoot!” Ben’s rifle cracked; the buffalo tottered like a tower shaken by an earthquake, then fell to the ground. Jules sent up peal after peal of laughter. “Vat you laugh at?” said Jan, looking down from the tree. “At _you_, you great blunderhead,” replied Jules. “_Vy_ you laugh at _me_?” “Because I like to see a Dutchman run.” “Ish he teat?” said Jan, looking at Ben. “Dead as a pickled fish,” said Ben. “You may come down.”