Paul did, and in great shape. He arrived at the lonesome tree in time to scramble up amidst its low-hanging branches before the furious buffalo came lumbering along, foam flecking each corner of his mouth. "Hold up, Lanky!" cried Frank. "What's the next thing on the program?" asked the impetuous one, pulling in his rearing steed and holding the bridle as tight as he could--one run-away pony was surely sufficient without having the others take their leave. "Chase Paul's nag and fetch him back." Frank had assumed charge of the situation; for he was accustomed to being the captain in baseball and football games, his companions gladly looking to him for leadership. "You'll find a way to get Paul out of his fix, will you, Frank? All right, here goes for a pony chase!" With that Lanky was off on the jump. He never even bothered to ask Frank how he meant to maneuver, in order to get Paul out of the bison's reach. When Frank next turned his attention to the strange scene before him he found that Paul, having recovered his breath, was taking things in a matter-of-fact way that rather amused his chum. Leaning down from his safe perch he was talking to his guard. The buffalo bull was staring up at his prisoner in the tree with those small but wicked-looking eyes and at certain points in Paul's harangue Frank was highly amused to see the animal scrape the ground violently with a fore hoof, as if he did not agree with the argument at all. "Looks as if the old scamp might be saying," chuckled Frank, "'you just drop down here once, and I'll show you how I can polish you off slicker than anything you ever saw. Try me, that's all.'" "Hey! Frank!" called out the boy up in the tree, noticing for the first time that his chum had drawn somewhat closer and was holding in his prancing and snorting pony with a firm hand. "All right, Paul. You sure did climb some that time!" "Well, anybody would be apt to, with those black horns right behind him," the other retorted in self-defense. "They say a miss is as good as a mile, and you did have a close shave." "But how'm I going to get out of this scrape? That's what's bothering me!" "Forget it, and trust to your Dutch uncle to hatch up a scheme to fool old Woolly Head. Now listen, and I'll unfold the plan." "Shoot!" "Notice that Lanky's galloped after your run-away pony?" "That's mighty fine of him," ventured Paul. "I'd begun to believe I'd have to do considerable hiking before landing in camp again; or else double-up with one of you fellows. Well, what's next?" "I'm going to lure that bison of yours off by his lonesome, if I can fix things right." "Sounds good to me," came the reply. "But first of all, don't denominate this _shaggy_ monster as _my_ property. I don't claim to own a solitary share in him hair, hide, or horns. He belongs to Buffalo Smith; though I'd like to convert him into tough steaks, if only I had a rifle handy."