Ned had just concluded that the hunter must be a soldier, for his trousers-seams, showing between boot-tops and shirt or coat, bore broad stripes, when he realized also that this chase, like the rest of the chase, was passing his wallow; and that if he did not make himself known he would not be seen. Another minute, and buffalo and rider would be by, and the chances were small that they ever would notice such a small thing as he, behind them. With a spring, out rushed Ned; waving his arms and calling, he ran forward across the prairie. His thoughts and eyes were on the rider—that white man rider. He was regardless of the buffalo, now—but the buffalo proved not regardless of him. Into the very path of the onward scouring chase went Ned, waving and shouting; and veering at sharp tangent the buffalo instantly charged for him. The buffalo’s little tail flicked up, in half-cocked manner, his shaggy head dropped lower, and he made a savage lunge at what he thought was a new enemy. Ned paused not for parley. An enraged buffalo bull coming full tilt won’t listen to talk, and the fact that Ned was only a boy made no difference to this big fellow. In a sideways jump Ned dodged and turned and made for his wallow again. This seemed the thing to do. Now he forgot about the rider and thought about the buffalo. He had small hope of beating him, for a buffalo can run as fast as an ordinary horse and this buffalo was very angry. Ned imagined that the hot breath of the great animal was burning his back—that the hard stubby horns were grazing him there; his legs were weak and his feet heavy; and nervously glancing behind him, as he ran, he stumbled, sprawling head over heels. When he should stop rolling, then what? He stopped, and scrambling for his feet he looked quickly, poised on hands and knees, before he should rise. His next movements depended upon the buffalo. The buffalo had halted, as if surprised. He was almost towering over, so huge he stood; he was surveying Ned, his matted hump high, his bearded hairy head low again, his tongue dripping crimson froth, his red-streaked eye-balls standing out amidst his matted locks, his throat rumbling, his forehoofs flinging the dirt in defiance. As soon as he could debate a little over what had upset his new enemy, he would charge again. Ned, crouched on hands and knees, stared at the buffalo; the buffalo, rumbling and pawing and bleeding, stared at Ned. But the rider—the rider! With rapid thud of hoofs he galloped. “Keep down, lad! Keep down!” he shouted, in clear ringing voice. Ned never forgot how he looked, as with bright yellow hair floating, crimson necktie-ends at his throat streaming, black hat-brim flaring, wide blue eyes in bronzed moustached face blazing, bridle free and revolver levelled, like a whirlwind he passed the great beast—firing as he did so—and now at full speed passing Ned also he leaned, Indian-wise, grasped Ned under the arms and with strong heave hoisted him right up to the saddle.