Joe leaped from the wagon, cradled the dog in his arms, handed him up to Emma, and helped his exhausted son. He cracked the bull whip over both mules and gave them free rein. "Hi-eee! Get up there!" The mules sprang forward, jerking their traces tight, and the whip cracked over them again. They broke into a wild gallop while the wagon jolted over some unseen obstacle. Joe braced his feet and shouted to Emma, "Get in back!" She slid over the seat into the wagon box, and crouched down, drawing the children close to her while Joe cracked his whip again. He breathed a silent prayer as he did so. Though he knew nothing about buffalo stampedes, he had seen cattle run wild. Surely this must be worse. Then the mules needed no whipping, for the first of the buffalo were in sight. Up a knoll they surged, and down the other side. Tightly packed, those in front could not have turned if they would, for those in back forced them on. A flowing, brown sea of beasts, the noise of their hoofs drowned all other noises and the very earth seemed to shake. The mules were racing for their lives now, and they knew it. Curbing them not at all and letting them choose their own course, Joe risked one sidewise glance at the stampeding herd. There were a vast number of buffalo, Joe could not even guess how many, and they were going to cross the Oregon Trail. Above the thunder of their hoofs Joe heard Tad's scream, "Pa!" "What?" Joe roared back. "Can I use the rifle?" "Yes!" Some great and terrible thing, some mighty force, bumped the wagon and sent it slewing sidewise. Joe slanted the reins forward, as though by so doing he might give the mules more speed, and willed wings onto their hoofs. He heard the rifle's spiteful crack. Then the mules slowed of their own accord and he knew they were safe, but by a very narrow margin. The wagon had actually been bumped by one of the running buffalo. Joe drew the panting mules to a halt and looked back to see the great herd still running. "Got one!" Tad gloated. "Got one and there it lays!" "You were a long time shooting," Joe complained. "Shucks, didn't want to shoot one out of the middle. The rest would have pounded it to bits. I wanted to get one of the rear-most so we'd have somethin' to eat." Joe turned to look at his son with surprise and admiration. "That was right good thinking!" Pale and shaken, Emma took her place on the seat beside Joe. Barbara wiped her face with a handkerchief. Too young to appreciate the danger they had avoided, the younger children stood with open mouths, staring at the fleeing buffalo. Joe squeezed Emma's hand. "What on earth could have brought that on?" she gasped. "I don't know. Maybe hunters started the herd and it just didn't stop." "How terribly close!" "Too close!" Tad asked eagerly, "Can I take the rifle and go see my buffalo, Pa?" "Go ahead."