The heavy rifles cracked almost simultaneously, Chet’s shot brought a vigorous young bull to his knees; but Dig missed his quarry. He came up and put a ball into Chet’s kill, however, while Chet himself put the third bullet through the wounded beast’s vitals. “Come on! come on!” yelled Chet, excitedly, starting Hero on the jump after the part of the herd that was scrambling through the brook. Dig was after him at once. The boys spread out and their horses took the water-jump splendidly. The mounts were as wildly excited as their masters. The big bull that had inspired Chet and Dig with such enthusiasm was in the lead. This was a piece of luck that delighted the young trailers. “We’ve got him! we’ve got him!” cried Digby. “Don’t holler—till—you’re out—of the—woods!” panted Chet. “Goodness! that big beast looks as though he could go right through a brick wall. Suppose he turns on us?” “Then you’ll see this boy take to his heels,” returned Dig, with conviction. They did not follow the buffaloes too closely; and they kept on the water side of them, yet near enough so that the frightened animals did not fancy turning to run back along the foot of the southern wall of the valley. The monster buffalo, head down and whip-like tail twirling, thundered straight on. The thicket of thorny trees was ahead. He couldn’t get through that, and he knew it. Towards the brook, where was easy escape, was likewise a figure on horseback, waving both hands. That was Dig. The big buffalo did not want to go that way. He wheeled and there, right in front of him, was the welcome opening of the grassy gulch. In a moment he galloped into it. After him galloped seven of the herd—all that had followed him in the stampede. “Hurrah! We’ve got ’em!” shrieked Dig, spurring Poke up the hill. “Keep right before the mouth of that pocket—but outside,” cried Chet, throwing himself from the saddle, with the axe in his hand. “Keep Poke moving. Don’t let the beasts catch you afoot. If they charge back on us, try to scare them into the gulch again.” “Hot chance I’d have to do that,” muttered Dig. But he held his ground while Chet struck steel to timber with much vigour. Cutting down a tree of this size was no easy task, and well the boy knew it; but he was determined to shut the buffaloes into the pocket in the hill. Once the big tree was felled across the mouth of the gulch he was very sure the herd would be secure. Chet was no poor woodsman. He could swing an axe as well as a full-grown man, for his father owned a wood-lot near the Silent Sue mine, and Chet for two years had cut and sledded down to the Havens house the winter’s wood. But to hammer at this big tree trunk with a short-handled hatchet was a more difficult task. Dig had to laugh at him, despite the anxiety they both felt about the buffaloes. “Cricky, Chet! why don’t you use your pocketknife?” he demanded. “You’d get it down just as quick.”