"They are aching to get at us," was Dan's comment. "And just for the fun of killing us, too, since they won't touch meat."
"We're in a serious dilemma, Dan," I answered. "We can't stay here forever."
"Neither can the bulls."
"But some of them may keep coming and going, and thus starve us out."
"No; I think if they once make a move to leave, they'll go in a bunch."
After this several hours went by, and still the bulls stayed where they were. Then came a sudden clatter of ponies' hoofs on the road and the yells of half a dozen natives.
"The Tagals are coming now, beyond a doubt," I said.
"And the bulls are running for it," answered Dan, and he was right; at the first cries from the natives the buffalo bulls scampered off like frightened deer, and that was the last we saw of them.
We had scarcely time to draw up into the topmost branches of the mahoganies when the pony riders put in an appearance. Six short, wicked-looking Tagals rode the animals.
A shout went up when the carcass of the dead bull was discovered. A jabbering in a native dialect followed, and two Tagals left, presumably to find out what had become of the rest of the
