Several groups of buffalo had already been seen on the horizon, but as a red-deer had been shot in a belt of woodland the day before they did not pursue them. The red-deer is very much larger than the prong-horned antelope, and is highly esteemed both for its flesh and its skin, which latter becomes almost like chamois leather when dressed. Notwithstanding this supply of food, the hunters could not resist the temptation to give chase to a herd of about nine buffaloes that came into view as they overtopped an undulation in the plain.
“It’s no use,” cried Dick; “I must go at them!”
Joe himself caught fire from the spirit of his young friend, so calling to Henri to come on and let the pack-horse remain to feed, he dashed away in pursuit. The buffaloes gave one stare of surprise, and then fled as fast as possible. At first it seemed as if such huge, unwieldy carcasses could not run very fast; but in a few minutes they managed to get up a pace that put the horses to their mettle. At first it seemed as if the hunters did not gain; but by degrees they closed with them.
On nearing the herd, the three men diverged from each other and selected their animals. Henri, being short-sighted, naturally singled out the largest; and the largest—also naturally—was a tough old bull. Joe brought down a fat young cow at the first shot, and Dick was equally fortunate. But he well-nigh shot Crusoe, who, just as he was about to fire, rushed in unexpectedly and sprang at the animal’s throat, for which piece of recklessness he was ordered back to watch the pack-horse.
Meanwhile, Henri, by dint of yelling, throwing his arms wildly about, and digging his heels into the sides of his long-legged horse, succeeded in coming close up with the bull, which once or twice turned its clumsy body half round and glared furiously at its pursuer with its small black eyes. Suddenly it stuck out its tail, stopped short, and turned full round. Henri stopped short also. Now, the sticking out of a buffalo’s tail has a peculiar significance which it is well to point out. It serves in a sense, the same purpose to the hunter that the compass does to the mariner—it points out where to go and what to do. When galloping away in ordinary flight, the buffalo carries his tail like ordinary cattle, which indicates that you may push on. When wounded, he lashes it from side to side, or carries it over his back, up in the air; this indicates
