also. Guns puffed little clouds, which mingled with the greater cloud of snow.
Here and there were lying buffalo carcasses, reddening the snow. The captain and Sha-ha-ka, and then Peter and York, began to pass some, and the blood-stains were frequent. Before, other buffalo were staggering, or whirling and charging. Indians on their ponies dodged, and plied their arrows. Peter glimpsed One-eyed Cruzatte, and Chaboneau—they could hardly be told from the Indians, so cleverly they managed their ponies. Sergeant Pryor had been thrown, and was running afoot, a great bull after him. Ah!
Chief Sha-ha-ka whooped shrilly, and dropped his buffalo-robe about his thighs. Captain Clark dropped his, and laid arrow on bow. Their ponies quickened, as if understanding.
"Gwan, you hoss! Gwan!" implored York, hammering his black mount. The spotted pony also leaped eagerly.
With a loud shout Captain Clark charged straight at Sergeant Pryor's bull. The gray horse bore him close alongside, on the right—the proper place. When even with the bull the captain drew bow, clear from hand to shoulder, loosed string—and the arrow, swifter than sight, buried to the feathers just back of the bull's foreleg. The stung bull jumped and whirled; on raced the gray horse, and wheeled; the bull, his head down, lunged for him—and the gray horse sprang aside—the bull forged past, the captain was ready with another
