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To shout and wave at those crazy hunters and order them to quit their pursuit was useless. They didn’t see and they couldn’t hear; at least, they did not seem to understand. Panic-stricken, the buffaloes came straight on. Off to the side Lew Simpson and Wild Bill and little Billy and companions were shooting rapidly; the stranger hunters were shooting, behind; and now the reinforcements from the train were shooting and yelling, hoping to split the herd. Some of the buffaloes staggered and fell; others never hesitated or turned, but forged along as if blind and deaf. One enormous old bull seemed to bear a charmed life; he galloped right through the skirmish line; and the next thing that Davy, as excited as anybody, knew, the bull sighted him, and charged him.

Davy found himself apparently all alone with the big bull. He did not need to turn his mule; his mule turned of its own accord, and away they raced. Davy was vaguely conscious of shouts and shots and the frenzied leaps of his frightened mule, which was heading back to the wagon train. Davy did not know that he was doing right, to lead the angry bull into the train; he tugged in vain at his mule’s bit, and could not make the slightest impression. Then, down pitched the mule, as if he had thrust his foot into a hole; and the ground flew up and struck Davy on the ear. In a long slide he went scraping on ear and shoulder, before he could stagger to his feet.