Death was immi-
nent for them both. As the mad rush con-
tinued, every flash displayed heaps of bison in
death struggle under the hoofs of their com-
panions.
From time to time Antoine crossed himself
and whispered a prayer to the Virgin; and
again he spoke to his horse after the fashion
of an Indian:
"Be brave, be strong, my horse! If we sur-
vive this trial, you shall have great honor!"
The stampede continued until they reached
the bottom lands, and, like a rushing stream,
their course was turned aside by the steep bank
of a creek or small river. Then they moved
more slowly in wide sweeps or circles, until the
storm ceased, and the exhausted hunter, still
in his saddle, took some snatches of sleep.
When he awoke and looked about him again
it was morning. The herd had entered the
strip of timber which lay on both sides of the
river, and it was here that Antoine conceived
his first distinct hope of saving himself.
"Waw, waw, waw!" was the hoarse cry
that came to his ears, apparently from a human
being in distress.
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