Mike and I, though good horsemen, were but little accustomed to the Indian weapons; and although we did our best, many of the buffalo at which we rode either escaped being wounded, or galloped off with our arrows sticking in their bodies.  We each of us, however, managed to kill an animal, and were galloping on, closely following one of the principal hunters, when a huge bull, after which the Indian was riding, turned suddenly round, and with its head to the ground rushed madly at him.  His horse for a moment stood stock-still, watching the buffalo, while the Indian shot his arrow.  It struck the animal on the neck, but failed to kill it.  I expected that the next moment I should see both horse and rider rolling on the ground; but the well-trained steed sprang nimbly on one side, and the now infuriated buffalo dashed towards Mike and me.  I shot my last arrow, but it glanced off the skull of the creature, which now came towards me, looking the picture of savageness.