The whole troop uttered the most frightful roars, beat the ground with their feet, and butted with their horns.

Our brave dogs were not intimidated, but marched straight upon the enemy, and, falling on a young buffalo that had strayed before the rest, seized it by the ears.
The creature began to bellow, and struggle to escape; its mother ran to its assistance, and, with her, the whole herd.

At that moment,--I tremble as I write it, I gave the signal to my brave Jack, who behaved with admirable coolness, and at the same moment we fired on the herd.
The effect was wonderful: they paused a moment, and then, even before the smoke was dissipated, took to flight with incredible rapidity, forded the river, and were soon out of sight.

My dogs still held their prize, and the mother, though wounded by our shot, tore up the ground in her fury, and was advancing on the dogs to destroy them; but I stepped forward, and discharging a pistol between the horns, put an end to her life.
We began to breathe.

We had looked death in the face,--a most horrible death; and thanked God for our preservation.