Spill of blood he had not wanted.
But he had not been able to avoid it; and mounting again with close-shut jaw and smoldering eye, he galloped to the north.
Kentuck snorted; the pursuing wolves shied off in the grass; the pale sun began to slant westward.

The cold iron stirrups froze and cut the hunter's bootless feet.
When once more he came hounding the buffalo, they were considerably winded.

Short-tufted tails, raised stiffly, gave warning.

Snorts, like puffs of escaping steam, and deep grunts from cavernous chests evinced anger and impatience that might, at any moment, bring the herd to a defiant stand.
He whizzed the shortened noose over the head of a calf that was laboring painfully to keep up, and had slipped down, when a mighty grunt told him of peril.

Never looking to see whence it came, he sprang into the saddle.