The whole troop joined in the headlong chase,
some of the rangers without hats or caps, their hair flying about their ears, and others with handkerchiefs tied round their heads.
The buffaloes, which had been calmly ruminating among the herbage, heaved up their huge forms,
gazed for a moment at the tempest that came scouring down the meadow, then turned and took to heavy, rolling flight.
They were soon overtaken; the promiscuous throng were pressed together by the contracting sides of the valley,
and away they went, pellmell, hurry-skurry, wild buffalo, wild horse, wild huntsman,
with clang and clatter, and whoop and halloo, that made the forests ring.
At length the buffaloes turned into a green brake, on the river bank,
while the horses dashed up a narrow defile of the hills, with their pursuers close to their heels.
Beatte passed several of them, having fixed his eye upon a fine Pawnee horse that had his ears slit and saddle marks upon his back.
He pressed him gallantly, but lost him in the woods.
Among the wild horses was a fine black mare, which in scrambling up the defile tripped and fell.
A young ranger sprang from his horse and seized her by the mane and muzzle.
Another ranger dismounted and came to his assistance.