but there, in the lake, he saw a wonderful sight: the buffaloes!

There they were, hundreds and hundreds of them, risen out of the lake. He could not see the surface any more. Instead, he saw a lake of swaying bodies, and heads that shook; and on their horns and tossing heads the water gleamed in the moonlight, as he had seen it in his dreams.

Little Wolf felt the blood run along his body. He clutched at the prairie-grass, crushing it in his hot hands where the pulses throbbed. Through his staring eyeballs he drank in the great vision. And he did not only drink it with his eyes: he drank it also with his ears and with his nose; for his ears were filled with the trampling and snorting of the herd, and the flash of the water as they moved it with their feet; and his nose drank the sharp, moist smell of the great beasts as they crowded upon each other; the smell which the wolves know well when it comes dropping down the wind.

Little Wolf never knew what came to him, nor what spirit of the wild it was which whispered in his ear; but suddenly he leaped to his feet and loosed a ringing cry out of his throat. And when he cried, he flung his arms above his head; and then he cried again.

At the first cry, a shiver passed through the herd, like an electric thrill. As if they were one beast, the buffaloes threw up their heads and listened, absolutely still. They saw, in the white light of the moon, a little wild Indian boy above the margin of the lake, who made swift motions with his arms. He seemed to speak with his arms -to talk buffalo talk with the ripple of his muscles and the snatch of his fingers in the air! They had never seen such a thing before. Their little eyes fastened upon it excitedly, and shot out sparks of light. And when it cried again, there swept through the stillness of the herd a stir, a movement, a ripple which you could see. And the ripple became a wave, and the wave a billow. It was a billow of buffaloes, which, beginning on the outskirts of the herd, broke along the margin of the lake in a terrifying roar.

It was a wonderful sound, that roar of the buffaloes on the edge of a stampede. It rolled far out upon the prairie in the hollow silence of the night. Wandering wolves caught it, threw their long noses to the moon, and howled an answering

cry.

It was the hour when, on the lonely prairie lands, the feet of the wild folk pad softly, and sound carries to an immense distance. But the ears it might have warned-the quick ears of Assiniboin braves on the war-path-did not catch it, being too far off upon the northern trail.

On moccasins, noiseless as the padded feet of the wolves, as grim, and almost more cruel, these painted warriors were stealthily approaching the camp of Little Wolf's people, determined to wipe it out ere the dog-star faded in the dawn.

But now the buffaloes had received the strange message which the Indian boy waved to them from the margin of the lake. He himself did not understand it. He cried to the buffaloes because he could not help it; because he loved them as the creatures of his dreams. But when he saw and heard their answer; when they came surging out of the lake like a mighty flood, bellowing and stamping and tossing their heads, a wild excitement possessed him, and, for the first time in his life, he knew the meaning of fear!

Swift as one of the wolves themselves, he darted toward his pony. To unhobble it and leap upon its back took but a moment. Then he was off, riding for his life!

Behind him came the terrible sound of the buffaloes as they swept out of the lake. He threw a quick glance behind to see which way they took. He saw a dark surging mass throw itself out upon the prairie and come on at a gallop, heading due north.

Little Wolf turned his pony's head slightly westward so as to escape the middle rush of the herd. If once it surrounded him on all sides, he did not know what might happen. If his pony had been fresh, he could have easily outstripped the buffaloes, but after a long day the animal was tired, and was going at half his usual speed. Little Wolf threw a quick glance over his shoulder. The buffaloes were gaining! He cried to his pony, little, short cries that made a wild note in the night.

Soon, as they swept along, the leaders of the left flank of the herd drew so close that he could hear the snorting sound of their breath. Then they were abreast of him, and the pony and the buffaloes were galloping side by side. Yet they did nothing to him. They did not seem to have any other desire but to gallop on into the night.

Soon Little Wolf was completely surrounded by the buffaloes. In front, behind, on both sides, he saw a heaving mass of buffaloes that billowed like the sea. Again, as when he had cried beside the lake, a wild feeling of excitement seized him, and he felt the blood stir along his scalp. And once again he cried aloud, flinging his arms above his head, a long, ringing cry. And the buffaloes replied, bellowing a wild answer that rolled like thunder far along the plains.

North the great gallop swept. Down the hollows, over the swells of the prairie, below the lonely ridges with the piles of stones where the

Indians leave their dead; crashing through the alder thickets beside the creeks; through the shallow creeks themselves, churning the water into a muddy foam, the mighty herd rolled on its way, and the thunder of its coming spread terror far and wide in the hearts of all lesser prairie

folk.

not see very clearly, because of the buffaloes in front of him; but it looked like a band of Indians. They were not mounted, but were running swiftly on foot, as if to regain their ponies. At first, Little Wolf thought they were his own people, as he knew, by the outline of the country, that the

camp could not be far off. But then he saw that they were not running toward the camp, but away from it. And then very swiftly, the thing flashed upon him. They were Assiniboins, the deadly enemies of his tribe, and they must have left their ponies some distance off, in order to approach the camp unseen through the long grass, and attack it in its sleep!

Little Wolf knew well that, unless they reached their ponies in time, the buffaloes would cut off their retreat. Once that great herd hurled itself upon them, nothing could save them from being trampled to death. He cried shrilly, hoping that it would excite the buffaloes even more. He saw the Indians making desperate efforts to escape. The buffaloes seemed as if they answered to his cries. They bore down upon the fleeing Indians at a terrible gallop, and, in spite of the long distance they had come, never slackened speed. One by one the Indians were overtaken, knocked down, and trampled underfoot. The herd passed pitilessly over their prostrate bodies.

Suddenly, Little Wolf's pony went down. He leaped clear as the animal fell. Fortunately, by this time, they were on the extreme outskirts of the herd, and before Little Wolf could get to his fallen pony again, the last buffalo had passed.

The antelopes were off like the wind; the badgers and coyotes slunk into their holes. Even the wolves took warning, vanishing shadow-like along the hollows east and west, so as to be well out of the way.

Little Wolf was beside himself with excitement and joy. It seemed as if he, too, were a member of the herd, as if the buffaloes had adopted him and made him their own.

Suddenly he saw something ahead. He could

OVER the blazing camp-fires, when the wind rises and moans eerily through the thickets of juniper and fir, they still speak of the great lake to the south where the buffaloes begin; but now they always add the name of Little Wolf to the legend, -the boy who led the buffaloes, and saved his tribe.