Then a strange thing happened. Before he could fire, the buffalo
bull tripped on a stump and fell on his knees, causing Considine's
horse to shoot almost past him. As the bull rose again, he sprang
savagely sideways, bringing his huge head up from beneath, and
fairly impaled the horse on his horn. It gave a terrible scream,
and reared over.
The old man never lost his nerve. Almost as he fell he fired down
into the buffalo's shoulder, but the bullet had no effect. Man and
horse were fetched smashing to the ground, the man pinned under the
horse's body. The bull hesitated a second before hurling himself
upon the two; and in that second Hugh jumped from his horse, ran
up, stood over the fallen man, holding out the rifle like a pistol
with the muzzle an inch off the bull's head, and fired. A buffalo's
skull is an inch and a half thick, solid bone, as hard as granite;
but a Martini carbine, sighted for a thousand yards, will pierce
it like paper at short range. The smoke had not cleared away when
the huge beast fell to the ground within two feet of his intended
victims. Hugh pulled Considine from under the horse. The unfortunate
beast struggled to his feet, with blood gushing from a terrible
wound in the belly, ran fifty yards, and fell dead.
The old man looked round him in silence.
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