And we won. We pushed,
twisted, spurred our way through the ranks of a hundred thousand bison.
Jostling, cursing the brute swarm, we crowded our horses against the
press, and lo! of a sudden we reined up on open ground--the bison, like
a nightmare, were gone. Off in the gloom to one side of us a myriad of
hoofs beat the earth, the hoarse coughings continued, the animal odor
exhaled--but it was no longer a force to be reckoned with. We were free.
We had outflanked the herd.
[Illustration: A WAR FOR THE OPEN ROAD AGAINST AN ENEMY WHOSE ONLY
WEAPON WAS HIS UNSWERVING BULK.
_Page 256._]
CHAPTER XX.
THE MOUTH OF SAGE CREEK.
With that opposing force behind us, we bore away across the shrouded
benches, straight for the mouth of Sage Creek. What method we would
pursue when we got there was not altogether clear to me, and the same
thing evidently bothered Piegan, for, after a long interval, he
addressed himself pointedly to MacRae.
"We ought t' hit the river in an hour or so," he said. "It's time we
figured on how we're goin' t' work, eh? I wish t' the Lord it was
daylight."
"So do I," MacRae moodily responded. "For that matter, it won't be long.
I've been thinking that the best way would be to get down on the flat at
the north of the creek and _cache_ our horses in the timber.
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