Now I was not long in making up my mind that I had a first-class
foot-race on my hands--as an Irishman might say--and after running
some distance I looked back and saw the bison were on me at every
jump. Had I only known the nature of bison, which I learned
afterward were not so vicious as buffalo, I could have turned to
the right or left and they would have passed on; but thinking that
they were after me, I got out like a quarter-horse, putting in my
best licks to try to reach a wash-out that I knew of ahead of me.
Thinking that if I only could reach that ditch I might have some
possible show for my life, I lost no time in getting there, but
got right down to business and did the prettiest running I have
ever done in my life. Every time I looked back I saw that the
rushing herd was closer upon me, until they were within a few
feet, and by the time I reached the ditch I fancied that I could
feel the breath from the nostrils of a half dozen bison on the
rear base of my buckskin trousers. Then into the ditch I went,
head-long and into about four feet of water. It seemed to me that
those buffalo were half an hour crossing that ditch, but I stood
perfectly quiet in the water up to my waist until they had all
passed over.
The ditch being deep and the banks perpendicular, I had to wade
the water for some distance up the ditch before I could find a
place where I could climb out.
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