fired off his gun by accident straight into the face of the sun,
the tail went up and the bull began to growl. The ferocious aspect of
the creature alarmed the artist, but he had made up his mind to kill it,
so he attempted to re-load, as Pemberton had done. He succeeded, and,
as he was about to turn his attention again to the bull, he observed one
of the men belonging to the fort making towards him. This man saw and
knew the artist's danger, and meant to warn him, but his horse
unfortunately put one of its feet into a hole, and sent him flying head
over heels through the air. Heywood was now so close to the bull that
he had to prepare for another shot.

The horse he rode was a thoroughly good buffalo-runner. It knew the
dangerous character of the bull, if its rider did not, and kept its eye
watchfully upon it. At last the bull lost patience, and, suddenly
wheeling round, dashed at the horse, but the trained animal sprang
nimbly to one side, and got out of the way. Heywood was all but thrown.
He clutched the mane, however, and held on. The bull then continued
its flight.

Determined not to be caught in this way again, the artist seized the
reins, and ran the horse close alongside of the buffalo, whose tail was
now as stiff as a poker. Once more the bull turned suddenly round.
Heywood pulled the reins violently, thus confusing his steed which ran
straight against the buffalo's big hairy forehead. It was stopped as
violently as if it had run against the side of a house. But poor
Heywood was not stopped. He left the saddle like a rocket, flew right
over the bull's back, came down on his face, ploughed up the land with
his nose--and learned a lesson from experience!

Fortunately the spot, on which he fell, happened to be one of those soft
muddy places, in which the buffaloes are fond of rolling their huge
bodies, in the heat of summer, so that, with the exception of a bruised
and dirty face, and badly soiled clothes, the bold artist was none the
worse for his adventure.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

WINTER--SLEEPING IN THE SNOW--A NIGHT ALARM.

Summer passed away, autumn passed away, and winter came. So did
Christmas, and so did Jasper's marriage-day.

Now the reader must understand that there is a wonderful difference
between the winter in that part of the North American wilderness called
Rupert's land, and winter in our own happy island.

Winter out there is from six to eight months long. The snow varies fr