The hunters resolved, therefore, that two of them should remain on horseback--so as to take the animals upon the "run"-- while the third was to endeavour to "approach" them on foot, and get a sure shot before they should start off, taking his chance of joining in the chase afterwards.

The latter duty was assigned to Basil; who, after dismounting from his horse, and looking to his trusty rifle, commenced creeping down into the valley.

Lucien and Francois--still in their saddles--remained upon the ridge.
Basil reached the grove of willows without being observed; and, stealing silently through, found himself within less than fifty paces of several of the herd.

They were still rushing to and fro, raising the dust in clouds, roaring furiously, parting from each other, and then meeting head to head with such force that each time their skulls cracked as though both had been broken by the terrible concussion.

The hunter waited until one of the largest, and apparently the whitest of them, came very near; and then, taking aim behind the fore-shoulder, fired.
The huge animal was seen to tumble over; while the others, hearing the shot, or scenting the presence of an enemy, immediately left off their contest; and, breaking through the willows, scrambled up the ridge toward the open prairie.
Without waiting to look after the one that he had fired at, Basil ran toward his horse--which, at his call, was already galloping to meet him.
Francois and Lucien were now in pursuit of the flying herd; and Basil, hastily mounting, followed after.