The cliff immediately opposite to Dick Varley was a huge projection from the precipice that hemmed in the gorge, a species of cape or promontory several hundred yards wide at the base, and narrowing abruptly to a point.  The sides of this wedge-shaped projection were quite perpendicular—­indeed, in some places the top overhung the base—­and they were at least three hundred feet high.  Broken and jagged rocks, of that peculiarly chaotic character which probably suggested the name to this part of the great American chain, projected from and were scattered all round the cliffs.  Over these the Indians, whose numbers increased every moment, strove to drive the luckless herd of buffaloes that had chanced to fall in their way.  The task was easy.  The unsuspecting animals, of which there were hundreds, rushed in a dense mass upon the cape referred to.  On they came with irresistible impetuosity, bellowing furiously, while their hoofs thundered on the turf with the muffled continuous roar of a distant but mighty cataract; the Indians, meanwhile, urging them on by hideous yells and frantic gestures.

The advance-guard came bounding madly to the edge of the precipice.  Here they stopped short, and gazed affrighted at the gulf below.  It was but for a moment.  The irresistible momentum of the flying mass behind pushed them over.  Down they came, absolutely a living cataract, upon the rocks below.  Some struck on the projecting rocks in the descent, and their bodies were dashed almost in pieces, while their blood spurted out in showers.  Others leaped from rock to rock with awful bounds, until, losing their foothold, they fell headlong; while others descended sheer down into the sweltering mass that lay shattered at the base of the cliffs.

Dick Varley and his dog remained rooted to the rock, as they gazed at the sickening sight, as if petrified.  Scarce fifty of that noble herd of buffaloes escaped the awful leap, but they escaped only to fall before the arrows of their ruthless pursuers.  Dick had often heard of this tendency of the Indians, where buffaloes were very numerous, to drive them over precipices in mere wanton sport and cruelty, but he had never seen it until now, and the sight filled his soul with horror.  It was not until the din and tumult of the perishing herd and the shrill yells of the Indians had almost died away that he turned to quit the spot.  But the instant he did so another shout was raised.  The savages had observed him, and were seen galloping along the cliffs towards the head of the gorge, with the obvious intention of gaining the other side and capturing him.  Dick sprang on Charlie’s back, and the next instant was flying down the valley towards the camp.

He did not, however, fear being overtaken, for the gorge could not be crossed, and the way round the head of it was long and rugged; but he was anxious to alarm the camp as quickly as possible, so that they might have time to call in the more distant trappers and make preparations for defence.