They went out and at once found themselves in a wood, consisting entirely of oak trees.
“We’ll only just have to cross the wood, and we’ll be there,” said the lady, beckoning to the pilot to go on, for she did not want to show him her back.
“I shouldn’t wonder if there were a bull somewhere about,” said the pilot, who had all his wits about him.
“Surely you aren’t afraid of a bull?” replied the lady.
“We’ll see,” answered the pilot.
They walked across stony hillocks, tree-roots, moors and fells, clearings and deep recesses, but Victor could not help turning round every now and then to see whether she was following him, for he could not hear her footsteps. And even when he had turned round and had her right before his eyes he had to look very hard, for her green and yellow dress made her almost invisible.
At last they came to an open space, and when Victor had reached the centre of the clearing, there was the bull; it was just as if it had stood there all the time waiting for him. It was jet black, with a white star in the middle of its forehead, and the corners of its eyes were blood-red.
Escape was impossible; there was nothing for it but to fight. Victor glanced at the ground and behold! there lay a stout cudgel, newly cut. He seized it and took up his position.
“You or I!” he shouted. “Come on! One—two—three!” The fight began. The bull backed like a steam-boat, smoke came through its nostrils, it moved its tail like a propeller, and then came on at full speed.
The cudgel flashed through the air and with a sound like a shot hit the bull right between the eyes. Victor sprang aside, and the bull dashed past him. Then everything seemed to change, and Victor, terrified, saw the monster make for the border of the wood, from whence his sweetheart, in a light summer dress, emerged to meet him.