“He was certainly willing to horn all of us,” answered Jack.
“Yes, and he’s still willing,” came from Andy as he looked downward. “Hi! Get out of there!” he yelled, shaking his fist at the bull. But this only made the beast bellow louder than ever. He switched his tail and shook his head from side to side and then glared viciously at the four boys.
“We’re in a pickle, if you ask me,” declared Fred, after a pause during which the boys tried to regain their breath. “If that bull doesn’t go away, how are we going to get back to the train?”
“Is that a question or a riddle?” queried Andy. “If it’s a riddle, I give it up. This is sure a new sort of Fourth of July celebration.”
“If we only had a few rocks to throw at the bull perhaps we could chase him away,” suggested Fred.
“Not that bull!” answered Jack. “He’s a real dyed-in-the-wool monarch of the pasture. Just look at him! Why, he looks as if he was thinking he might butt down the tree and get at us that way!”
The boys were certainly in a quandary. They had not only to act, but to act quickly. Any moment they expected to hear the whistle of the train preparatory to continuing the journey westward.
“We’ll be in a fine pickle if that train goes off,” groaned Andy.
“Yes, and what will dad think when he finds us missing?” added his twin.
The tree the boys had climbed was a short, stocky affair, and some of its branches intertwined with those of another tree standing directly on the bank of the stream along which the lads had been walking.