Doris had found her uncle lying, fully dressed, upon the bed, covered with a gay patchwork quilt, and looking worried and feverish. She succeeded in arranging his pillows and putting the room to rights before the arrival of the tray; and while Stella deftly helped the old man to take some nourishment, Doris prudently closed both doors and telephoned to her mother.
“There! she’ll see that he’s taken care of properly, if he is ‘queer as Dick’s hat-band,’ as Grandma says,” observed his niece. “She’s always saying that ‘for a man to live alone as he does and cook his own vittles is flyin’ in the face of Providence,’ and she ‘hasn’t no manner of doubt that Silas’ll be found dead in his bed, some fine morning.’ Well, I hope not, I’m sure! Now we must go right away and find Cynthia; no telling what mischief she’s up to, by this time.”
“Or the bull, either,” thought Yellow Star; but she said nothing, for she knew her friend’s weakness. In the excitement of taking care of Uncle Si, his niece had forgotten all about the bull. If not, Stella knew well that poor Cynthia would be left to her fate, so far as timid Doris was concerned. Why, even the most harmless cow that ever lowed would send her flying from the huckleberry pasture, and folks said the Wolcott bull was dangerous.
So only one of the girls kept a sharp lookout as they passed the open barn-yard gate and crossed the pasture toward Wolcott’s Woods. On its distant verge, a fleck of scarlet showed plainly—Cynthia’s old red cape. And—yes! A lumbering, dark shape had already started leisurely in pursuit of the scarlet fleck.
Stella saw the bull first, and walked on faster. Then Doris saw, grew white as a sheet and instantly turned to run, oblivious of the fact that Taurus had his back toward them, and his eye too evidently upon Cynthia.
“Help! help!” she screamed, as she fled; but there was neither house nor man within half a mile.
Stella resolutely advanced, keeping close to the wire fence that separated the big pasture from their much-loved woods. Cynthia had discovered her danger and was running gallantly, but had not thought to drop her red cape. And she had been caught in the open field, far from fence or tree. Sir Walter had left her side, and was barking hoarsely and making little ineffectual dashes at the bull, that, together with her headlong flight, merely served to provoke his curiosity into wrath. Giving a terrifying bellow, he set off at full speed.
Yellow Star had seen much of wild Texas cattle at the agency, where they are issued to the Indians “on the hoof,” as a monthly ration. Furthermore, Sir Walter had long since learned to obey the girl from Dakota as he never dreamed of obeying his impetuous little mistress. Her flute-like whistle was enough to bring him galloping to her side. Cynthia, too, turned half-way toward her at the sound, stumbled and fell at full length.