"It is the bull I think of." "Will he meet the canoes, or will he face the three on the island? The white man sees the canoes; he waves them to go back, but they smell meat; they keep on." "What is this? He points his gun at them. They stop; they turn back."
"A pity," said one of the officers, with a grin. "We should have seen sport."
"But the sport is not over," said the other. "I back the bull. Remember how he put you to flight, my friend. What is the meaning of this, old man?"—this to a hunter.
"Surely, O great one, it means one thing. The white man is afraid the canoes would draw the bull away. He wishes the bull to land—to attack him."
"More fool he, ay, my friend," said the officer, with a sneer.
"One of the men on the island is pointing," said Compton, who had taken up the glasses again. "I see something in the water where the canoe went down."
"I said it," shouted the old black; "the bull will fight. Stand, fast, O white man, for it is either you or he."
Those watching saw the bull land and hurl himself with amazing swiftness at Mr. Hume.
"Why doesn't he shoot?" yelled Compton.
"Wow! the white man springs aside. The bull squeals; he staggers; he is down. Behind the ear. I say it. There the bullet went in. There will be much meat." The old man took snuff, and cast a proud look around as if he alone had done the deed.