The little tree had sagged over so that the swarm hung no higher than his shoulders, and it could be captured in the neatest possible manner. He carefully slipped the mouth of his sack over the swarm till the whole cluster was inside. Then he gathered the sack around the branch they hung by, and shook it violently. There was a sudden roar, and a heavy weight dropped into the sack. He had secured all the swarm, except for a few bees that flew about in wild dismay at this disappearance of their comrades.
Much elated, Bob turned back toward home. The sack hummed and stirred with the efforts of the angry insects to get out. But he had hardly gone ten yards when something stirred in the underbrush. He stopped, startled. The next instant a fearful bellow filled his ears, and the wounded bull burst through a curtain of evergreens.
Bob turned and ran as fast as he could, still clinging to the sack. Luckily the bull was somewhat lame from his wound and not in his regular racing form. At is was, Bob was almost run down; he saved himself only by leaping aside and changing his direction. All the time he kept on the lookout for a tree that he could climb, and he clung tightly to the sack. He was determined not to drop it except as a last resort, for the mouth was not tied, and the bees would escape at once.
The hoofs of the bull clattered behind him. He dodged wildly again, swerved behind a tree, and caught sight of a dead hemlock trunk that was spiked with short branches, and leaned at a decided angle.
It was almost as easy to climb as a ladder, and Bob scrambled up to safety, still carrying his swarm.
The bull’s disappointed fury was now uncontrollable. He roared frightfully; his black mane stood stiffly on end, and he gritted and gnashed his teeth. Probably by this time he had got Bob thoroughly associated with the pain that he was suffering, and it was too much for him to be twice checked in his revenge.
He reared up with his fore feet against the trunk of the hemlock. Then he drew back a few yards and charged into it with such force that, to Bob’s horror, it gave slightly and leaned even farther over than before. Evidently the roots were rotten and held insecurely. It was no place of safety after all.
Again the bull crashed into the trunk, and this time, with an ominous creaking, it went over more than a foot.
This result seemed to encourage the bull greatly. He rammed his head against the trunk and pushed hard. Bob heard the rotten roots snapping. Pausing now and again to glance up at Bob with what seemed a gleam of savage triumph in his eye, the bull continued to butt and push.
Bob clung in his tree panic-stricken, while it swayed over farther and farther. In a few seconds he would surely be hurled under the brute’s hoofs. Then it flashed upon him that he had one weapon left, and a terrible one. He disliked to use it, even to save his life, but another charge of the bull, and a heavy lurch of the almost uprooted tree convinced him that he must not hesitate.