The young Chillingham bull was as beautiful as a dream—a nightmare for instance. He was not very large, but sturdy, active, and strong. Milk-white, or nearly so, with black muzzle and crimson ears inside, and, you might say, eyes as well. Pure white black-tipped horns, erect almost, and a bit of a mane which added to his picturesqueness and wild beauty. His name was Lord Glendale, and his pedigree longer than the Laird o’ Cockpen’s.
Now, had his lordship behaved himself, he certainly would have been an ornament to the society of Westfield. But he wouldn’t or couldn’t. Baby though he was, he attempted several times to vivisect his companions; and one day, thinking perhaps that Mousa did not pay him sufficient respect, his lordship made a bold attempt to throw him over the moon. So it was determined that Lord Glendale should be removed from Westfield. At one end of the park was a large, strong fence, and Branson and others came to the conclusion that Glendale would be best penned, and have a ring put in his nose.
Yes, true; but penning a Chillingham wild baby-bull is not so simple as penning a letter. There is more present risk about the former operation, if not future.
“Well, it’s got to be done,” said Branson.
“Yes,” said Archie, who was not far off, “it’s got to be done.”
“Oh, Master Archie, you can’t be in this business!”
“Can’t I, Branson? You’ll see.”
And Branson did see. He saw Archie ride into the west field on Scallowa, both of them looking in splendid form. Men with poles and ropes and dogs followed, some of the former appearing not to relish the business by any means.
However, it would probably be an easier job than they thought. The plan would be to get the baby-bull in the centre of the other cattle, manoeuvre so as to keep him there, and so pen all together.—This might have been done had Archie kept away, but it so happened that his lordship was on particularly good terms with himself this morning. Moreover, he had never seen a Shetland pony before. What more natural, therefore, than a longing on the part of Lord Glendale to examine the little horse inside as well as out?
“Go gently now, lads,” cried Branson. “Keep the dogs back, Peter, we must na’ alarm them.”