"Good fer him!" he exclaimed. "He's some sense left yit."
"Will he make it, do you think?" Royden almost breathlessly asked.
"Make it? Sure. If that feller makes heaven as sartin as he'll make that tree, he'll be all right, though I guess he won't make it as fast. Look at that! Why, he went up it like a cat. He's safe, all right, now," and Abner breathed a sigh of relief. "Gee whittaker! He's a wonder when a bull's after him."
"What shall we do?" Royden asked. "We can't leave him there, and the bull doesn't seem inclined to go away. Look how he's roaring around that tree and tearing up the ground."
"We'll fix that critter, all right," Abner replied. "Let's git a couple of hand-spikes. Wish to goodness I'd brought me axe along."
Searching among the drift-wood, they soon found two stout sticks.
"I guess these'll do," Abner remarked, as he tested them over a log. "Now fer some fun."
Royden could not see much fun in the undertaking, though he followed his companion without a word. Making their way as speedily as possible along the shore, they at length came near enough for the bull to observe their presence. He stopped pawing for a few seconds, and stared angrily at the intruders. Then his right fore hoof again tore up the turf, and his roars became more furious than ever.
Abner now seemed in his element. His eyes glowed with the light of battle, and, grasping his stick firmly with both hands, he rushed forward.
"Come on, me beauty," he challenged. "I'll make ye roar."