As all stood gazing at the panic-stricken girl, Dick Prescott shot across the field.
What happened next was that Dick snatched the flaming red parasol from her hand, then swung her shoulders about, thus forcing the girl to face in another direction.
"Run—-the way you're headed!" he yelled hoarsely.
The bull was close upon them. Giving the parasol a flourish in the maddened animal's face, Prescott started off in the direction from which the bull had come.
"Get up a tree, Prescott, as quickly as you can!" panted Dr. Bentley.
But Dick, not even pausing to shake his head, put all his effort into a fresh burst of speed.
Running away from the camp, flaunting the red parasol, Dick was followed closely by the bellowing bull. For a short distance, anyway, the sprinter could run as fast as the pursuer.
Dick swiftly decided, now that he had the bull in voluntary tow, to lead the animal where the trees were thicker. Here an agile candidate for football honors ought to be able to daze and exhaust the bull by darting from tree to tree.
The plan had its dangers, however, and Dick knew them well.
Once in among the trees Dick tossed the parasol to one side, then darted off on an oblique line.