Daunted by the fierce snorts emitted by the car the bull halted, roaring. Then his eye caught the flare of a brilliant red something that Phil was waving to and fro under his inflamed nostrils. The sight of scarlet always went to his bullish head, and now made him more mad. With another louder roar his bullship turned furiously on this new tormentor.
For several moments it was nip and tuck between the Jersey and his foe, who always was just behind that flaring expanse of scarlet. Only a brief spell of such hairbreadth maneuvering was sufficient to produce shortness of breath on Phil’s part, at least.
Would that car never wheel in his direction? Fearing exhaustion, but flirting the bandana behind him, Phil made straight for the shady copse under which they had dined. Then he vanished so quickly that Mr. Bull, scenting mystery, halted and lashed his flanks with his tail. Dave saw the trick Phil was playing. His car veered round the other side of the copse, whirling up to within ten feet of where Phil stood panting, while the Jersey plunged round the far side. Paul flung open the door of the tonneau.
“In with you, Phil! Lively now!” came the command.
Phil made the first leap, then the second. His face was red with exertion, his legs wabbly under the strain they had been under, and at the third and final plunge they threatened to give way under him. With a half cry, half scream, Nan pushed herself through the door Paul was holding wide open, as the car veered close under Dave’s dexterous hand.
“Ketch my hand, mister!” she cried and managed to clutch Phil’s fingers in a grip surprisingly strong for a girl. With his free hand Paul clutched Phil’s other hand and the two managed to half drag, half pull Phil inside, where he fell panting to the floor of the tonneau.
Meantime Dave, far from idle, saw that Phil was making the connection. He also saw that Mr. Bull was dangerously near making another kind of connection with the near wheel’s guard with one of those sharp pointed horns.
“Here we go!” he shouted, and the Big Six made a powerful spring forward, beyond the reach of this four-footed terror that bawled, glared and snorted in a now vain pursuit.
Both Paul and Nan helped Phil up and, with a gasp or two he sank back on the seat, still flourishing the kerchief.
“Well, what d’you think of that!” cried Paul, after assuring himself that Phil was all right. “Did you ever see a madder bull?”