The bull which faced Walter Jordan was apparently the monarch of the herd. He had wicked little eyes which were now red with rage and the pain of his wound. His hoofs tore at the sod, his jaws champed, and a rumbling bellow sounded deep in his throat. Before him was his foe. Somehow this creature which stood before him had wounded him. And now he was going to be revenged!
Lowering his giant head the bull charged at Walter; the boy stood his ground until the animal was almost upon him; then he sprang aside, and the great bulk of the maddened brute tore by him like a tornado.
Then Walter leaped to the place where his rifle had fallen. The charge of powder and ball had been rammed home; the piece only required priming, and the boy was hurriedly attending to this very necessary thing when the black bull wheeled, sighted him, and charged once more. But this time the beast was more cunning. Apparently he had profited by the one fruitless charge; he seemed to have weighed the situation and planned to overcome it.
The charge was slow; the head was not held so low; the little angry eyes were fixed upon the boy. This time Walter knew he could not wait until the last moment and then leap aside out of danger. The bull meant to trample him under his sharp hoofs and gore him to death. But for all he realized this, his hands were steady as they worked at the priming of his rifle. The seconds passed and he realized, with a cold feeling at his heart, that the piece would not be ready to fire before the monster was upon him. His breath stopped, as though to meet the shock. Then he heard a voice cry out:
“Steady, boy!”
Like the crack of a whip a rifle rang out; the black bull halted; the great head drooped; then a shudder ran through its mighty frame, and it toppled over on its side—dead.
“I call that a close shave,” came the voice of Crockett. “Another moment, youngster, and you’d have been under his feet.”
Dazed, and with a sense of everything being a very long distance away, Walter turned and saw Colonel Crockett and old Dolph ride up. Crockett slipped from his horse and began to reload his gun, while the old Texan sat admiring the huge beast which had fallen before the backwoodsman’s aim.
“Well, Colonel Crockett,” said the young fellow, as his wits slowly came back to him, and he realized what had happened, “I have you to thank for that.”
Crockett drove home the charge of powder, and smiled in his usual droll way.