Orissa shrieked again, for the enormous beast bounded directly over Steve’s prostrate body and with bowed head and tail straight as a pointer dog’s rushed at the aëroplane. The sails shivered, collapsed, rolled in billows like the waves of the ocean, and amid them the struggling bull went down, tangled himself in the wires and became a helpless prisoner.
The girl, who was sobbing hysterically, heard herself laugh aloud and was inexpressibly shocked. The bull bellowed with rage but was so wound around with guy-wires that this was the extent of his power. Turning her eyes from the beast to Steve she gave a shout of joy, for her brother was sitting up and rubbing his leg with one hand and his head with the other, while he stared bewildered at the wreck of his aëroplane, from which the head of the bull protruded.
Orissa ran up, wringing her hands, and asked:
“Are you much hurt, dear?”
“I—I’ve gone crazy!” he answered, despairingly. “Seems as if the aircraft was transformed into the mummy of a—a—brute beast! Don’t laugh, Ris. Wh—what’s wrong with me—with my eyes? Tell me!”
She threw herself down upon the grass and laughed until she cried, Steve’s reproachful glances having no particle of effect in restraining her. When at last she could control herself she sat up and wiped her eyes, saying:
“Forgive me, dear, it’s—it’s so funny! But,” suddenly grave and anxious, “are you badly hurt? Is anything—broken?”
“Nothing but my heart,” he replied dolefully.
“Oh; that!” she said, relieved.
“Just look at that mess!” he wailed, pointing to the aircraft. “What has happened to it?”