“The bull,” she answered. “But don’t be discouraged, dear; the thing flew beautifully.”
“The bull?”
“No; the aircraft. But as for the bull, I’m bound to say he did his best. How in the world shall we get him out of there, Steve?”
“I—I think I’m dazed, Ris,” he murmured, feeling his head again. “Can’t you help me to—understand?”
So she told him the whole story, Stephen sighing and shaking his head as he glared at the bull and the bull glared at him. Afterward the boy made an effort to rise, and Orissa leaned down and assisted him. When he got to his feet she held him until he grew stronger and could stand alone.
“I’m so grateful you were not killed,” his sister whispered. “Nothing else matters since you have so miraculously escaped.”
“Killed?” said Steve; “why, it was only a tumble, Ris. But the bull is a more serious complication. I suppose the aircraft was badly damaged, from what you say, before the bull got it; but now it’s a hopeless mess.”
“Oh, no,” she returned, encouragingly. “If he hasn’t smashed the motor we won’t mind the rest of the damage. Do you think we can untangle him?”
They approached the animal, who by this time was fully subdued and whined apologetically to be released. Steve got his nippers and cut wire after wire until suddenly the animal staggered to his feet, gave a terrified bellow and dashed down the field with a dozen yards of plane cloth wound around his neck.
“Good riddance!” cried Orissa. “I don’t think he’ll ever bother us again.”