A moment later he came out, carrying Russ in his arms, and from the little boy's leg there dangled a piece of clothesline. Then, also out of the dust cloud, came a very much frightened spotted calf, and around its neck was another piece of line.
"Oh, is he—is he hurt?" gasped Mrs. Bunker, for Russ was limp.
"Not a bit, I'm glad to say!" answered the man who had Russ in his arms. "He's pretty dusty, and scratched up a bit, and his clothes are mussed, and he's frightened, but he's not hurt; are you?" and he laughed as he set Russ down on his own feet.
"I—I guess I'm all right," Russ answered, a bit slowly. "I—I had a dandy time!"
"Well, I should say you did!" exclaimed his father. "What did you do?"
"Well, I was playing I was a cowboy in the Wild West and I lassoed a buffalo. I made believe the calf was a buffalo."
"And then I guess the calf made believe you were a football, by the way it pulled you about the corral," said the man who had rescued Russ.
"Yes, sir, I guess so," answered Russ.
"I'm glad you rescued him," said Mrs. Bunker to the stranger. "I can't thank you enough."
"Oh, I didn't do anything," was the answer. "I heard the little fellow yelling shortly after I had seen him in the corral with the piece of clothesline. I guessed what had happened, and I jumped in. I found the calf pulling him around, for the lasso the little boy made had gotten tangled around his legs. The other end was on the calf.