“I am not,” promptly responded George. “I’ve got too much use for my legs, to take the chances of being crippled. But wait and see what I’m going to do. Trust your Dutch uncle to fool that old cyclone. Look at him tossing the dirt up again. Oh! ain’t he anxious to get at me, though?”
“What’s that you’re shaking at him now?” demanded Nick. “It looks like my sweater, only I know yours is gray. Why, it must be a bandanna handkerchief; yes, I remember now, you often tie one around your neck, cowboy fashion. I can see that you’re going to get me out of this nasty fix, George. It takes a lawyer sometimes to beat a bull at his own game.”
“It is a bandanna, Buster,” replied the other, “and watch me coax the old fellow along the fence, down to the other end of the field. How he shakes his head every time I wave the red flag, and tries to get at me. It’s working fine, Buster. You get ready to drop down and run when I tell you.”
“But George, even if you coax him to the end of the pasture you know I’m so slow I never could make the fence before he caught up with me?” cried the still worried prisoner of the tree.
“Yes, you are like an ice wagon, Buster; but never mind. I’ve got all that fixed. Just look down yonder and you’ll see a nice little trap ready for Mr. Bull. It’s a small enclosure, with three long rails to slide across, once he’s inside. Then he’s caught fast, and can’t get out. That is meant for just such a purpose. See?”
“Bully! bully!” shouted the delighted Nick, waving his hat in the air. “Oh! I tell you it takes a smart fellow to get on to these dodges. Why, Josh must have been blind not to see that same thing. Look at the bull following you every time you take a step. Then he turns his old head to peek back at me, as if just daring me to try and make the fence. But I know better. I can wait. Why, George, talk to me about your Spanish bull fights, this sure takes the cake!”
“Don’t crow too soon,” answered the other boy. “Now comes the ticklish part of the game. Will he go in that enclosure, or balk?”
“Wave it harder, George! Make out that you’re going to climb over. That’s the way to hold him. My! but wouldn’t he like to pitch you higher’n a kite. Look at that piece of old fence rail go flying, would you? Now he’s inside, George! Oh! if you can only get the bars across!”
George proved equal to the emergency. He fastened his red handkerchief to the fence, so that the wind kept it stirring constantly, with the bull snorting just on the other side, and smelling of the flaming object. Then George slily slipped back, took hold of the upper bar, and quickly shot it in place through the opposite groove.