Quick as thought the gun was to his shoulder, his finger touched the trigger, and the loud report echoed from the distant cliffs. The ball told, and a cow was bowled over, and lay sprawling on the plain. Bang went the second barrel, and a young bull with a broken leg went hobbling off toward the thicket. The rest of the herd tore away at top speed, and were soon lost sight of in the bushes.
A little calf alone remained by the cow that had fallen. It ran frisking around, uttering its singular cries, and seemingly astonished and unable to comprehend the catastrophe that had befallen its mother!
Under other circumstances Caspar would have pitied that calf—for though a hunter, he was not hard-hearted. But just then he had something else to do than give way to pity.
He had scarce aimed his second shot—even while his finger was still resting on the trigger—when a sound reached his ears that made his heart leap. It spoiled his aim in fact, or the yearling would have had it between his ribs instead of in his hind-leg. That sound could be nothing else than the grunt of the old bull himself; and so close to Caspar did it appear that the hunter suddenly dropped the muzzle of his gun, and looked around thinking the animal was right by him!
He did not see the bull on looking around; but he knew the latter could not be many feet off, just behind the angle of the boulder. Under this impression Caspar sprang to his feet, and ran with lightning speed to ascend the rock.
Chapter Thirty Seven.
Face to Face with a Fierce Bull.
Caspar leaped on to the lower one, and scrambled up its sloping ridge. His eyes were turned more behind than before him, for he expected every moment to see the bull at his skirts. To his astonishment no bull had yet appeared, although as he was running around the rock twice or thrice had he heard his terrific grunting.