face the bovine thunderbolt with unflinching front, like a true-blue British tar!
His coolness in the circumstances was evinced by the remarks muttered to himself in a growly tone as the bull approached.
“Three futt—that’ll be enough. I don’t rightly remember how near them mattydoors let him come before they putt their helms hard down an’ let him go by, but I think three futt’ll do.”
This decision was barely reached when the bull was upon him with lowered head and erect tail. It was an awful rush, but Hockins stood like a rock with the cutlass pointed. At the pre-arranged moment he stepped to one side, but instead of letting the momentum of the animal do the work, he could not resist the impulse to drive the cutlass deeper into the bull’s neck. The result was that, though he escaped the creature’s horn by a very narrow shave, the cutlass was wrenched violently from his grasp, and he was sent head over heels upon the plain!
Seeing this, Mark and the negro ran to the rescue, the one howling like a maniac, the other clubbing his gun; but their aid was not required, for the work of the amateur matador had been effectively done. After receiving the deadly thrust the bull plunged forward a few paces, and then fell dying upon the ground, while Hockins got up and began to feel himself all over to make sure that no bones were broken.
It need scarcely be told that they rejoiced greatly over their success, and that they cut off some of the flesh immediately, with which they returned to the forest to enjoy a much-needed meal.
“We must kindle a fire now,” said Mark, stopping at an open space in the midst of a very secluded spot at the foot of a magnificent palm-tree. “You see I’m not prepared to act like a cannibal or Eskimo, and eat the meat raw.”
“There won’t be much fear now,” said Hockins, “especially if we make the fire of dry wood an’ keep it small. Just look at that, Doctor.”
He held out his cutlass for inspection. It had been seriously bent in the recent encounter.