“You remember the old cry they say folks used at the time of the Spanish war: ‘Remember the Maine!’ Well, we want to ‘remember the bull!’”
“I should say we do,” admitted Bud Morgan. “For one I’ve had the delightful experience of being tossed by a bull, when I was a kid. I landed in a tree, and held on like fun, so I wasn’t hurt very much. But I’ll never forget how that old critter pawed the ground and tossed the dust up with his wicked short horns; and how I suffered all sorts of tortures for a whole hour, till my father heard the racket and came to the rescue.”
“And if you’d seen how Nero chased after those foreigners, you’d never hanker after making his acquaintance at close quarters, let me tell you,” remarked Arthur; while the farmer chuckled as though he thought he should be proud to own such a progressive animal.
All this while the cattle seemed to have been moving along the country road, no doubt stopping now and then to nibble at some particularly tempting bunch of green grass; but making steady progress nevertheless.
“Well, here’s where they turned aside and entered the woods, you can see, sir!” Hugh presently said, pointing to the marks at his feet, which seemed to change their course.
A minute later and the trackers were passing through the forest. Each boy tried to follow a different trail as much as possible. This was done at Hugh’s suggestion, for it gave them the advantage that if one series of tracks became faint and difficult to see some of the others would be plain enough to be easily followed.
“We’re pulling up on them fast now!” Arthur Cameron declared. “Why, I just saw a little weed that had been pressed down by a hoof right itself. That means the animal can’t be far ahead of us.”
“Here’s another pointer,” remarked Alec Sands. “Where this cow is walking there’s considerable moisture in the ground, and some of the tracks are partly filled with water. It’s oozing in still, and will fill them up inside of five minutes. Judging from that I’d say this cow passed along here not more than five minutes ago.”
“Likely enough we may find them just beyond that line of bushes ahead,” ventured Ralph Kenyon, who had once been quite a trapper, and knew the signs of the woods better than any fellow in the whole Oakvale Troop.
“Wait a minute,” said Hugh, impressively, and then turning to Billy and Alec he added: “I’d advise both of you to pocket the red bandanas you’ve got knotted around your necks cowboy style. A bull will charge anything red, as Mr. Stebbins here will tell you.”