"No, no, George," was Harry's reply, as he grasped the gun. "The Professor is right; Apollo will finish him."
There was now no question of the fighting ability of Apollo, and of his youth and vigor, and he knew it. His antagonist did not rush any more. Apollo did that; the bull's main business now was to keep out of Apollo's way.
He had been whipped, and he knew it. He turned and fled. Did he go toward the cows? Not at all; but in the opposite direction. Instinct told him that if he had gone toward the cows it would have meant another fight. To leave them was the bovine manner of saying, "Well, then, take them."
The big bull did not go far. His head hung low, and the heaving flanks showed he was tired. But Apollo's head was high in the air. Dejection on one side and absolute mastery on the other were as plainly exhibited in the manners of the animals as though it had been written out and proclaimed.
"What will he do if I go up to him now?"
"The fight is all out of him."
This was true. He exhibited no alarm when they approached, and when they walked around to get a view of his other side, the mark plainly showed the following brand: "M—V."
"That is undoubtedly the brand of some person who captured the animal when young."
"How old do you suppose he is?"
"It is difficult to fix his age with any certainty, but I do not think he is over ten."