She shook her horns threateningly, but took no step toward him. Van stood motionless. The minutes crept slowly by.
At the far end of the big cow-barn appeared the light of a swinging lantern. The night-watchman was going his rounds to see that all was safe. Van gave one long howl. Perhaps he would be rescued. The man hesitated—yes, he was coming!—No, he had decided that some dog outside had made the noise. All seemed peaceful in the cow-barn, and he did not go in, but disappeared down toward Cat Row.
Van whined despairingly, but the man was now out of hearing. Another hour must be lived through before help could come again.
There was not one thing in the stall on which Van could climb and make his way to safety, and four feet were more than he could jump. The walls, bare and smooth, closed him in. There was no light, save that which struggled through a high, cobwebby window, from the far-away stars.
No help anywhere! nothing to do but wait and wait till the night-watchman came back; always to hold his ground, and never to lose his nerve! He squared himself to the task.
The baby calf grew chilly and cried. Mother Cow backed closer to it, almost stepping on it with her great awkward cloven hoofs. It pressed into the corner, and its little body was warmed against hers. It stopped shivering, lay down, and at last slept.
The minutes went on, and the quarter-hours. Van slipped backward slowly, warily, until he could brace himself in the far corner of the stall. Always he kept his eyes on the enemy, his head lowered to point, his stump-tail straight and alert, his forelegs ready for a spring, his hind legs wide and rigid,—ready for the on-rush that might come at any minute. He grew stiff and cold.
The chimes in the clock tower of the Middle Building sounded,—then the great bell struck One! The light appeared again in the doorway. Van whined.
“What’s that?” called the night-watchman.
Van did not answer. So a-tremble was he with eagerness and nervous excitement that he did not think to sound again his alarm-signal.