Dyeermud took shelter at the hedge, and waited to see what would happen.
Ceadach ran round the pillar, and the Red Ox ran after him. Three days and three nights did they run; such was the speed of the two that Dyeermud never caught sight of them during that time, nor did they have sight of each other: the Red Ox followed by scent. Near the close of the third day, when both were growing tired, the Ox, seeing Ceadach, stopped for an instant to run across and pierce him with his horn. Dyeermud got a glimpse of the Ox, then rose in the air like a bird, split the forehead of the Ox with one blow, and stretched him.
“My love on your blow,” said Ceadach; “and it was time for you to give it.”
“Purblindness and blindness to me,” replied Dyeermud, “if I saw the Ox till that instant.”
Both were now joyful; for they had the head to take with them.
“If Fin and his men had this carcass,” said Dyeermud, “it would give them beef for many a day.”
“Well, Dyeermud,” asked Ceadach, “how much of the Ox can you carry?”
“I think I can take one quarter, with the head.”
“If you can do that,” said Ceadach, “I’ll take the rest of the carcass myself.”
Cutting off one quarter, he thrust through it the point of the horn, put the horn on Dyeermud’s shoulder, with the head and quarter before and behind him. Ceadach took the other three quarters himself. Before they had gone half the way to the vessel, Dyeermud was tired, and Ceadach had to take that quarter as well as his own three; the head was as much as Dyeermud could carry.