The Red Bull.
THE short cut which Reube was taking across the fields and marshes was
calculated to diminish by a good half mile the distance which separated
him from his beloved boat. But it was a path beset with obstacles. Will
Carter saw all these—the long strip of bog and alders at the foot of
the upland; then the gluey stretch of “broad-leaf” marsh, passable
enough at a later season, but now a mire with the spring rains; and
beyond, furrowing the firm levels of young timothy and clover, the
windings of a creek which he knew was, in most places, too wide to jump,
and too deep to ford. With what breath he could spare—for his excited
comrade was setting a terribly stiff pace—he spasmodically exclaimed,
“We’d save time, Reube, by keeping to the road. We’ll be tangled up and
stuck here the first thing we know; and the _Dido_ will be off on her
own hook to seek the ruins of Carthage.”
But Reuben made no answer. He saw no obstacles. All he could see was the
far-off red stream, with the _Dido_, only a little way inside the line
of the dikes, veering gently and aimlessly from one green bank to the
other, but steadily creeping seaward with the current. Well he knew how
soon, with the falling tide, this current would quicken its pace. Once
let the _Dido_ get outside the creek, and he knew not what might happen
to her. She would certainly be off down the bay at a speed which it
appalled him to think of.
And now, running in grim silence, Reube and Will drew near the foot of
the uplands. Heavily, and with no waste of energy, they flung themselves
over a peculiarly massive rail fence, and entered a spacious pasture.
The field was dotted with mossy hillocks and a few low spruce bushes,
between which the grass grew short and thick. Two or three wide-armed
maple trees, standing far apart, relieved the vacancy of the sloping
expanse, which ended in a broad fringe of alder swamp, spreading its
labyrinth of black roots and bog holes a hundred yards out upon the
marsh.
As they ran, threading their way among the bushes, and springing from
hillock to hillock, they heard an ominous grunting bellow on their
right, and turning sharply they saw a large dark-red bull stepping out
from under the shade of a maple tree. The animal bellowed again, deep in
his throat; and running his horns into the nearest mound, tossed into
the air a little shower of turf and moss. This was an honest challenge,
but our runners were in no mood to accept it.
“This seems to be his bullship’s private domain!” panted Will. “I wonder
if he’s really as mad as he looks, or just bluffing?”
“No bluffing there!” muttered Reube, in a voice of anxious concern.
“It’s Barnes’s bull, and he means every word of it! We’re in a muss, and
we’ve just got to run for all we’re worth. I wish we’d stuck to the
road!”
As he spoke the bull, seeing his challenge unanswered, charged like a
great red thunderbolt. The boys rose into a fine burst of speed; but ere
they were halfway across the field Reube felt his legs and wind failing.
He vowed inwardly that he would not, could not break down, and he
wondered in his heart how Will was holding out. Will was a little ahead,
being the lighter runner; but his pace was flagging, and the bull was
now gaining upon them with dreadful rapidity. Under fair conditions the
fierce and active animal could have given his rivals a hard race; but
now, fagged from their long run down the hill, they were no match for
him. He was not more than fifty feet behind them, when their course took
them right under one of those spreading maples.
“No use!” gasped Will. “Up with you, Reube!” And springing desperately
into the air, he caught a branch and swung himself up into safety.
But Reube was not one who could change his purpose thus rapidly. “The
_Dido_!” he groaned; and, pausing under the tree, he glanced
irresolutely from the sea to his pursuer.
“Come up, quick!” yelled Will, his voice as sharp and inflexible as an
ax blade. Reube saw that there was no help for it. His eyes glared fury
at his pursuer, as a tiger glares at the hunters when he reluctantly
retires before them, and he started to climb the tree. But his
stubbornness was all but fatal. He grasped at a branch, and, missing his
hold, fell back. He repeated the attempt, this time more eagerly, but
again he would have missed and would have felt the bull’s horns pinning
him to the tree had it not been for Will’s readiness of action. Locking
his legs between two branches, Will reached down, grasped his comrade
under the shoulders, and with a mighty effort swung him around to the
other side of the trunk. The bull swerved slightly and shot past. Half
climbing, half dragged up by Will, Reube found himself safe among the
branches ere the bull had checked its rush and returned to the attack.
“You saved me that time, Will,” said Reube, in a somewhat shaky voice,
grasping his companion’s hand and wringing it hard. “But that was an
awful grip of yours. I think every finger took a piece out of me!”
Will grinned inscrutably, and it flashed across Reube’s mind that the
severity of the grip had had some connection with his own obstinate
delay in seeking safety. But the next instant all else was forgotten in
his anxiety about the _Dido_, which was plainly visible through an
opening in his leafy refuge. The boat had grounded for a moment on a
grassy point, and now the quickening current wrenched her off again and
carried her with slow gyrations beyond the very last of the landing
slips. Fifteen minutes more, at this rate, and she would be in the open.
“I can’t stand this, Will! I must try another dash,” he groaned.
Immediately beneath was the bull, snorting and bellowing, thrusting with
his great forehead against the trunk, and pawing the young turf so
energetically that it seems as if he aimed at uprooting the tree.
“All right, old man,” said Will. “Run right along now, and I’ll wait
here for you. Or perhaps you will mount the gentle steed beneath us and
ride to your destination.”
To this Reube vouchsafed no answer. He sat silent on his branch,
glowering across the marshes, and eating his heart in helpless wrath,
while Will, stretched face downward across the limbs, eyed the bull
pensively, and cudgeled his brains for a way out of the dilemma.
Suddenly he straightened himself with a radiant face, and exclaimed:
“I have it, Reube! We’ll trick his exasperated bullship and catch the
_Dido_ yet!”
But while the words were yet on his lips the bull lifted his head high,
gazed out across the field for a second or two, and then dashed off at
the same terrific gallop which had so nearly proved disastrous to our
heroes. He had seen a burly, red-shirted figure traversing the upper
corner of his field. It was seldom, indeed, that anyone other than his
master, the only man he feared, presumed to enter the precincts of his
sway, and here, in one morning, were three trespassers. The bull, blind
with rage, charged upon the red-shirted figure, and the red-shirted
figure, after facing him for a few seconds, turned and fled for the
fence.
“It’s John Paul! He’ll get away safe enough,” said Reube. “But what’s
your plan?”
“Got a better one by this time, old man,” replied Will, dropping out of
the tree—“just to cut while his bullship is otherwise engaged.” And
side by side the two sped on toward the shelter of the alders.
Before they got far the bull, having routed red-shirt and snorted at him
loudly through the rails, turned, discovered their flight, and came once
more thundering at their heels. But this time he had allowed his rivals
too much handicap. Before he could get anywhere near them Will and Reube
were among the alders. Once there, the big red bull could not match
their speed. He floundered, foaming and grunting, through the shallow
pools, and the deeper ones he had to skirt.
The boys, on the other hand, sprang lightly from root to hillock, from
hillock to elastic, reedy tuft, swinging across the pools on the long,
bending stems of the alders, and soon leaving their persecutor far
behind. They reached the fence, vaulted it, emerged upon the open marsh,
and there before them, still half a mile away, was the _Dido_, wheeling
gracefully out from the mouth of the creek.
[Illustration: The bull swerved slightly and shot past.]