A WILD BULL. 65 



English butchers, so that, in treating of A\dld cattle 

 hunting, I shall confine myself to one or two personal 

 adventures. 



In all my varied hunting experience, I think the 

 narrowest shave I ever had was from a wounded wild 

 bull. It happened in the Brazos bottoon, a wilder- 

 ness of forest, of immense extent. I was armed with 

 a double smooth-bore, loaded with ball, each weighing 

 about an ounce, and mounted on my best hunting- 

 horse, having with me three trained cattle-dogs, nearly 

 full-bred mastiffs. In fact, as I supposed, everything 

 was in my favour ; and yet, well-mounted, armed, 

 and accompanied by dogs on which I could rely, I 

 nearly came to grief. 



I had been riding about an hour, looking for cattle 

 ' sign,' dung, tracks, or the strong bovine scent given 

 out by wild cattle when you are near them, before the 

 dewdrops have disappeared under the sun's powers 

 (I had, as usual, started as soon as it was light enough 

 for me to ride), when all at once my dogs darted into 

 a thicket, and in a few seconds I heard their voices, 

 and then the crash of trees, bushes, and saplings, as 

 they were struck or pushed aside by the rush of some 

 powerful beast, which seemed to be making in my 

 direction. 



Presently, from out of the bending covert, a great 

 red bull came rushing with his great head bent 



F 



