THE ENCOUNTER. 67 



vain attempts to reach them, I could not make a 

 certain shot, and I missed him. 



The flash of the gun discovered me, and my ad- 

 versary rushed at me like a steam-engine. Depending 

 upon my left-hand barrel I awaited his rush, and 

 when he was nearly at the muzzle of my gun I fired 

 again, but failed to drop him. I had waited almost 

 too long, and when I turned to dodge him round 

 the tree his hot breath was in my face; his eyes, 

 glaring like red-hot coals, were close to mine, and as 

 I turned I fell — a lucky fall for me, for his horns, 

 which would have pierced my body, only stripped me 

 of my hunting shirt. 



The vicious charge carried the bull at least thirty 

 yards beyond the oak at whose roots I had fallen ; 

 and this, with the worrying of my dogs, gave me 

 time to swing myself up into the tree, — but not a 

 moment too soon, for before I was well out of his 

 reach he was beneath me. 



My jailer was in a terrible rage, and seemed to care 

 no more for the bites and barks of the dogs than if 

 they had been chickens. His eyes were bloodshot, 

 he bellowed hoarsely, and pawed up the ground with 

 his feet, throwing the sods of tufted grass far behind 

 him. 



That he was badly wounded, the blood-stained foam 

 which flecked his forequarters proved. Nor had I 

 escaped scatheless. My fall, and perhaps a blow from 



F 2 



