THE ODYSSEY OF OLD BILL 81 
again struck him, and when he reached the ground 
a great, sharp hoof went crashing through his 
chest. Then the old bull, with a short snort, led 
the way rapidly into the deeper woods, Bill limp- 
ing along behind. When they paused again, 
Bill’s mother licked his wounds, and he lay down 
stiffly to sleep that night, wishing he, too, had big, 
powerful antlers. 
Their escape together from the reservation, 
and their subsequent wanderings, in the face 
daily of the unknown, of threatening, strange 
perils, always searching for some way out of the 
ring of roads, houses, clearings, which seemed to 
hem them in, had kept the tiny herd together, just 
as common danger keeps men and women to- 
gether. Yet the worst peril they had actually 
faced was a dog, which the old bull feared no 
more than an insect, and gradually the fear of 
danger left them, and Bill’s father wandered 
away by himself, after the manner of his kind, 
looking no doubt for male companionship, while 
Bill, though tempted to go with him, still clung 
to his mother, who, in turn, browsed with the 
other cow. Thus the days passed, while Little 
