Part 33 (2/2)

”Yes, many, many years. Poor fellow, it is quite a pity for him.

Father says he was very clever at college, and is a Master of Arts of Cambridge.”

”Well, he has taken his hogs to a nice market.”

”But father would do a deal for him if he could trust him. He has told father over and over again that plenty of people would trust him if he could only trust himself.”

”Poor man! So nice-looking too! They may well call him Gentleman Craig.”

”But is it not time we were returning?”

”Look! look!” she cried, before Archie could answer. ”Yonder is a bull-fight. Whom does the little herd belong to?”

”Not to us. We are far beyond even our pastures. We have cut away from them. This is a kind of no-man's land, where we go shooting at times; and I daresay they are trespa.s.sers or wild cattle. Pity they cannot be tamed.”

”They are of no use to anyone, I have heard father say, except to shoot.

If they be introduced into a herd of stock cattle, they teach all the others mischief. But see how they fight! Is it not awful?”

”Yes. Had we not better return? I do not think your father would like you to witness such sights as that.”

The girl laughed lightly.

”Oh,” she cried, ”you don't half know father yet! He trusts me everywhere. He is very, very good, though not so refined as some would have him to be.”

The cows of this herd stood quietly by chewing their cuds, under the shade of a huge gum tree, while two red-eyed giant bulls struggled for mastery in the open.

It was a curious fight, and a furious fight. At the time Archie and his companion came in sight of the conflict, they had closed, and were fencing with their horns with as much skill, apparently, as any two men armed with foils could have displayed. The main points to be gained appeared to be to unlock or get out of touch of each other's horns long enough to stab in neck and shoulder, and during the time of being in touch to force back and gain ground. Once during this fight the younger bull backed his opponent right to the top of a slight hill. It was a supreme effort, and evidently made in the hope that he would hurl him from a height at the other side. But in this he was disappointed; for the top was level, and the older one, regaining strength, hurled his enemy down the hill again far more quickly than he had come up. Round and round, and from side to side, the battle raged, till at long last the courage and strength of one failed completely. He suffered himself to be backed, and it was evident was only waiting an opportunity to escape uncut and unscathed. This came at length, and he turned and, with a cry of rage, dashed madly away to the forest. The battle now became a chase, and the whole herd, holloaing good luck to the victor, joined in it.

As there was no more to be seen, Archie and Etheldene turned their horses' heads homewards.

They had not ridden far, however, before the vanquished bull himself hove in sight. He was alone now, though still tearing off in a panic, and moaning low and angrily to himself.

It was at this moment that what Archie considered a happy inspiration took possession of our impulsive hero.

”Let us wait till he pa.s.ses,” he said, ”and drive him before us to camp.”

Easily said. But how was it to be done?

They drew back within the shadow of a tree, and the bull rushed past.

Then out pranced knight Archie, cracking his stock whip.

The monster paused, and wheeling round tore up the ground with his hoofs in a perfect agony of anger.

”What next?” he seemed to say to himself. ”It is bad enough to be beaten before the herd; but I will have my revenge now.”

The brute's roaring now was like the sound of a gong, hollow and ringing, but dreadful to listen to.

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