Part 13 (1/2)

”Nay! Don't go there!” called out Mrs. Thompson, who happened to overhear my remark just as we left the house. ”There's a bull up on yon moor as isn't safe at all. It do run folks sometimes. I thought ye had been with the rest when I warned ye all. Keep in our own fields, and ye'll be right enough, but don't go roamin' far away.”

”Never mind,” said Cathy. ”We'll go back to the wood, at any rate, and pick some more lilies, if there are any left.”

We wandered slowly down the lane, gathering the dog-violets from the banks, and having an unsuccessful hunt for birds' nests in the hedge.

The girls were all gone from the glen, only a few dropped flowers remaining to show where they had been, and Cathy and I sauntered to the little bridge to take a look at the scene of my catastrophe.

”You see how the handrail shakes about,” I said, as I swung it out with a touch. ”And directly Ernestine took hold of it---- Oh, Cathy! I never thought of Ernestine before! Don't you remember she went up the path towards the moors? She can't know that the bull is there, and she's gone quite alone!”

”Let us run after her,” said Cathy. ”Perhaps, after all, she mayn't have walked very far, and we shall be in time to warn her.”

”Quick! quick!” I cried. ”Mrs. Thompson said the bull was so dangerous.

Oh! we _must_ stop her!”

We raced as fast as my heavy country boots would allow along the narrow path through the wood, and over the stile into the meadow beyond, calling ”Ernestine” as we ran, but hearing no reply to our shouts. Among the deep clover and up the steep hill-side we panted, following the plain direction of the path, till, clambering over the irregular steps which led across the high stone wall, we found ourselves on the open moor at last.

”Oh, look! look!” cried Cathy, grasping my arm. ”There it is!”

And she pointed as she spoke to the summit of a small hill close by, where, outlined against the blue sky beyond, rose the enormous form of the great black bull, which stood there pawing the ground impatiently, and tossing his giant horns as though he were warning trespa.s.sers to beware of venturing upon his domains. Slightly lower down among the furze and the heather, and only about three hundred yards away from us, we could distinguish Ernestine's blue dress, and the flutter of the red ribbon in her hat. She was walking slowly along, stooping every now and then to pick a flower, or pausing to look at the scene around her, and evidently utterly unconscious of the huge monster which was grazing on the hill-side above her. We called wildly to her, but the wind was in the opposite direction, and she could not hear us.

”We _must_ save her, Cathy!” I cried. ”Perhaps the bull won't see us.

Let us follow her quietly, and tell her to come back before it's too late.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”I FOUND MYSELF FLUNG INTO THE STREAM BELOW”]

But the bull had seen her already, and with a low roaring noise it began to move slowly down the side of the hill, snuffing the air as it went.

Roused at last by the sound, Ernestine turned round. For one moment she stood almost fixed to the spot with horror, then with a wild shriek of fear she flung down her flowers, and ran back as fast as she could in the direction of the stile over the wall.

”Stop! Stop! Don't run! It will be sure to follow you!” shouted Cathy; but even if Ernestine heard her, I doubt if she would have had the self-control to stay her flying footsteps. It was too late, for with a loud bellow the great animal was rus.h.i.+ng madly after her down the slope.

It seemed impossible that she could reach the wall in time. There was only a moment in which to save her, but I had read in books that a bull always charges blindly, and quick as thought I pulled off my jacket, and dashed forward.

”Run, Ernestine! Run!” I cried. ”Run, Cathy! The stile! The stile!”

It was almost upon her, but even as it put down its head to charge, I flung my jacket over its horns, and, taking advantage of the few seconds of delay thus gained, I fled on wings of terror after the others to the stile. How I scrambled over, I can never remember; I know I fell on Cathy and Ernestine at the bottom. We all lay there for a few moments nearly dead with fright, imagining that the bull would leap after us, but the wall was high, and the stile very steep, and though we could hear its angry mutterings within a few feet of us, it was not able to clear so great an obstacle.

”Let us get away!” cried Ernestine. ”Oh! it's terrible, terrible to think that dreadful beast is still so near us!”

She made an effort to rise; then, groaning with pain, she sank back on to the ground, and buried her face in her hands.

”I can't walk!” she moaned, ”I've broken my foot. Go, girls, and leave me! If I have to die, I must.”

”What nonsense!” said Cathy. ”You're not going to die yet. I expect you twisted your ankle when you fell. You're quite safe here, for the bull can't leap a six-foot wall, or climb up crooked stone steps. We'll go for help, and Mr. Thompson and one of the men must come to carry you back to the farm.”

”You go, Cathy,” I said, ”and I'll stay with Ernestine. She'd feel dreadfully frightened to be left here all alone, with the bull close by, although it can't get at us now. If you run all the way, you'll very soon be back with help.”

Cathy started off at once at a brisk trot, and we watched her as she hurried down the clover-field and the meadow, and disappeared into the wood below.

I turned to Ernestine, who still sat under the wall where she had fallen, white to the lips, and trembling all over with pain.