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The High School Boys in Summer Camp, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 22. Playing Ragtime On Mr. Bull |
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_ CHAPTER XXII. PLAYING RAGTIME ON MR. BULL "Drop your parasol! Throw it away!" screamed her friends in unison. But Clara, emitting another shriek, seemed too frightened to comprehend. She tried to redouble her speed, but the bull was rapidly gaining on her in the pursuit. As all stood gazing at the panic-stricken girl, Dick Prescott shot across the field. What happened next was that Dick snatched the flaming red parasol from her hand, then swung her shoulders about, thus forcing the girl to face in another direction. "Run---the way you're headed!" he yelled hoarsely. The bull was close upon them. Giving the parasol a flourish in the maddened animal's face, Prescott started off in the direction from which the bull had come. "Get up a tree, Prescott, as quickly as you can!" panted Dr. Bentley. But Dick, not even pausing to shake his head, put all his effort into a fresh burst of speed. Running away from the camp, flaunting the red parasol, Dick was followed closely by the bellowing bull. For a short distance, anyway, the sprinter could run as fast as the pursuer. Dick swiftly decided, now that he had the bull in voluntary tow, to lead the animal where the trees were thicker. Here an agile candidate for football honors ought to be able to daze and exhaust the bull by darting from tree to tree. The plan had its dangers, however, and Dick knew them well. Once in among the trees Dick tossed the parasol to one side, then darted off on an oblique line. Bellowing, stumbling, the bull turned clumsily to follow him. Again Dick changed his course, though, purposely, he took pains not to get too far from camp. Now he saw his chums running towards him. "Keep away! Don't get near the bull!" he yelled. "We've sent Dan to get the rope in the tent," Reade called back. "Now, what in the world do the boys think they're going to do with a rope?" Prescott wondered. Suddenly, as he dodged off on a new track to escape the bull, a plan flashed into Prescott's mind. "Get up a tree!" yelled Dave. "Hardly time enough," Dick retorted, dodging again and sprinting briefly out of harm's way. "When Dan brings the rope throw it so that one end will rest in the lowest fork of that young chestnut tree." Dave Darrin heard, understood and nodded. "Rope's ready in the chestnut tree," he called, as Dick started on still another track, pursued, clumsily, by the angry bull. "Get back out of harm's way," shouted Dick. "Get back, or you will hinder me." In three changing sprints Dick manoeuvred to reach the chestnut tree, though the clumsy bull was barely twenty feet behind him and coming fast. As the rope hung from the crotch of the tree both ends trailed on the ground. Seizing both lines Dick went up rapidly hand over hand, his feet braced against the tree trunk. In this position he was able to run nimbly up the side of the trunk. Bump! The bull's head landed against the tree, the shock nearly bringing the high school boy to the ground. Dick managed to hold on to the rope, though his feet slipped from the trunk. Rapidly he drew himself up into the crotch of the tree. Bump---again! Any animal with a head less hard would have been stunned outright. Even Mr. Bull, after the second charge at the tree, backed off, head lowered, pawing the ground, willing to consider ere making a renewed attack. The tree was in no danger of snapping. It was too stout for that. Prescott's only danger, just at present, was that of being dislodged by the force of those mad charges. Turning, and beholding his friends closer than was safe, Prescott shouted to them: "Get back, fellows! You can't do any good here now, and the bull may turn on you. Get 'way back! I'll call you when I'm ready for your help." "What do you think you're going to be able to do up that tree?" jeered Danny Grin, as he nevertheless backed away with the others. "I'm going to do something, if there's any way to do it," Dick answered. "How is Clara?" "Safe," pronounced Tom. "Hysterical?" "No; only trembling." Dick had hauled up the rope. Now, with a speculative air, he was making a slip noose at one end. He still hadn't a very definite idea of what he was going to do to the bull. Prescott was making a lariat, though he had no skill in the use of such a thing. Presently, however, the mad animal came closer, stamping, head lowered. "Nice fellow! Nice fellow!" Dick called mockingly. "Wouldn't you like to have me come down to talk with you?" Attracted by the voice, the bull raised its head, showing its flaming eyes. "I wonder!" mused Dick, half aloud, as he leaned out cautiously over a limb. "I wonder." Then, by way of finding out, he dropped the noose suddenly. It fell over the animal's head and around its neck. Warned by the touch of the rope, the bull backed hastily off, nearly hauling the high school boy out of the tree. "There's just one chance to get you, and that's happening now," mused Dick Prescott, as, still holding to the rope, he fairly shot down the tree trunk. For an instant the bull watched as though incredulous. It gave Dick time to touch his feet to the ground, passing the rope loosely once around the tree trunk. As the bull lumbered forward Prescott pulled on his rope, while retreating in the opposite direction. All in a twinkling the bull's head was close to the tree, and Dick with the end of the rope in his hands, and aided by the twist around the tree, had a leverage that enable him to hold the bull there. For a few moments the dirt fairly flew before the maddened animal's efforts to free itself. Then, finding itself a prisoner, with its head fastened close to the tree, the bull again stopped to consider. "You fellows can come over here now," Dick called. "The bull is safely caught---provided neither the rope nor the tree break." With a yell of delight Dick's chums ran to the spot. Dr. Bentley came, too, though he walked. Dick's success did not seem destined, how ever to last. A halt and a rest seemed to give the bull strength far greater than it had used in pulling against the rope before. With an angry snort the animal dug its hind hoofs into the soil and began to back away. "Help!" called Prescott, suddenly, for he found the rope slipping through his fingers, the friction burning his flesh. Mr. Bull had succeeded in backing four feet away from the tree. He would speedily be able to free himself altogether. Tom and Dave now came running. They threw their weight and muscle upon the rope to hinder the captive animal. But that great creature seemed likely soon to overcome the strength of all those combined against him. "Come on!" called Dick, backing away on a new course. "Off this way, to the next tree behind me. Hold on and pull for every pound you're worth." Seeing his opponents plainly engaged in making some new move the wild animal halted, eyeing them balefully. That hesitation proved fatal to his immediate freedom, for Dick had succeeded in getting the rope around the tree behind him. Now he took another quick hitch, supplementing this with a knot, then another and a third. "I guess we may all let go of the rope now," Prescott smiled. "I don't believe the bull can pull successfully against that triple knot." Mr. Bull was trying it, at any rate. His angry bellows were almost as loud as the roaring of a lion. Dirt flew. The beast exerted its whole power in its efforts to get free. "The knot will hold," pronounced Dr. Bentley, after a critical survey. "The great danger is friction, which may wear out that part of the rope hitched around the first tree. If that happens we shall all have to run for our lives. Come back here, Prescott! What are you going to do?" For Dick, leaving the little group, had started on a run for the bull. _ |
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