The conqueror raised his head inside the
fence and bellowed his triumph, and outside the fence the other
commenced pawing up the sand again, switching his tail across his
bleeding side, and turning his little red eyes here and there. They
fixed, at length, upon Kate Cumberland, and she remembered with a start
of horror that she was wearing a bright red blouse. The next instant the
bull was charging. She turned in a hopeless flight. Safety was hundreds
of yards away in the house; the skirts tangled about her legs; and
behind her the dull impacts of the bull's hoofs swept close and closer.
Then she heard a snarl in front, a deep-throated, murderous snarl, and
she saw Black Bart racing towards her. He whizzed by her like a black
thunderbolt; there was a roar and bellow behind her, and at the same
time she stumbled over a fence-board and fell upon her knees. But when
she cast a glance of terror behind her she saw the bull lying on its
side with lolling tongue and glazing eyes and the fangs of Black Dart
were buried in its throat.
When she reached this point in her musings her glance naturally turned
towards the wolf-dog, and she started violently when she saw that Bart
was slinking towards her, trailing the helpless leg. The moment he felt
her eyes upon him, Bart dropped down, motionless, with a wicked baring
of his teeth; his eyes closed, and he seemed, as usual, dreaming in the
sun.
Was the brute stalking her? It was worse, in a way, than the ordeal of
the day before, this stealthy, noiseless approach.
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