was standing with the reins over his head. Under a giant pine close by, Charleton was clinging desperately to the horns of a red bull. Blood was running over the back of his gray shirt. The bull was stamping in a circle in the vain attempt to trample his victim.
"Don't shoot!" gasped Charleton. "Rope his hind legs and throw him! By God, I'll keep him now!"
Twice Doug's lariat darted through the air before the loop caught. But the third attempt was successful and he raced the half-maddened Moose away and jerked the bull off his feet. Charleton rolled to his own lariat lying on the ground near Democrat. He grasped the rope, rose to his knees and twirled it. It twisted about the bull's mighty neck. Charleton sank back to a sitting position and pulled the rope taut.
"Dismount and come up on him, Doug, and hog tie him," he panted.
Douglas obeyed, and shortly the bull was helpless although he continued to bellow threateningly.
"He'll have Nelson up here even if he is five miles off," said Douglas anxiously. "Better let him go."
"Take a look at my ankle, Doug," ordered Charleton. "If it's nothing worse than a sprain, I'm in luck."
With many oaths on the part of Charleton, the high riding-boot was worked off, disclosing an ankle already puffed and discolored.
"A sprain! Well, I can sit Democrat with that. Now take a look at my shoulder."
Doug turned back the bloody shirt. The bull's horn had grazed the shoulder but not deeply. Doug tied the wound up with Charleton's neckerchief. He had just finished and was beginning with his own scarf on the ankle when Scott galloped up.
"Say, you can hear that bull for a thousand miles!
