ure could
withstand such a furious onset. Alas for Peterkin, had his life
depended on Jack, strong and lion-like though he was! His aid could not
have been in time. A higher Power nerved his arm and steeled his heart
at that terrible moment. As I gazed helplessly at Peterkin, I observed
that he suddenly ceased his struggles to get free, and throwing forward
the muzzle of his piece, stood boldly up and awaited the onset with calm
self-possession. The bull was on him almost in an instant. One stride
more and he would have been lost, but that stride was never taken. His
rifle poured its deadly charge into the skull of the wild bull, which
fell a mass of dead flesh, literally at his feet.

It were vain to attempt to describe the state of our feelings on this
memorable occasion--the fervour with which we thanked our heavenly
Father for our friend's deliverance--the delight with which we shook his
hands, again and again, and embraced him. It was with considerable
difficulty that we extricated Peterkin from his entanglement. When this
was accomplished we proceeded to examine our prize.

We were not a little puzzled on discovering that only three bullets had
struck the bull. For my part, I fired straight at its forehead, and had
felt certain at the time that my shots had taken effect; yet there was
but one ball in the animal's head, and that was undoubtedly Peterkin's,
for the hair all round the hole was singed off, so near had it been to
him when he fired. The other two shots were rather wide apart--one in
the shoulder, the other in the neck. Both would have proved mortal in
the long run, but neither was sufficiently near to a vital spot to kill
speedily.

"Now, Ralph, my boy," said Jack, after our excitement was in some degree
abated, "you and I must divide the honour of these two shots, for I fear
we can't tell which of us fired them. Peterkin only fired once, and
that was pretty effectual."

"Yes," I replied, "it is rather perplexing; for although I have no
objection whatever to your having all the honour of those two shots,
still one likes to know with certainty who actually made them."

"You'd better toss for them," suggested Peterkin, who was seated on the
trunk of a fallen tree, examining, with a somewhat rueful countenance,
the tattered condition of his garments.

"There would not be much satisfaction in that," replied Jack, laughing.

"It is probable," said I, "that each of us hit with one barrel a