cast
over the horns and legs of the bullock to be first marked, he is thrown
to the ground, and the hot iron is applied. This is often a work of no
little danger; for when a young bull, who has been roaming at liberty
since his calfhood, finds himself thus treated, he is apt to turn on his
tormentors, and to attempt to retaliate. A considerable mob of cattle
had to be branded at Warragong, and all the hands who could be collected
were employed in driving them into the pound. To get them there was
difficult; to hold them quiet while being marked was still more so. One
young and very powerful bull had resisted all the attempts made to catch
him, when Mark Withers--who at that instant caught sight of the Miss
Gilpins riding by--declared that he could manage the animal; and,
leaping over the paling, lasso in hand, approached it with unexpected
hardihood. The animal's rage appeared excited to an ungovernable pitch
at seeing him, and, lowering his head with a loud roar, he dashed
towards him. While attempting to spring on one side, the unfortunate
man's foot slipped, and before he could recover himself, he was
transfixed by the animal's horns. The bull then, lifting up his head,
bore his victim as if in triumph round and round the pound. In vain
Withers struggled to release himself, and shrieked for help. James and
Arthur and Willie, followed by several men, leaped into the pound,
regardless of the risk they ran of being set on by other animals.

"Oh! horrible! Save him! save him!" simultaneously cried the Miss
Gilpins, who had ridden up.

At that moment Craven, who heard their cry, rode up, and, seeing the
state of affairs, ordered the gate to be opened, and dashed in. The
next instant he had thrown the lasso over the bull's head, clearing the
man, and while he drew it tight round the creature's neck, the rest of
the party came up and were able to get theirs round his legs and to
bring him to the ground. Mark breathed, but had received some severe
injuries. Whether they might prove fatal it was difficult to say.

"Oh! Mr Craven, we are indeed grateful for the way in which you
released that poor man from his horrible position," said Jane, in a
sweet, yet unfaltering voice, as, on riding out of the pound, Craven
bowed stiffly to the sisters.

He looked at Jane's countenance earnestly, and then rode up alongside
her horse.

"I have some slight surgical skill, perhaps I may be of service," he
said quietly.