carried his antagonist far beyond him; and
before the latter could turn from his headlong charge, the young hunter
again stood erect.

But whither was he to run? The trees were too far off;--oh! he could
never reach them. The fierce beast would be on him ere he could half
cross the open ground, and would drive those terrible horns into his
back. Whither?--whither?

Confused and irresolute, he turned and rushed back up the rock.

This time he scaled the slope more nimbly; more lightly did he leap upon
the ledge, but without any feeling of hope. It was but the quick rush
of despair,--the mechanical effort of terror.

The manoeuvre did not yield him a minute's respite. His fierce
antagonist saw it all, and went charging after.

Lightly the huge brute bounded up the slope, and then leaped upon the
table, as if he had been a chamois or a goat. No pause made he, but
rushed straight on with foaming tongue and flaming eye-balls.

Now, indeed, did Caspar believe his last moment had come. He had rushed
across the table of granite, and stood upon its extremest end. There
was no chance to get back to the place where he had ascended. His
vengeful antagonist was in the track, and he could not pass him. He
must either spring down from where he stood, or be tossed from the spot
upon the horns of the fierce bull. Dizzy was the height,--over twenty
feet,--but there was no alternative but take the leap. He launched
himself into the air.

He came down feet foremost, but the terrible shock stunned him, and he
fell upon his side. The sky was darkened above him. It was the huge
body of the bull that had bounded after, and the next moment he heard
the heavy sound of the animal's hoofs as they came in contact with the
plain.

The hunter struggled to regain his feet. He rose and fell again. One
of his limbs refused to perform its functions. He felt there was
something wrong; he believed that his leg was broken!

Even this fearful thought did not cause the brave youth to yield. He
saw that the bull had recovered himself; and was once more approaching
him. He scrambled towards the rock, dragging the useless limb behind
him.

You will suppose that there was no longer a hope for him, and that the
wild ox rushing upon him must certainly gore him to death. And so he
would have done, had not Caspar been in the hands of Providence, who
gave him a stout heart, and enabled him to make still another effort for
his safety.