d his legs and headed desperately towards us,
with a bull behind him in full chase.

I managed to drag Miss Plinlimmon off the bench, thrust her like a
bundle beneath it, and scrambled after her into shelter but a second
or two before the pair came thundering by; for the bull's hooves
shook the ground; and so small a space--ten or twelve yards at the
most--divided him from the man, that they passed in one rush, and
with them half a dozen bulldogs hanging at the brute's heels as if
trailed along by an invisible cord. Next after these pelted Master
Archibald, shouting and tugging at his side-arm; and after him again,
but well in the rear, a whole rabble of bull-baiters, butchers,
soldiers, boys and mongrels, all yelping together with excitement and
terror, the men flourishing swords and pitchforks.

To speak of the man first.--I have since seen soldiers crazed and
running in battle, but never such a face as passed me in that brief
vision. His lips were wide, his eyes strained and almost starting
from his head, the pupils turned a little backward as if fascinated
by the terror at his heels, imploring help, seeking a chance to
double--all three together--and yet absolutely fixed and rigid.

The bull made no account of us, though below the seat I caught the
light of his red eye as he plunged past, head to ground and so close
that his hot breath smote in our faces and the broken end of rope
about the base of his horns whipped the grass by my fingers.
Perhaps the red coat attracted his rage. But he seemed to nurse a
special grudge against the man.

This appeared when, a stone's-throw beyond our seat, the man sprang
sideways to the left of his course--in the nick of time, too, for as
he sprang he seemed to clear the horns by a bare foot. The bull's
heavier rush carried him forward for several yards before he swerved
himself on to the new line of pursuit; and this let up Master
Archibald, who by this time had his side-arm loose.

"Ham-string 'en!" yelled a blue-shirted butcher, pausing beside us
and panting. "Quick, you fool--ham-string 'en!"

For some reason the young man seemed to hesitate. Likely enough he
did not hear; perhaps had lost presence of mind. At any rate, for a
second or so, his arm hung on the stroke, and as the bull swerved
again he jabbed his bayonet feebly at the haunch.

The butcher swore furiously. "Murdered by folly if ever man was!
Ye bitter fool," he shouted, "it's pricked him on, ye've do