But I was in no mind to take to a tree, and wait for some inglorious
discovery by a rescue party from the house. I found my fighting blood
rising, and became of the mind to show Sir Jonas who was his master,
regardless of who might be his owner.

His youth kept him in good wind still, and he charged me again and
again, keeping me hard put to it to find trees enough, even in an
orchard full of trees. Once he ripped the bark half off a big trunk as I
sprang behind it, and he stood with his head still pressed there, not
two feet from where I was, with my hand against the tree, braced for a
sudden spring. His front foot dug in the sod, his eyes were red, and
between his grumbles his breath came in puffs and snorts of anger.
Evidently he meant me ill, and this thought offended me.

Near by me on the ground lay a ragged limb, cut from some tree by the
pruners, now dry, tough and not ill-shaped for a club. I reached back
with my foot and pulled it within reach, then stooped quickly and got it
in hand, breaking off a few of the lesser branches with one foot, as we
still stood there eying each other. "Now, sir," said I to Sir Jonas at
last, "I shall show you that no little bull two years old can make me a
laughing stock." Then I sprang out and carried the war into Africa
forthwith.

Sir Jonas was surprised when I came from behind the tree and swung a
hard blow to the side of his tender nose; and as I repeated this, he
grunted, blew out his breath and turned his head to one side with closed
eyes, raising his muzzle aloft in pain. Once more I struck him fair on
the muzzle, and this time he bawled loudly in surprise and anguish, and
so turned to run. This act of his offered me fair hold upon his tail,