owed their escape. He only thought of some desperate means of attack.
Ah! the six-shooter. It was still in his pocket. He drew it nervously,
hopelessly--it looked so small compared with his large enemy!

He presented it with flashing eyes, and pulled the trigger. A feeble
click followed, another, and again! Even THIS had mocked him. He
pulled the trigger once more, wildly; there was a sudden explosion, and
another. He stepped back; the balls had apparently flattened themselves
harmlessly on the bull's forehead. He pulled again, hopelessly; there
was another report, a sudden furious bellow, and the enormous brute
threw his head savagely to one side, burying his left horn deep in the
crumbling bank beside him. Again and again he charged the bank, driving
his left horn home, and bringing down the stones and earth in showers.
It was some seconds before Clarence saw in a single glimpse of that
wildly tossing crest the reason of this fury. The blood was pouring from
his left eye, penetrated by the last bullet; the bull was blinded! A
terrible revulsion of feeling, a sudden sense of remorse that was for
the moment more awful than even his previous fear, overcame him. HE
had done THAT THING! As much to fly from the dreadful spectacle as
any instinct of self-preservation, he took advantage of the next mad
paroxysms of pain and blindness, that always impelled the suffering
beast towards the left, to slip past him on the right, reach the
incline, and scramble wildly up to the plain again. Here he ran
confusedly forward, not knowing whither--only caring to escape that
agonized bellowing, to shut out forever the accusing look of that huge
blood-weltering eye.

Suddenly he heard a distant angry shout. To his first hurried glance
the plain had seemed empty, but, looking up, he saw two horsemen rapidly
advancing with a led horse behind them--his own. With the blessed sense