after panel, and at intervals Dad would examine the blistering sky for
signs of rain. Once when he looked up a red bullock was reaching for his
waistcoat, which hung on a branch of a low tree. Dad sang out. The
bullock poked out his tongue and reached higher. Then Dad told Joe to
run. Joe ran--so did the bullock, but faster, and with the waistcoat that
once was a part of Mother's shawl half-way down his throat. Had the
shreds and ribbons that dangled to it been a little longer, he might have
trodden on them and pulled it back, but he did n't. Joe deemed it his
duty to follow that red bullock till it dropped the waistcoat, so he
hammered along full split behind. Dad and Dave stood watching until
pursued and pursuer vanished down the gully; then Dad said something about
Joe being a fool, and they pulled at the wire again. They were nearing a
corner post, and Dad was hauling the wire through the last panel, when
there came the devil's own noise of galloping hoofs. Fifty or more cattle
came careering along straight for the fence, bellowing and kicking up
their heels in the air, as cattle do sometimes after a shower of rain.
Joe was behind them--considerably--still at full speed and yelping like a
dog. Joe loved excitement.

For weeks those cattle had been accustomed to go in and out between the
posts; and they did n't seem to have any thoughts of wire as they bounded
along. Dave stood with gaping mouth. Dad groaned, and the wire's-end he
was holding in his hand flew up with a whiz and took a scrap of his ear
away. The cattle got mixed up in the wires. Some toppled over; some were
caught by the legs; some by the horns. They dragged the wire twenty and
thirty yards away, twisted it round logs, and left a lot of the posts
pointing to sunset.

Oh, Dad's language then! He swung his arms about and foamed at the mouth.
Dave edged away from him.