Nimrod overtook his enemy in the act of scrambling over a five-barred
gate. Simpson saw the head of the bull coming down upon him like the
bows of a Dutchman upon a fishing-boat, and, paralyzed with terror,
could not move an inch further. Crash against the gate came the horns
of Nimrod, with all the weight and speed of his body behind them. Away
went the gate into the field, and away went Simpson and the bull with
it, the latter nearly breaking his neck, for his horns were entangled
in the bars, one of them by the diagonal bar. Simpson's right leg was
jammed betwixt the gate and the head and horns of the bull. He roared,
and his roars maddened Nimrod, furious already that he could not get
his horns clear. Shake and pull as he might, the gate stuck to them;
and Simpson fared little the better that the bull's quarrel was for
the moment with the gate, and not with the leg between him and it.

Clare had not seen the catastrophe, and did not know what had become
of pursuer or pursued, until he reached the gap where the gate had
been. He saw then the odd struggle going on, and ran to the aid of his
foe, in terror of what might already have befallen him. The moment he
laid hold of one of the animal's horns, infuriated as Nimrod was with
his helpless entanglement, he knew at once who it was, and was quiet;
for Clare always took him by the horn when first he went up to
him. Without a moment's demur he yielded to the small hands as they
pushed and pulled his head this way and that until they got it clear
of the gate. But then they did not let him go. Clare proceeded to take
him home, and Nimrod made no objection. Simpson lay groaning.

When Clare returned, his enemy was there still. He had got clear of
the gate, but seemed in much pain, for he lay tearing up the grass and
sod in handfuls. When Clare stooped to ask what he should do for him,