Bull obeyed, stumbling along and still looking down at his wounded hands.

CHAPTER 2

He left the three behind him, bewildered and frightened.  Had lightning split a thick tree beside them, or an unexpected landslide thundered past and swept the ground away at their feet, they could have been hardly more disturbed.

“Who’d of thought he could act like that!” remarked Joe.  “My gosh, Jessie!”

They went and looked at the hole where the stump had stood.  At the bottom was the white remnant of the taproot where it had burst under the strain.

“It wasn’t so much how he pulled up the stump,” said the girl faintly.  “But—­but did you see his face, boys, after he heaved the stump up?  I—­just pick that stump up, will you?”

They went to the misshapen, ragged monster and lifted it, puffing under the weight.

“All right.”

They dropped it obediently.

“And he—­he just swung it around his head like it was nothing!” declared the girl.  “Look how it smashed into the gravel where he threw it down!  Why—­why—­I didn’t know men was made like that.  And his face—­the way he laughed—­why he didn’t look like no fool at all, boys.  But just as if he’d waked up!”

“You act so interested,” said Harry Campbell dryly, “that maybe you’d like to have us call him out again so’s you can talk to him?”

Apparently she did not hear, but stared down into the mist of the late afternoon, warning her that she must start home.  She seemed puzzled and a little frightened.  When she left them it was with a wave of the hand and with no words of farewell.  They watched her go down the trail that jerked back and forth across the pitch of the slope; twice her pony stumbled, a sure sign that the rider was absent-minded.

“Jessie didn’t seem to know what to make of it,” said Harry.

“Neither do I,” returned his brother.

Both of them spoke in subdued voices as if they were afraid of being overheard.

“And think if he’d ever lay a hold on one of us like that!” said Harry.  He went to the stump and examined the side of one of the roots.  It was stained with crimson.

“Look where his finger tips worked through the dirt and the bark, right down to the solid wood,” murmured Joe.

They looked at each other uneasily.  “My gosh,” said Joe, “think of the way I handled him the other night!  He—­he let me trip him up and throw him!” He shuddered.  “Why, if he’d laid hold of me just once, he’d of squashed my muscles like they was rotten fruit!”

Of one accord they turned back to the house.  At the door they paused and peered in, as into the den of a bear.  There sat Bull on the floor—­he risked his weight to none of the crazy chairs—­still looking at his stained hands.  Then they drew back and again looked at each other with scared eyes and spoke in undertones.