“Dismount and come up on him, Doug, and hog tie him,” he panted.

Douglas obeyed, and shortly the bull was helpless although he continued to bellow threateningly.

“He’ll have Nelson up here even if he is five miles off,” said Douglas anxiously.  “Better let him go.”

“Take a look at my ankle, Doug,” ordered Charleton.  “If it’s nothing worse than a sprain, I’m in luck.”

With many oaths on the part of Charleton, the high riding-boot was worked off, disclosing an ankle already puffed and discolored.

“A sprain!  Well, I can sit Democrat with that.  Now take a look at my shoulder.”

Doug turned back the bloody shirt.  The bull’s horn had grazed the shoulder but not deeply.  Doug tied the wound up with Charleton’s neckerchief.  He had just finished and was beginning with his own scarf on the ankle when Scott galloped up.

“Say, you can hear that bull for a thousand miles!  What the devil are you up to?  I want you both to come and help me get three I’ve roped down the draw a couple of miles below here.”

Douglas explained the accident.

“My gawd, Charleton, don’t you know enough not to tackle a bull on foot?”

“How’d I know there was a bull around?” retorted the wounded man.  “I dropped my rope and when I dismounted to pick it up, he came after me like a Kansas cyclone.”

“Well, I’ll take the bull to the corral and come back here for grub if Douglas will fix it up.  We will put plenty of whiskey and hot coffee in you, Charleton.  Do you think you can get home, while Doug and I ride herd?”

“I sure can!  Go ahead, Scott.  You’d better blind the bull.”

Scott nodded, and picking up several handsful of dry dirt, he threw them into the bull’s wide, bloodshot eyes.  The animal snorted and tossed his head.  Scott continued with handful after handful until the bull’s eyes were only muddy blanks under his tossing forehead.  His bellowing ceased.  Then Scott removed the ropes from his hind legs and, mounting, led him away.  The bull was silent and entirely occupied in attempting to rub the dirt out of his streaming eyes.

“Make it as quick as you can, Scott,” called Charleton.  Then to Douglas, “Get busy with the whiskey and coffee, Doug.  He ought to be back by the time you’ve fixed up a snack.”

But Scott was long in returning.

“Oughtn’t he to be back?” asked Doug, when the bacon was ready.

Charleton looked at his watch.  “He’s been gone over an hour.  After you eat, you go see what kind of trouble he’s in, Doug.”

Douglas devoured the bacon and bread, then mounted and rode slowly through the silent, scented forest.  His blue eyes danced with excitement, his tanned cheeks burned as he guided the Moose through the quivering aspens to the corral.  Here he pulled up with a sudden oath.  The corral was empty, the fence torn open in half a dozen places.