I was in a bad fix.  Between the piazza and the next-door fence was a distance of but ten feet, and behind me was the solid stone wall of the house.  Escape on any side was impossible.  Had I had time I might have climbed up to the piazza, but now this was not to be thought of, and another means of getting out of danger must be instantly devised.

“Oh, he will be killed!” cried the lady, in horror.  “Help! help!”

I glanced around for some weapon with which to defend myself.  I had nothing with me.  Even my valise lay at the other end of the garden, where I had dropped it when the animal first made his appearance.

As I said, I looked around, and behind me found a heavy spade the gardener had at one time or another used for digging post holes.  It was a strong and sharp implement, and I took it up with a good deal of satisfaction.

The bull charged on me with fury.  As he did so, I took the spade and held it on a level with my waist, resting the butt end on the wall behind me.

The next instant there was a terrific crash that made me sick from head to foot.  With all his force the bull had sprung forward, only to receive the sharp end of the spade straight between his eyes.

The blow was as if it had been delivered by an axe.  It made a frightful cut, and the blood rushed forth in a torrent.

With a mad cry of pain the bull backed out.  At first I thought he was going to charge me again, but evidently the blow was too much for him, for with several moans he turned, and with his head hanging down, he staggered across the garden to the alley and disappeared.

CHAPTER XXVI

 Sammy Simpson

I gave a sigh of relief when the bull was gone.  The encounter with the mad animal had been no laughing matter.  I had once heard of a man being gored to death by just such an infuriated creature, and I considered that I had had a narrow escape.  I put my hand to my forehead and found the cold sweat standing out upon it.  Taking my handkerchief, I mopped it away.

“Are you hurt?” inquired the lady, with great solicitation.

“No, ma’am,” I replied.  “But it was a close shave!”

“Indeed it was.  And you saved my Millie’s life!  How can I thank you!”

“I didn’t do so much.  I guess she’s scared a good bit.”

“She hardly realized the danger, dear child.  Did you, Millie, my pet?”

“The bad cow wanted to eat up my dollies!” exclaimed the little miss, with a grave shake of the head.  “But oo helped me,” she added, to me.

“I’m glad I was here,” I returned.

“May I ask how you happened to come in?” continued the lady.

In a few words I told my story.  I had hardly finished when the back door opened and a gentleman stepped out.

“What is the trouble here?” he asked anxiously.  “I just heard that a mad bull had run into the garden.”