The powerful machine quivered for the fraction of a second and then leaped from the roadway. There was a crash of splintered fence posts and boards, a glimpse of flying lumber, and we were in the meadow.

It takes some time to tell this, but it was not long in happening. When we went through that fence Harding was probably seventy yards away and to our left. The bull was not twenty feet back of him and gaining rapidly at every jump. I saw nothing of Carter or Chilvers.

Harding had dropped his club and was running desperately. I feared every moment that he would fall. He was headed for the pond, but never would have reached it.

"Drop down! Drop down!" I shouted to Mrs. Harding.

We went over a hummock where a drain-pipe had been laid and I thought we were done for. The shock hurled Mrs. Harding to the floor. Beyond that point the ground was hard and fairly smooth and our speed became terrific.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Then I struck the bull"]

The distance between the bull and his intended victim had decreased to so small a s.p.a.ce that I despaired of cutting him off. I cannot tell exactly what happened. I only know that I kept my eye on that bull as religiously as one attempts to obey the golf mandate, "keep your eye on the ball."

Then I struck the bull.

I caught him with the left of the front of the car. The collision was at an angle of about thirty degrees, I should say. I missed Harding by not more than six feet. I presume we were travelling at a rate of a mile a minute, and that bull certainly was going one-third that fast.

As the front of the machine was upon the animal I ducked, but did not release my firm grip on the steering-wheel. There was photographed on my brain an impression of a s.h.a.ggy head, short and sharp horns, rage-crazed eyes, a wet nose and lolling tongue, of turf cast up by flying hooves, of a bearded face with staring eyes, of a red coat and a bewildering plaid--and then the machine was upon them.

The shock of the collision was so slight that I feared I had missed my target. I shut off the power and swung sharply to the right. One glance proved that Mrs. Harding was uninjured.

Two objects were on the ground over which I had pa.s.sed, and Carter and Chilvers were running toward them. Had I struck Harding? I suffered agonies in those moments, and I was the first to reach his side.

As I sprang from the car he raised to a sitting posture and attempted to speak, but it was impossible to do so. Before Mrs. Harding could reach him he was on his feet, making gestures to indicate that he was not hurt.

"He's all right!" shouted Chilvers, rushing up to us. "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Harding, he only stumbled and fell. He's winded but will catch his breath in a minute!"

Mr. Harding panted, and between gasps bowed and made pantomimic signs to indicate that Chilvers had correctly diagnosed his ailment.

His wife has too much sense to give way to her emotions at such a time.

She brushed his clothes and wiped the perspiration from his face. Miss Harding and the others were on the scene before his voice came back to him.

"I'm--all--right!" he declared with much effort, walking and swinging his arms to prove it to himself and us. Then he shook hands with me, and I noted that his violent exercise had not impaired the strength of his grip. We walked over and looked at the dead bull.

"That was a good shot, Smith," he said. "That was great work. Do you know how close you came to hitting me?"

"It was very close, but I had one eye on you," I replied.

"I honestly believe it was the rush of air from the machine that keeled me over, but I was about done for. I doubt if I would have made that pond."

"Governor," said Chilvers, "he would have nailed you in two more jumps.

That was as pretty a piece of interference as I ever saw."

There was not a mark on the dead animal, whose neck must have been broken.

"When you struck him," said Chilvers, "the air was full of surprised beef. That bull went at least twelve feet in the air, and he never moved after he came down. It was a glancing shot, and you could not have done better, Smith, if you made a hundred trials."

"Once is enough for me," I said.

I turned my attention to the automobile, and as I started toward it Miss Harding intercepted me.

"That was very brave of you, Jacques Henri," she said, offering both of her hands. "You are an excellent chauffeur, and we all thank you."

"Don't praise me too much or I shall be tempted to demand an exorbitant salary," I declared. "I'm glad I had the sense to think of it in time.

Let's see if much damage was done to the machine."

It was a happy moment for John Henry Smith, and I would tackle a bull every day under the same circ.u.mstances if I knew that there was waiting for me the reward of such a glance from those eyes and the clasp of those little hands.

The forward lamps were smashed beyond repair and several rods were slightly bent, but aside from these trifles I could not see that any damage had been done. Mr. Harding and the others joined us.

"I suppose somebody owns that bull," he said. "Do you happen to know who runs this farm, Smith?"

I had no idea. There was no farmhouse in sight, and Harding was in a quandary. He thought a moment and then produced one of his cards.

"Write this for me, Smith. My hand is too shaky. Let's see," and then he dictated the following: "_While playing golf I was attacked by this bull. Send bill for bull to Woodvale Club_."

"I should say that was all right," he said, reading it carefully. "It is short and does not go into unnecessary details."

We tied the card to the animal's horns, and I have an idea the owner of that unfortunate beast will be mystified to account for the fate which befel him. Having repaired the fence as best we could we resumed our journey to Oak Cliff, and Mr. Harding was content to remain in his seat until we reached there.

Later in the day Chilvers drew a diagram of this exploit on the back of a menu card, and I paste it in here as a droll memento of this incident.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Chilvers attempted to explain to Harding and the rest of us that the collision between the auto and the bull resulted in "pulled or hooked shot," the bull taking the place of a golf ball and the machine serving as the face of the driver. It is quite accurate as showing the relative positions of the various factors, but I should not term it an art product.

"I am familiar with the road from here to Oak Cliff," said Miss Harding when we had gone a mile or so. "You may rest, Jacques Henri, and I'll take your place."

She did so, and handled the big car with the skill of an expert. I did not talk to her for fear of distracting her attention from the task she had a.s.sumed. I was contented to watch her, to be near her and to know that I had had the rare good fortune to do an unexpected turn for one who was near and dear to her.

I will tell of our day in Oak Cliff in my next entry.

ENTRY NO. XVI

MISS HARDING OWNS UP

"I Demand part of my payment this afternoon," I said to Miss Harding as we neared the Oak Cliff club house.

"You are impatient, Jacques Henri," she laughed. "Is it possible my credit is not good?"

"Not in this instance," I returned. "I am demanding that you refuse all invitations to play in foursomes, and that after luncheon you and I make the round of Oak Cliff."

"That is so modest a request that I grant it," she said, and ten minutes later I had the satisfaction of hearing her decline Carter's invitation to join in a foursome in which I was to take no part. This proves not only that all is fair in love, but that victory favours the one who strikes the first blow.

It was about ten o'clock when we reached Oak Cliff, and found Mr. Wilson waiting for us. Harding was impatient to test his skill against Wilson, and the two were ready to play when the rest of us were still chatting with Mrs. Wilson and others of their party.