"Then turn and run in another direction!" shouted Darrin.

Neither Dr. Bentley nor d.i.c.k Prescott uttered a word. They had no advice ready at the instant, but turned and ran toward the imperiled girl as fast as they could go.

Unused to such exercise, Dr. Bentley, who got the first start, was quickly panting and red of face.

By him like a streak shot d.i.c.k Prescott, running with the speed of the sprinter.

To face the bull empty handed was worse than useless. d.i.c.k had to form his plans as he ran.

CHAPTER XXII

PLAYING RAGTIME ON MR. BULL

"Drop your parasol! Throw it away!" screamed her friends in unison.

But Clara, emitting another shriek, seemed too frightened to comprehend. She tried to redouble her speed, but the bull was rapidly gaining on her in the pursuit.

As all stood gazing at the panic-stricken girl, d.i.c.k Prescott shot across the field.

What happened next was that d.i.c.k s.n.a.t.c.hed the flaming red parasol from her hand, then swung her shoulders about, thus forcing the girl to face in another direction.

"Run---the way you're headed!" he yelled hoa.r.s.ely.

The bull was close upon them. Giving the parasol a flourish in the maddened animal's face, Prescott started off in the direction from which the bull had come.

"Get up a tree, Prescott, as quickly as you can!" panted Dr. Bentley.

But d.i.c.k, not even pausing to shake his head, put all his effort into a fresh burst of speed.

Running away from the camp, flaunting the red parasol, d.i.c.k was followed closely by the bellowing bull. For a short distance, anyway, the sprinter could run as fast as the pursuer.

d.i.c.k swiftly decided, now that he had the bull in voluntary tow, to lead the animal where the trees were thicker. Here an agile candidate for football honors ought to be able to daze and exhaust the bull by darting from tree to tree.

The plan had its dangers, however, and d.i.c.k knew them well.

Once in among the trees d.i.c.k tossed the parasol to one side, then darted off on an oblique line.

Bellowing, stumbling, the bull turned clumsily to follow him.

Again d.i.c.k changed his course, though, purposely, he took pains not to get too far from camp.

Now he saw his chums running towards him.

"Keep away! Don't get near the bull!" he yelled.

"We've sent Dan to get the rope in the tent," Reade called back.

"Now, what in the world do the boys think they're going to do with a rope?" Prescott wondered.

Suddenly, as he dodged off on a new track to escape the bull, a plan flashed into Prescott's mind.

"Get up a tree!" yelled Dave.

"Hardly time enough," d.i.c.k retorted, dodging again and sprinting briefly out of harm's way. "When Dan brings the rope throw it so that one end will rest in the lowest fork of that young chestnut tree."

Dave Darrin heard, understood and nodded.

"Rope's ready in the chestnut tree," he called, as d.i.c.k started on still another track, pursued, clumsily, by the angry bull.

"Get back out of harm's way," shouted d.i.c.k. "Get back, or you will hinder me."

In three changing sprints d.i.c.k manoeuvred to reach the chestnut tree, though the clumsy bull was barely twenty feet behind him and coming fast.

As the rope hung from the crotch of the tree both ends trailed on the ground. Seizing both lines d.i.c.k went up rapidly hand over hand, his feet braced against the tree trunk. In this position he was able to run nimbly up the side of the trunk.

b.u.mp! The bull's head landed against the tree, the shock nearly bringing the high school boy to the ground. d.i.c.k managed to hold on to the rope, though his feet slipped from the trunk.

Rapidly he drew himself up into the crotch of the tree. b.u.mp---again!

Any animal with a head less hard would have been stunned outright.

Even Mr. Bull, after the second charge at the tree, backed off, head lowered, pawing the ground, willing to consider ere making a renewed attack.

The tree was in no danger of snapping. It was too stout for that.

Prescott's only danger, just at present, was that of being dislodged by the force of those mad charges.

Turning, and beholding his friends closer than was safe, Prescott shouted to them:

"Get back, fellows! You can't do any good here now, and the bull may turn on you. Get 'way back! I'll call you when I'm ready for your help."

"What do you think you're going to be able to do up that tree?"

jeered Danny Grin, as he nevertheless backed away with the others.

"I'm going to do something, if there's any way to do it," d.i.c.k answered. "How is Clara?"

"Safe," p.r.o.nounced Tom.

"Hysterical?"

"No; only trembling."

d.i.c.k had hauled up the rope. Now, with a speculative air, he was making a slip noose at one end. He still hadn't a very definite idea of what he was going to do to the bull. Prescott was making a lariat, though he had no skill in the use of such a thing.

Presently, however, the mad animal came closer, stamping, head lowered.