"What a funny cow that is, Josh! Look at the silly thing poking her bally old horns in the ground, and throwing the dirt up. Say, did you ever see anything like that? Why, the poor beast must be sick, Josh!"
"Cow? Great Jupiter! Buster, you silly, don't you know a bull when you see one?"
"Oh, dear! and just think of me having the nerve to put on my nice red sweater this morning, because this Michigan air was so nippy. I don't believe bulls like red things, do they, Josh?"
"They sure don't. And then we had to cut across this field here, to save a few steps. He's looking at us right now; we'll have to run for it, Buster!"
The fat boy, who seemed to fully merit this name, set down the bucket of fresh milk he had been carrying, and groaned dismally.
"I just can't run-never was built for a sprinter, and you know it, Josh Purdue!" he exclaimed. "If he comes after us, I've got to climb up this lone tree, and wait till he gets tired."
"Then start shinning up right away, Buster; for there he comes-and here I go!"
With these words long-legged Josh started off at a tremendous pace, aiming for the nearest fence. Buster, left to himself, immediately commenced to try to get up the tree. He was so nervous with the trampling of the bull, together with the hoarse bellow that reached his ears, that in all probability he might have been caught before gaining a point of safety, only that the animal stopped once or twice to throw up some more soil, and thus give vent to his anger at the intrusion on his preserves.