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