“Your car’ll be all right here, young ladies,” he said, reaching for the quarter Ruth offered him.  “I’m going to stay here myself and watch ’em until the show’s over.  Cal’late to stay here anyway till them wild Injuns and wilder cowboys air off Peleg Swift’s land yonder.  No knowing what they’ll do if they ain’t watched.”

“Listen to the opinion our friend has of your old Wild West Show,” hissed Jennie, as Ruth hopped out of the seat beside Helen.

Ruth laughed.  The other girls, getting out of the car on the other side, were startled by hearing her laugh change to a sudden ejaculation.

“Dear me! has that thing broken loose from the show?”

Jennie was the first to speak, and she stepped behind the high car in order to catch sight of what had caused Ruth’s exclamation.  Instantly the plump girl emitted a most unseemly shout: 

“Oh!  Oh!  Look at the bull!”

“What is the matter with you, Heavy?” demanded Mercy snappishly.

But when she and Helen followed the plump girl behind the automobile, they were stricken dumb with amazement, if not with fear.  Tearing down the field toward the row of automobiles was a big black bull—­head down, strings of foam flying from his mouth, and with every other indication of extreme wrath.

“Run!” shrieked Jennie, and turned to do so.

She bumped into Mercy and Helen, who clung to her and really retarded the plump girl’s escape.  But plowing right on to the shelter of the automobile, Jennie actually swept her two friends with her.

Their cries and evident fright attracted the notice of the farmer before he really knew what was happening.  Then he saw the bull and gave tongue to his own immediate excitement: 

“Look at that critter!  He’s broke out of the barnyard—­drat him!  Don’t let him see you, gals, for he’s as vicious as sin!”

He started forward with a stick in his hand to attack the enraged bull.  But the animal paid no attention to him.  It had set its eyes upon something which excited its rage—­Ruth Fielding’s red sweater!

“Oh, Ruth!  Ruth!” shrieked Helen, suddenly seeing her chum cornered on the other side of the car.

Ruth tried to open the car door again.  But it stuck.  Nor was there time for the girl of the Red Mill to vault the door and so escape the charge of the maddened bull.  The brute was upon her.

CHAPTER II

A PERFECT SHOT

One may endure dangers of divers kinds (and Ruth Fielding had done so by land and sea) and be struck down unhappily by an apparently ordinary peril.  The threat of that black bull’s charge was as poignant as anything that had heretofore happened to the girl of the Red Mill.

After that first outcry, Ruth did not raise her voice at all.  She tugged at the fouled handle of the automobile door, looking back over her shoulder at the forefront of the bull.  He bellowed, and the very sound seemed to weaken her knees.  Had she not been clinging to that handle she must have dropped to the earth.