Bump!  The bull’s head landed against the tree, the shock nearly bringing the high school boy to the ground.  Dick 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.  Bump—–­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,” Dick answered.  “How is Clara?”

“Safe,” pronounced Tom.

“Hysterical?”

“No; only trembling.”

Dick 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.

“Nice fellow!  Nice fellow!” Dick called mockingly.  “Wouldn’t you like to have me come down to talk with you?”

Attracted by the voice, the bull raised its head, showing its flaming eyes.

“I wonder!” mused Dick, half aloud, as he leaned out cautiously over a limb.  “I wonder.”

Then, by way of finding out, he dropped the noose suddenly.  It fell over the animal’s head and around its neck.

Warned by the touch of the rope, the bull backed hastily off, nearly hauling the high school boy out of the tree.

“There’s just one chance to get you, and that’s happening now,” mused Dick Prescott, as, still holding to the rope, he fairly shot down the tree trunk.

For an instant the bull watched as though incredulous.  It gave Dick time to touch his feet to the ground, passing the rope loosely once around the tree trunk.

As the bull lumbered forward Prescott pulled on his rope, while retreating in the opposite direction.

All in a twinkling the bull’s head was close to the tree, and Dick with the end of the rope in his hands, and aided by the twist around the tree, had a leverage that enable him to hold the bull there.

For a few moments the dirt fairly flew before the maddened animal’s efforts to free itself.  Then, finding itself a prisoner, with its head fastened close to the tree, the bull again stopped to consider.