and waving the gun, and we kept to our course, but I admit I wasn't liking it, because I could see now it was a shotgun and he might easily be the kind of a nut that would pepper us.
There was an enormous boulder, sloping up to maybe 3 feet above the ground, about exactly in the middle of the pasture; and we were a little to the right of that when the second surprise arrived in the series I spoke of. My attention was pretty thoroughly concentrated on the nut with the shotgun, still perched on the fence and yelling louder than ever, when I felt Wolfe's fingers gripping my elbow and heard his sudden sharp command:
'Stop! Don't move!'
I stopped dead, with him beside me. I thought he had discovered something psychological about the bird on the ^ fence, but he said without looking at me, 'Stand perfectly still. Move your head slowly, very slowly, to the right.'
For an instant I thought the nut with the gun had something contagious and Wolfe had caught it, but I did as I was told, and there was the second surprise. Off maybe 200 feet to the right, walking slowly toward us with his head up, was a bull bigger than I had supposed bulls came. He was dark red with white patches, with a big white triangle on his face, and he was walking easy and slow, wiggling his head a little as if he was nervous, or as if he was trying to shake a fly off of his horns. Of a sudden he stopped and stood, looking at us with his neck curved.
I heard Wolfe's voice, not loud, at the back of my head, 'It would be better if that fool would quit yelling. Do you know the technique of bulls? Did you ever see a bull fight?' I moved my lips enough to get it out: 'No, sir.' Wolfe grunted. 'Stand still. You moved your finger then, and his neck muscles tightened. How fast can you run?'
'I can beat that bull to that fence. Don't think I can't. But you can't.'
'I know very well I can't. Twenty years ago I was an athlete. This almost convinces me… but that can wait. Ah, he's pawing. His head's down. If he should start… it's that confounded yelling. Now… back off slowly, away from me. Keep facing him. When you are 10 feet from me, swerve toward the fence. He will begin to move when you do. As long as he follows slowly, keep backing and facing him. When he starts his rush, turn and run-'
I never got a chance to follow directions. I didn't move, and I'm sure Wolfe didn't, so it must have been our friend on the fence-maybe he jumped off into the pasture. Anyhow, the bull curved his neck and started on the jump; and if it was the other guy he was headed for, that didn't help any, because we were in line with him and we came first. He started the way an avalanche ends. Possibly if we had stood still he would have passed by, about 3 feet to my right, but either it was asking too much of human nature to expect me to stand there, or I'm not human. I have since maintained that it flashed through my mind that if I moved it would attract him to me and away from Nero Wolfe, but there's no use continuing that argument here. There's no question but what I moved, without any preliminary backing. And there's no question, whoever he started for originally, about his being attracted by my movement. I could hear him behind me. I could damn near feel him. Also I was dimly aware of shouts and a blotch of something red above the fence near the spot I was aimed at. There it was-the fence. I didn't do any brak- ing for it, but took it at full speed, doing a vault with my hands reaching for its top, and one of my hands missed and I tumbled, landing flat on the other side, sprawling and rolling. I sat up and panted and heard a voice above me:
'Beautiful! I wouldn't have missed that for anything.' I looked up and saw two girls, one in a white dress and red jacket, the other in a yellow shirt and slacks. I snarled at them, 'Shall I do it again?' The nut with the shotgun came loping up making loud demands, and I told him to shut up, and scrambled to my feet. The fence was 10 yards away. Limping to it, I took a look. The bull was slowly walking along, a hundred feet off, wiggling his head. In the middle of the pasture was an ornamental statue. It was Nero Wolfe, with his arms folded, his stick hanging from a wrist, standing motionless on the rounded peak of the boulder. It was the first time I had ever seen him in any such position as that, and I stood and stared because I had never fully realized what a remarkable looking object he really was. He didn't actually look undignified, but there was something pathetic about it, he stood so still, not moving at all.
I called to him, 'Okay, boss?'
He called back, 'Tell that man with the gun I want to speak to him when I get out of here! Tell him to get someone to pen that bull!'
I turned. The guy didn't look like a bull penner. He looked more scared than mad, and he looked small and skinny in his overalls and denim shirt. His face was weathered and his nose was cockeyed. He had followed me to the fence, and now demanded:
'Who air you fellows? Why didn't you go back when I hollered at you? Where the hell-'
'Hold it, mister. Introductions can wait. Can you put that bull in a pen?'
'No, I can't. And I want to tell you-'
'Is there someone here who can?'
'No, they ain't. They've gone off to the fair. They'll be back in an hour maybe. And I want to tell you-'
'Tell me later. Do you expect him to stand on that rock with his arms folded for an hour?'
'I don't expect nothin'. He can sit down, can't he? But anyhow, I want him out of there right now. I'm guarding that bull.'
'Good for you. From what? From me?'
'From anybody. Looky, if you think you're kidding…'
I gave him up and turned to the pasture and called: 'He's guarding the bull! He wants you out of there right now! He can't pen the bull and no one else can! Somebody will be here in an hour!'
'Archiel' Wolfe bellowed like thunder. 'When once I get-'
'No, honest to God, I'm telling you straight! I don't like the bull any better than you do!'
Silence. Then; 'It will be an hour before anyone comes?'
