'That's what he says.'
'Then you'll have to do it! Can you hear me?'
'Yes.'
'Good. Climb back into the pasture and get the bull's attention. When he moves, walk back in the other direction, keeping within a few feet of the fence. Was that a woman wearing that red thing?'
'Yes. Woman or girl.' I looked around. 'She seems to be gone.'
'Find her and borrow the red thing, and have it with you. When the bull starts a rush go back over the fence. Proceed along it until you're away from him, then get back in the pasture and repeat. Take him to the other end of the pasture and keep him there until I am out. He won't leave you for me at such a distance if you keep him busy. Let him get the idea he really has a chance of getting you.'
'Sure.'
'What?'
'I said sure!'
'All right, go ahead. Be careful. Don't slip on the grass.'
When I had asked the girl if I should do it again, I had thought it was pure sarcasm, but now… I looked around for her. The one in yellow slacks was there, sitting up on the fence, but not the other one. I opened my mouth to request information, but the answer came before I got it out, from another quarter. There was the sound of a car's engine humming in second, and I saw the car bouncing along a lane beyond some trees, headed toward the fence down a ways. It stopped with its nose almost touching the fence, and the girl in the red jacket leaned out and yelled at me:
'Come and open the gate!'
I trotted toward her, limping a little from my right knee which I had banged on the fence, but the other guy, using a sort of hop, skip and jump, beat me to it. When I got there he was standing beside the car, waving the gun around and reciting rules and statutes about gates and bulls.
The girl told him impatiently, 'Don't be silly, Dave. There's no sense leaving him perched on that rock.' She switched to me. 'Open the gate, and if you want to come along, get in. Dave'll shut it.'
I moved. Dave moved too and squeaked, 'Leave that gate alone! By gammer, I'll shoot! My orders from Mr. Pratt was if anybody opens a gate or climbs in that pasture, shoot!'
'Baloney,' said the girl. 'You've already disobeyed orders. Why didn't you shoot when they opened the other gate? You'll be court-martialed. Why don't you shoot now? Go ahead and blow him off that rock. Let's see you.' She got impatient again, to me, and scornful: 'Do you want your friend rescued or not?'
I unhooked the gate and swung it open. The bull, quite a distance away, turned to face us with his head cocked sidewise. Dave was sputtering and flourishing the gun, but it was obvious he could be ignored. As the car passed through – it was a big shiny yellow Wethersill convertible with the top down – I hopped in, and the girl called to Dave to get the gate shut in a hurry. The bull, still at a distance, tossed his head and then lowered it and began pawing. Chunks of sod flew back under his belly.
I said, 'Stop a minute,' and pulled the hand brake. 'What makes you think this will work?'
'I don't know. We can try it, can't we? Are you scared?'
'Yes. Take off that red thing.'
'Oh, that's just superstition.'
'I'm superstitious. Take it off.' I grabbed the collar of it and she wriggled out and I stuck it behind us. Then I reached under my coat to my holster and pulled out my automatic.
She looked at it. 'What are you, a spy or something? Don't be silly. Do you think you could stop that bull with that thing?'
'I could try'
'You'd better not, unless you're prepared to cough up $45,000'
'Cough what?'
'$45,000. That's not just a bull, it's Hickory Caesar Grindon. Put that thing away and release the brake.'
I looked at her a second and said, 'Turn around and get out of here. I'll follow instructions and tease him down to the other end along the fence.'
'No.' She shifted to first and fed gas. 'Why should you have all the fun?' The car moved, and she went into second. We jolted and swayed. 'I wonder how fast I ought to go? I've never saved a man's life before. It looks from here as it I've picked a funny one to start on. Should I blow the horn?
What do you think? Look at him!'
The bull was playing rocking horse. His hind end would go down and then bob up in the air while he lowered his front, with his tail sticking up and his head tossing. He was facing our way. As we passed him about 30 yards to the left the girl said, 'Look at him! He's a high school bull!' The car came up from a hole and nearly bounced me out. I growled, 'Watch where you're going,' and kept my head turned toward the bull. He looked as if he could have picked the car up and carried it on his horns the way an Indian woman carries a jug. We were approaching the boulder. She pulled up alongside, missing it by half an inch, came to a stop, and sang out, 'Taxi?'
As Wolfe stepped carefully down from the peak of the boulder I got out and held the door open. I didn't offer to take his elbow to steady him because I saw by the look on his face that it would only be lighting a fuse. He got to the edge of the boulder and stood there with his feet at the level of the running board.
