Bull Hunter | Page 9

came to going downhill on broken
ground. He had always thought of the great strength that once must
have been hers, and he pitied her for the change. He found himself
pitying Uncle Bill Campbell in much the same way.
When Bill raised his tin cup he spilled scalding coffee on his breast.
The old man merely set his teeth and continued to glare his challenge at
the three. But not one of the three dared speak a word, dared make an
offer of assistance.
What baffled the slow mind of Bull Hunter was the effort to imagine a
force so great that battle with it had reduced the invincible Campbell to

this shaken wreck of his old self. Mere bullets could tear wounds in
flesh and break bones; but mere bullets could not wreck the nerves of a
man so that his hand trembled as if he were drunk or hysterical with
weariness.
He tried to work out this problem. He conceived a man of gigantic size,
vast muscles, inexhaustible strength. The power of a bear and the swift
cunning of a wild cat--such must have been the man who struck down
Uncle Bill and sent him home a shattered remnant of his old self.
There was another mystery. Why did the destroyer not finish his task?
Why did he take pity on Uncle Bill Campbell and bind up the wounds
he had himself made? Here the mind of Bull Hunter paused. He could
not pass the mysterious idea of another than himself pitying Uncle Bill.
It was pitying a hawk in the sky.
Harry was taking away the dishes and throwing them in the little tub of
lukewarm water where the grease would be carelessly soused off them.
"Did you get up that stump?" asked Uncle Bill suddenly.
There was a familiar ring in his voice. Woe to them if they had not
carried out his orders! All three of the young men quaked, and Bull laid
aside his book.
"We done it," answered Joe in a quavering voice.
"You done it?" asked Bill.
"We--we dug her pretty well clear, then Bull pulled her up."
Some of the wrath ebbed out of the face of Bill as he glanced at the
huge form of Bull. "Stand up!" he ordered.
Bull arose.
The keen eye of the old man went over him from head to foot slowly.
"Someday," he said slowly, speaking entirely to himself.
"Someday--maybe!"

What he expected from Bull "someday" remained unknown. The
dishwashing was swiftly finished. Then Uncle Bill made a feeble effort
to get off his boots, but his strength had been ebbing for some time. His
sons dared not interfere as the old man leaned slowly over and strove to
tug the boot from his wounded leg; but Bull remembered, all in a flood
of tenderness, some half-dozen small, kind things that his uncle had
said to him.
That was long, long ago, when the orphan came into the Campbell
family. In those days his stupidity had been attributed largely to the
speed with which he had grown, and he was expected to become
normally bright later on; and in those days Bill Campbell occasionally
let fall some gentle word to the great boy with his big, frightened eyes.
And the half-dozen instances came back to Bull in this moment.
He stepped between his cousins and laid his hand on the foot of his
uncle. It brought a snarl from the old man, a snarl that made Bull
straighten and step back, but he came again and put aside the shaking
hand of Uncle Bill. His cousins stood at one side, literally quaking. It
was the first time that they had actually seen their father defied. They
saw the huge hand of Bull settle around the leg of their father, well
below the wound and then the grip closed to avoid the danger of
opening the wound when the boot was worked off. After this he pulled
the tight riding boot slowly from the swollen foot.
Uncle Bill was no longer silent. The moment the big hand of his
nephew closed over his leg he launched a stream of curses that chilled
the blood and drove his own sons farther back into the shadow of the
corner. He demanded that they stand forth and tear Bull limb from limb.
He disinherited them for cowardice. He threatened Bull with a
vengeance compared with which the thunderbolt would be a feeble
flare of light. He swore that he was entirely capable of taking care of
himself, that he would step down into his grave sooner than be nursed
and petted by any living human being.
All the while, the great Bull leaned impassively over the wounded man
and finally worked the boot free. That was not all. Uncle