Ruth Fielding in the Great Northwest | Page 3

screen masterpiece."
"I suppose it is one of these little fly-by-night shows!" scoffed Mercy.
"Let's see that bill. Dakota Joe's Wild West and Frontier Round-Up'
Mm! Sounds big. But the bigger they sound the smaller they are, as a
rule."
"I am glad I am not a pessimist," sighed Jennie Stone. "It must be an
awfully uncomfortable feeling inside one to wear such a cloak."
"Ow! Ow!" cried Helen again. "Another Hibernianism, without a
doubt."
She turned the car into a much-traveled road just then. Not a mile ahead
loomed the "big top." A band was playing, and what it lacked in
sweetness it certainly made up in noise.
"Look at the cars!" exclaimed Ruth, becoming interested. "We shall
have to park before long, Helen, and walk to the show lot."
"Right here!" returned Helen, with vigor, and turned her car into a field
where already a dozen automobiles were parked. A man with a whisp
of whisker on his chin, and actually chewing a straw, motioned the
young girl where to run her car. He was evidently the farmer who
owned the field, and he was surely "making hay while the sun shone,"
for he was collecting a quarter from every automobile owner who
wished to get his car off the public road.
"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.
And then, Crack! It was unmistakably a rifle shot.
The bull plowed up several yards of sod, swerved, shook his great head,
bellowing again, and then started off at a tangent across the field with
the farmer, brandishing a stick, close on his heels.
Saved, Ruth Fielding did sink to the earth now, and when the other
girls ran clamorously around the motor-car she was scarcely possessed