Bull Hunter's Romance

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There were three points of strategic interest, each ignorant of the one behind, because the rolling of the hills shortened every viewpoint, and the sense of smell was made useless by a strong, steady wind out of the east.

First there was a big, red bull who in the pride of his strength had wandered far from his herd; and second was a gray figure skulking from bush to rock; and third was a medley of mounted men trailing a pack of huge wolfhounds up the wind. But all were in a due line from east to west, and while the hounds knew vaguely of that distant gray figure, that ghostly thing itself could not use the trigger-balanced sense of smell, and was aware only of the lordly bull.

The latter wandered idly. He had already taken his fill of the grass of the late spring, grass that had sleeked his ribs and layered him with fat; now he strolled from titbit to titbit of the longest, darkest grass, and, having licked up a tuft of it, he went on again.

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