Towards four o’clock the young soldier, remembering his captain’s words, began to cast about for a good spot for the night’s camp. He soon came to a patch of woods, in the midst of which was a clearing backed up by rocks, and this he concluded would be as good a place as any, having both wood and water handy. Marking the spot on the roadway, so it could not be missed, he started back to join his company. He had proceeded less than a quarter of a mile on the back track when a loud shouting reached his ears and made him quicken his pace. The shouting came from familiar voices, and loudest of all was the voice of Jerry Rowe. “Help! Help! Save me! Shoot the critter, somebody!” came the cry from Rowe, and then there burst into view half a dozen of the Goreville Volunteers, with Jerry Rowe bringing up the rear. Behind the flying squad, in deadly pursuit, was--a bull. “Save me! Save me! Shoot him, somebody!” shrieked Jerry Rowe again. “Don’t let the savage critter horn me!” “Shoot him yourself!” cried several of his companions. “You are the nearest,” added one. But Jerry Rowe was too scared to fire his weapon, and when, at last, he did manage to pull the trigger, the ball passed about six feet over the beast’s head. Having fired, Jerry threw away his gun and ran harder than ever. There was no doubt but that the bull was a bad one, for his eyes were bloodshot and the foam was flying from his jaws as he lumbered on with wonderful rapidity. Yet with it all Louis could not help but laugh at the scene. Here were soldiers enlisted to fight the enemy flying from a barnyard beast! What would these volunteers do in the face of an armed battery? Bang! Coming to a halt by the roadside, he waited until the bull was almost even with him, then aimed at a bloodshot eye and fired. The aim was true, and with a roar of pain the beast staggered, pitched forward upon his knees, and then rolled over in a cloud of dust with a thud that shook the earth. “Hurrah! Louis Rockford has killed him!” came from one of the young fellows in front. “That was a dandy shot, Louis.” “I hit him, too,” panted Jerry Rowe. “See, my shot struck him directly in the eye.” “It was I who hit him in the eye!” answered Louis, indignantly. “You didn’t come within a mile of him.” “Go on with you; I know I hit him,” blustered Jerry. “Do you think you are the only marksman in the company?” “Louis hit him in the eye,” put in another of the crowd. “I fired, too, but the bullet passed under him, I think.” “How on earth did you start him up?” questioned Louis, coolly, as he proceeded to load up again. “We didn’t start him up. He broke out of a field that we were passing and came for us red hot before we realized what was up.” By this time the bull had breathed his last, and the little crowd gathered around and waited for the others of the company to come up. When they did, Captain Paulding’s face was as red as a beet.