To face the bull empty handed was worse than useless. Dick had to form his plans as he ran. CHAPTER XXII PLAYING RAGTIME ON MR. BULL "Drop your parasol! Throw it away!" screamed her friends in unison. But Clara, emitting another shriek, seemed too frightened to comprehend. She tried to redouble her speed, but the bull was rapidly gaining on her in the pursuit. As all stood gazing at the panic-stricken girl, Dick Prescott shot across the field. What happened next was that Dick snatched the flaming red parasol from her hand, then swung her shoulders about, thus forcing the girl to face in another direction. "Run---the way you're headed!" he yelled hoarsely. The bull was close upon them. Giving the parasol a flourish in the maddened animal's face, Prescott started off in the direction from which the bull had come. "Get up a tree, Prescott, as quickly as you can!" panted Dr. Bentley. But Dick, not even pausing to shake his head, put all his effort into a fresh burst of speed. Running away from the camp, flaunting the red parasol, Dick was followed closely by the bellowing bull. For a short distance, anyway, the sprinter could run as fast as the pursuer. Dick swiftly decided, now that he had the bull in voluntary tow, to lead the animal where the trees were thicker. Here an agile candidate for football honors ought to be able to daze and exhaust the bull by darting from tree to tree. The plan had its dangers, however, and Dick knew them well. Once in among the trees Dick tossed the parasol to one side, then darted off on an oblique line. Bellowing, stumbling, the bull turned clumsily to follow him. Again Dick changed his course, though, purposely, he took pains not to get too far from camp. Now he saw his chums running towards him. "Keep away! Don't get near the bull!" he yelled. "We've sent Dan to get the rope in the tent," Reade called back. "Now, what in the world do the boys think they're going to do with a rope?" Prescott wondered. Suddenly, as he dodged off on a new track to escape the bull, a plan flashed into Prescott's mind. "Get up a tree!" yelled Dave. "Hardly time enough," Dick retorted, dodging again and sprinting briefly out of harm's way. "When Dan brings the rope throw it so that one end will rest in the lowest fork of that young chestnut tree." Dave Darrin heard, understood and nodded. "Rope's ready in the chestnut tree," he called, as Dick started on still another track, pursued, clumsily, by the angry bull. "Get back out of harm's way," shouted Dick. "Get back, or you will hinder me." In three changing sprints Dick manoeuvred to reach the chestnut tree, though the clumsy bull was barely twenty feet behind him and coming fast. As the rope hung from the crotch of the tree both ends trailed on the ground. Seizing both lines Dick went up rapidly hand over hand, his feet braced against the tree trunk. In this position he was able to run nimbly up the side of the trunk.