More than one comical scene was enacted as the line of horsemen, extended so as to gradually work the herd away from the bush, drove their charge forward. Now and then a cow, with a calf at her side, or haply missing her progeny, would turn and furiously charge the line of horsemen, causing an abrupt scatter, and in one or two instances the utter and ignominious flight of the doughty warrior singled out, who perchance was only too thankful to lay her out with a revolver shot in the nick of time to save himself and his steed, or both, from being ripped up or impaled by those vicious horns. But the best fun of all was afforded by a huge old black-and-white bull. Jack Armitage, we have said, was bursting with animal spirits; consequently when the aforesaid quadruped took it into his massive cranium to suddenly break away from the herd and start off on his own account at right angles thereto, it followed, as a matter of course, that Armitage, being nearest to him, should spur away in pursuit. The bull's vicious little eyes began to roll wickedly, and from a trot he broke into a wild gallop. Then madcap Jack, madder than ever with the excitement of the day's events, was seen to range his horse alongside, and bending over in the saddle and placing his bugle almost against the animal's ear he blew a hideous and terrific blast. There was a ferocious bellow--down went the brute's head, and, lo, in a twinkling horse and man were rolling on the ground, and the bull galloped away unimpeded. Roars of laughter arose from the discomfited one's comrades, which did not decrease as they watched the savage brute in the distance charging one of the retreating Kafirs, who seemed almost as much disconcerted by this new enemy as he had been by the missiles of his human foes. Finally both disappeared within the bush. "Hurt, old man?" cried Hoste, riding up as the fallen one found his feet again, and stood rubbing his shoulder and looking rather dazed with the shock. The horse had already struggled up. Fortunately for it, the bull's horns were short and blunt, and it seemed none the worse for the tumble. "No. Had a devil of a shake-up, though. A bottle of doctor's stuff's a fool to it." "Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast--sings the poet. In this case it hadn't," said Eustace. "Those ancients must have been awful liars. Eh, Armitage?" "You bet. Hallo! Where's my old post-horn?" he went on, looking round for his instrument, which he discovered about a dozen yards off, unharmed, save for a slight dent. Putting it to his lips he blew a frightful fanfare. "I say, Jack, you'll have the old bull back again," said Brathwaite. "Better shut up. He's dead nuts on that old trumpet of yours. And now, the farther we get into the open, the better. We mustn't camp anywhere that'll give Johnny Kafir a chance of cutting out the cattle again."