The Case of the Hooking Bull by John R. Erickson Page A

was that I might not live long enough to brag about this adventure. I was taking a terrible beating, but I knew that as long as I held on to his nose, I had a chance to survive. If he ever shook me off, then he could go to work on me with his horns, and fellers . . .

    Maybe my jaws got tired. Maybe he gave his head an extra hard jerk. I don’t remember. I mean, things were happening pretty fast out there. But all at once, the very worst thing that could have happened happened. He broke my hold on his nose and threw me off.
    I hit the ground hard, and before I could make another move, he was there on top of me—beating me, pounding me, mauling me with those huge horns. Left! Right! Left! Right!
    I squalled for help but there wasn’t any help. Oh, Drover was yipping from underneath the pickup, and Little Alfred yelled for the bull to “weave my doggie awone,” as I recall his words. And that was about all the help I got.
    The blows hurt at first, but after a while I didn’t feel much pain. With each blow from a horn, my head snapped around and I could hear a crunching sound deep inside my body, but there wasn’t much pain anymore.
    I felt myself slipping away into a dream, as darkness gathered around the edges of my vision. The circle of darkness grew larger, and the circle of light in the center shrank down to a tiny hole.
    What I could see through that hole was what was left of my life. I watched as it slipped away from me. I kind of hated to see it go, but this was the way I’d always wanted it to be. I’d always wanted to go out fighting for my ranch.
    Just before the light went out for the last time, I got some help from an unexpected source. While all this had been going on, that colt hadn’t moved a muscle. He’d stood nearby, shivering and watching all the bloodshed with his big moon eyes.
    Well, all at once something must have spooked him, because he took off running and bucking, and when he hit the end of that rope, he did get Mr. Bull’s full attention. It jerked both of them down on the ground.
    Bully didn’t like that even a little bit, and when he got to his feet, he’d already decided to eat him a colt for supper. He dropped his head and charged. The colt screamed, jumped to his feet, and started hauling the mail.
    Say, that was something to see, those two heavy­weights tied together on the same piece of string. First the bull jerked down the colt, then the colt jerked down the bull. Then they both went down.
    I mean, it looked like total disaster there for a while, but then they jerked the horn plumb out of Slim’s saddle. That nylon rope was stretched like a rubber band, and when the horn pulled out, it flew back and whopped old Bully right between the eyes.
    And all at once it was over. The bull staggered away with blood dripping out of his nose. The colt bucked a few more times and nickered, and then he went to the trailer and stood there. And the dust that had filled the air began to settle around us.
    Dust and silence.
    Next thing I knew, Drover and Little Alfred were there beside me. Tears and dust had streaked the boy’s face. He went down on his knees and threw his arms around me and hugged me a whole bunch harder than I wanted to be hugged right then.
    It hurt and I yelped.
    â€œHankie, get up. We have to take Swim home.” I tried to stand up but couldn’t do it. “Huuwy, get up! We have to go home.” I tried it again. Couldn’t do it. “All wight, I’ll have to pick you up.”
    He tried to carry me to the pickup but that didn’t work. He just wasn’t stout enough, and even if he had been, I couldn’t have stood the pain.
    Just then we heard Slim’s voice. He had managed to crawl into the cab of the pickup and was sitting on the passenger’s side, with his head propped up on his hand.
    â€œButton, come here.” The boy went over to the pickup. That left me alone with Mister