e
resort of the cattle.

Shortly after gaining the heights, a small herd, some way off, was
perceived entering a wood. We hurried on; and, dividing our party,
went in after them at four different points; each white man followed
by several natives.

I soon found myself in a dense covert; and, after looking round, was
just emerging into a clear space, when I heard a report, and a bullet
knocked the bark from a tree near by. The same instant there was a
trampling and crashing; and five bullocks, nearly abreast, broke into
View across the opening, and plunged right toward the spot where
myself and three of the islanders were standing.

They were small, black, vicious-looking creatures; with short, sharp
horns, red nostrils, and eyes like coals of fire. On they came--their
dark woolly heads hanging down.

By this time my island backers were roosting among the trees. Glancing
round, for an instant, to discover a retreat in case of emergency, I
raised my piece, when a voice cried out, from the wood, "Right
between the 'orns, Paul! right between the 'orns!" Down went my
barrel in range with a small white tuft on the forehead of the
headmost one; and, letting him have it, I darted to one side. As I
turned again, the five bullocks shot by like a blast, making the air
eddy in their wake.

The Yankee now burst into view, and saluted them in flank. Whereupon,
the fierce little bull with the tufted forehead flirted his long tail
over his buttocks; kicked out with his hind feet, and shot forward a
full length. It was nothing but a graze; and, in an instant, they
were out of sight, the thicket into which they broke rocking
overhead, and marking their progress.

The action over, the heavy artillery came up, in the person of the
Long Doctor with the blunderbuss.

"Where are they?" he cried, out of breath.

"A mile or two h'off, by this time," replied the Cockney. "Lord, Paul
I you ought to've sent an 'ailstone into that little black 'un."

While excusing my want of skill, as well as I could, Zeke, rushing
forward, suddenly exclaimed, "Creation! what are you 'bout there,
Peter?"

Peter, incensed at our ill luck, and ignorantly imputing it to the
cowardice of our native auxiliaries, was bringing his piece to bear
upon his trembling squire--the musket-carrier--now descending a tree.

Pulling trigger, the bullet went high over his head; and, hopping to
the ground, bellowing like a calf, the fellow ran away as fast as his
heel