This was mysterious; he could swear the umbrella was folded and lying
at his side when he dropped asleep. "It must be Caleb," he thought,
and stared around. No Caleb was in sight, but he noticed that the
sun was dropping towards the west, and noticed also, not fifty yards
to the left, and quietly cropping a tuft of bushes, a red bull.

Now Mr. Fogo had an extreme horror of bulls, especially red bulls,
and this one was not merely red, but looked savage, to boot.
Mr. Fogo peered again round the corner of his umbrella. The brute
luckily had not spied him, but neither did it seem in any hurry to
move. For twenty minutes Mr. Fogo waited behind his shelter, and
still the bull went on cropping.

It was already late, and the brute stood full in the homeward path to
Kit's House. It was only possible to make a circuit around the
ridge, as the cliff's edge cut off a _detour_ on the other side.
Weary of waiting, Mr. Fogo cautiously rose, pushed his easel under
the bushes, and began to creep up towards the ridge, holding his
umbrella in front of him as a screen. This was rather after the
fashion of the ostrich, which, to avoid being seen, buries its head
in the sand; nor was it likely that the beast, if irritated at sight
of a man, would acquiesce in the phenomenon of an umbrella at large,
and strolling on its own responsibility. But as yet the bull's back
was towards it.

Stealthily Mr. Fogo crept round. He had placed about seventy yards
between him and the animal, and had almost gained the summit when a
dismal accident befell.

"_Cl'k--Whir-r-r-r-roo-oo-oo!_"

It was the alarum in his tail-pocket. The bull looked up, gazed
wildly at the umbrella, snorted, lashed out with his tail, and
started in pursuit. Quick as thought, Mr. Fogo dropped his screen,
and, with a startled glance around, dashed at full speed for the
ridge, the infernal machine still dinning behind him.

Luckily, the bull's onset was directed at the umbrella. There was a
thundering of hoofs, a dull roar, and the poor man, as he gained the
summit and cast a frantic look behind, saw a vision of jagged silk
and flying ribs. With a groan he tore forwards.

There was a hedge about fifty yards away, and for this he made with
panting sides and tottering knees. If he could only stop that
alarum! But the relentless noise continued, and now he could hear
the bull in fresh pursuit. However, the umbrella had diverted the
attack. After a few seconds of ag