What to do I didn't
know. I hollered and shouted at the kritter, thinkin', maybe, that the
voice of a human might scare him; but it only made him madder, and
every time I hollered he charged under the log more furiously than
before. I threw my huntin' cap at him, but he pitched into it, and if
he didn't trample it into the ground, as if it was a human, you may
shoot me. After a while, he got tired of dashin' back and forth, under
the log, and took a stand two or three rods off, and as he eyed us,
shook his great horns and stamped with his big hoofs, as much as to
say, 'very well, gentlemen, I can wait, don't hurry yourselves, take
your time; but I shall stay here as long as you stay up there. And
when you do come down, we'll take a turn that won't be pleasant to
some of us.' Crop and I took the hint and sat still, thinkin' maybe
he'd get over his pet and move off; but he did'nt lean that way at
all. He seemed to've made up his mind to stay there as long as we
stayed on the log, be the same more or less. We'd sat there maybe an
hour, when I happened to think of a trollin' line and some fishhooks I
had in my pocket, and it came across me that possibly I might fish up
my powder horn. So tyin' half a dozen hooks to the end of my line, I
laid down on the log to angle for my powder-horn. When I laid down,
the old bull made a pass under the log, as if he expected me down
there, and charged back again, as if he was disappointed in not
runnin' agin me.
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