ever there was a demon sheep inexistence, surely this was the identical quadruped. Tall and lank, anddaft-looking, it possessed almost the speed of a red deer, and was asfull of mischief as ever sheep could be. The worst of the beast was,that he led all the other woolly-backs into mischief; and whether itproposed a stampede round the park, ending with a charge through theranks of the deer, or a well-planned attempt at escape from the fieldaltogether, the other sheep were always willing to join, and sometimesthe deer themselves.
Archie loved that sheep next to the pony, and there were times when heheld a meet of his own. Mousa, as he called him, would be carted, afterthe fashion of the Queen's deer, to a part of the estate, miles fromhome; but it was always for home that Mousa headed, though not in a trueline. No, this wonderful sheep would take to the woods as often as not,and scamper over the hills and far away, so that Archie had many a finerun; and the only wonder is that Scallowa and he did not break theirnecks.
The young Chillingham bull was as beautiful as a dream--a nightmare forinstance. He was not very large, but sturdy, active, and strong.Milk-white, or nearly so, with black muzzle and crimson ears inside,and, you might say, eyes as well. Pure white black-tipped horns, erectalmost, and a bit of a mane which added to his picturesqueness and wildbeauty. His name was Lord Glendale, and his pedigree longer than theLaird o' Cockpen's.
Now, had his lordship behaved himself, he certainly would have been anornament to the society of Westfield. But he wouldn't or couldn't.Baby though he was, he attempted several times to vivisect hiscompanions; and one day, thinking perhaps that Mousa did not pay himsufficient respect, his lordship made a bold attempt to throw him overthe moon. So it was determined that Lord Glendale should be removedfrom Westfield. At one end of the park was a large, strong fence, andBranson and others came to the conclusion that Glendale would be bestpenned, and have a ring put in his nose.
Yes, true; but penning a Chillingham wild baby-bull is not so simple aspenning a letter. There is more _present_ risk about the formeroperation, if not _future_.
"Well, it's got to be done," said Branson.
"Yes," said Archie, who was not far off, "it's got to be done."
"Oh, Master Archie, you _can't_ be in this business!"
"Can't I, Branson? You'll see."
And Branson did see. He saw Archie ride into the west field onScallowa, both of them looking in splendid form. Men with poles andropes and dogs followed, some of the former appearing not to relish thebusiness by any means.
However, it would probably be an easier job than they thought. The planwould be to get the baby-bull in the centre of the other cattle,manoeuvre so as to keep him there, and so pen all together.--This mighthave been done had Archie kept away, but it so happened that hislordship was on particularly good terms with himself this morning.Moreover, he had never seen a Shetland pony before. What more natural,therefore, than a longing on the part of Lord Glendale to examine thelittle horse _inside_ as well as out?
"Go gently now, lads," cried Branson. "Keep the dogs back, Peter, wemust na' alarm them."
Lord Glendale did not condescend to look at Branson. He detachedhimself quietly from the herd, and began to eat up towards the spotwhere Archie and his "Duck" were standing like some pretty statue.Eating up towards him is the correct expression, as everyone who knowsbulls will admit; for his lordship did not want to alarm Archie till hewas near enough for the grand rush. Then the fun would commence, andLord Glendale would see what the pony was made of. While he kepteating, or rather pretending to eat, his sly red eyes were fastened onArchie.
Now, had it been Harry Brown, the Whitechapel boy, this ruse on the partof the baby-bull might have been successful. But Archie Broadbent wastoo old for his lordship. He pretended, however, to take no notice; butjust as the bull was preparing for the rush he laughed derisively,flicked Lord Glendale with the whip, and started.
Lord Glendale roared with anger and disappointment.
"Oh, Master Archie," cried Branson, "you shouldn't have done that!"
Now the play began in earnest. Away went Archie on Scallowa, and afterhim tore the bull. Archie's notion was to tire the brute out, and therewas some very pretty riding and manoeuvring between the twobelligerents. Perhaps the bull was all too young to be easily tired,for the charges he made seemed to increase in fierceness each time, butArchie easily eluded him.
Branson drove the cattle towards the pen, and got them inside, then heand his men concentrated all their attention on the combatants.
"The boy'll be killed as sure as a gun!" cried the keeper. Archie didnot think so, evidently; and it is certain he had his wits about him,for presently he rode near enough to shout:
"Ease up a hurdle from the back of the pen, and stand by to open it as Iride through."
The plan was a bold one, and Branson saw through it at once.
Down he ran with his men, and a back hurdle was loosened.
"All right!" he shouted.
And now down thundered Scallowa and Archie, the bull making a beautifulsecond.
In a minute or less he had entered the pen, but this very moment thestyle of the fight changed somewhat; for had not the attention ofeveryone been riveted on the race, they might have seen the greatNewfoundland dashing over the field, and just as Lord Glendale wasentering the pen, Bounder pinned him short by the tail.
The brute roared with pain and wheeled round. Meanwhile Archie hadescaped on the pony, and the back hurdle was put up again. But howabout the new phase the fight had taken?
Once more the boy's quick-wittedness came to the front. He leapt offthe pony and back into the pen, calling aloud, "Bounder! Bounder!Bounder!"
In rushed the obedient dog, and after him came the bull; up went thehurdle, and off went Archie! But, alas! for the unlucky Bounder. Hewas tossed right over into the field a moment afterwards, bleedingfrightfully from a wound in his side.
To all appearance Bounder was dead. In an agony of mind the boy triedto staunch the blood with his handkerchief; and when at last the poordog lifted his head, and licked his young master's face, the relief tohis feelings was so great that he burst into tears. Archie was only aboy after all, though a bold and somewhat mischievous one.
Bounder now drank water brought from a stream in a hat. He tried to getup, but was too weak to walk, so he was lifted on to Scallowa's broadback and held there, and thus they all returned to Burley Old Farm.
So ended the adventure with the baby-bull of Chillingham. The ring wasput in his nose next day, and I hope it did not hurt much. But old Katehad Bounder as a patient in the kitchen corner for three whole weeks.
A day or two after the above adventure, and just as the Squire wasputting on his coat in the hall, who should march up to the door andknock but Harry Brown himself.
Most boys would have gone to the backdoor, but shyness was not one ofHarry's failings.
"'Ullo!" he said; for the door opened almost on the instant he knocked,"Yer don't take long to hopen to a chap then."
"No," said Squire Broadbent, smiling down on the lad; "fact is, boy, Iwas just going out."
"Going for a little houting, hey? Is 'pose now you're Johnnie'sguv'nor?"
"I think I know whom you refer to. Master Archie, isn't it? and you'rethe little London lad?"
"I don't know nuffink about no Harchies. P'r'aps it _is_ Harchibald.But I allers calls my friends wot they looks like. He looks likeJohnnie. Kinsevently, guv'nor, he _is_ Johnnie to me. D'ye twig?"
"I think I do," said Squire Broadbent, laughing; "and you want to see myboy?"
"Vot I vants is this 'ere. Johnnie is a rare game un. 'Scuse me,guv'nor, but Johnnie's got the grit in him, and I vant to say good-bye;nuffink else, guv'nor."
Here Harry actually condescended to point a finger at his lip by way ofsalute, and just at the same moment Archie himself came round thecorner. He looked a little put out, but his father only laughed, and hesaw it was all right.
These were Harry's last words: "Good-by
e, then. You've got the grit inye, Johnnie. And if hever ye vants a friend, telegraph to 'Arry Brown,Esq., of Vitechapel, 'cos ye know, Johnnie, the king may come in thecadger's vay. Adoo. So long. Blue-lights, and hoff we goes."
CHAPTER SEVEN.
"THEY'RE UP TO SOME BLACK WORK TO-NIGHT."
Another summer flew all too fast away at Burley Old Farm and CastleTower. The song of birds was hushed in the wild woods, even thecorn-crake had ceased its ventriloquistic notes, and the plaintive weelilt of the yellow-hammer was heard no more. The corn grew ripe onbraeland and field, was cut down, gathered, stooked, and finally cartedaway. The swallows flew southwards, but the peewits remained in droves,and the starlings took up their
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