Mother said, "No, kill the cow." Dad inspected the cow again,
and shook his head.
"Well, if you don't she'll only die, if the winter's a hard one; then
you'll have neither." That settled it. Dad took the rope from Joe, who
arrived aglow with heat and excitement, and fixed a running noose on one
end of it. Then--
"Hunt 'em round!" he cried.
Joe threw his hat at them, and chased them round and round the yard.
Dad turned slowly in the centre, like a ring-master, his eye on the cow;
a coil of rope was in this left hand, and with the right he measuredly
swung the loop over and over his head for some time. At last the cow gave
him a chance at her horns, and he let fly. The rope whizzed across the
yard, caught little Bill round the neck, and brought him down off the post.
Dad could hardly believe it. He first stared at Bill as he rolled in the
yard, then at the cow. Mother wished to know if he wanted to kill the
boy, and Joe giggled and, with a deal of courage, assured Dad it was "a
fine shot." The cow and the heifer ran into a corner, and switched their
tails, and raked skin and hair off each other with their horns.
"What do you want to be always stuck in the road for?" Dad growled, taking
the rope off little Bill's neck.
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