Some Buried Caesar

I unhooked the gate and swung it open. The bull, quite a distance away, turned to face us with his head cocked sidewise. Dave was sputtering and flourishing the gun, but it was obvious he could be ignored. As the car passed through – it was a big shiny yellow Wethersill convertible with the top down – I hopped in, and the girl called to Dave to get the gate shut in a hurry. The bull, still at a distance, tossed his head and then lowered it and began pawing. Chunks of sod flew back under his belly.

I said, "Stop a minute," and pulled the hand brake. "What makes you think this will work?"

"I don't know. We can try it, can't we? Are you scared?"

"Yes. Take off that red thing."

"Oh, that's just superstition."

"I'm superstitious. Take it off." I grabbed the collar of it and she wriggled out and I stuck it behind us. Then I reached under my coat to my holster and pulled out my automatic.

She looked at it. "What are you, a spy or something? Don't be silly. Do you think you could stop that bull with that thing?"

"I could try"

"You'd better not, unless you're prepared to cough up $45,000"

"Cough what?"

"$45,000. That's not just a bull, it's Hickory Caesar Grindon. Put that thing away and release the brake."

I looked at her a second and said, "Turn around and get out of here. I'll follow instructions and tease him down to the other end along the fence."

"No." She shifted to first and fed gas. "Why should you have all the fun?" The car moved, and she went into second. We jolted and swayed. "I wonder how fast I ought to go? I've never saved a man's life before. It looks from here as it I've picked a funny one to start on. Should I blow the horn?

What do you think? Look at him!"

The bull was playing rocking horse. His hind end would go down and then bob up in the air while he lowered his front, with his tail sticking up and his head tossing. He was facing our way. As we passed him about 30 yards to the left the girl said, "Look at him! He's a high school bull!" The car came up from a hole and nearly bounced me out. I growled, "Watch where you're going," and kept my head turned toward the bull. He looked as if he could have picked the car up and carried it on his horns the way an Indian woman carries a jug. We were approaching the boulder. She pulled up alongside, missing it by half an inch, came to a stop, and sang out, "Taxi?"