Bull Hunter | Page 3

stopped short, and his
brow puckered more than before. One felt that, coming from the
shadow, he was dazed and startled by the brilliant mountain sunshine;
and the eyes were dull and alarmed. It was a handsome face in a way,
but a little too heavy with flesh, too inert, like the rest of his body and
his muscular movements.
"She ain't going to bite you," said Harry Campbell. "Come on over here
to the stump." He whispered to the girl, "Laugh at him!"
She obeyed his command. It brought a flush to the face of Bull Hunter
and made his head bow. He shuffled to the stump and stood aimlessly
beside it.
"Get down into the hole, you fool!" ordered Joe.
He and Harry took a certain pride in ordering their cousin around. It
was like performing with a lion in the presence of a lady; it was
manipulating an elephant by power of the unaided voice. Slowly Bull
Hunter dropped his great feet into the hole and then raised his head a
little and looked wistfully to the brothers for further orders.
But only half his mind was with them. The other half was with the
story in the book. There Quentin Durward had been nodding at his
guard in the castle, and the evil-faced little king had just sprung out and
wrenched the weapon from the hands of the sleepy boy. Bull Hunter
could see the story clearly, very clearly. The scar on the face of Le

Balafré glistened for him; he had veritably tasted the little round loaves
of French bread that the adventurer had eaten with the
pseudo-merchant.
But to step out of that world of words into this keen sunlight--ah, there
was the difference! The minds which one found in the pages of a book
were understandable. But the minds of living men--how terrible they
were! One could never tell what passed behind the bright eyes of other
human beings. They mocked one. When they seemed sad they might be
about to laugh. The minds of the two brothers eluded him, mocked him,
slipped from beneath the slow grasp of his comprehension. They
whipped him with their scorn. They dodged him with their wits. They
bewildered him with their mockery.
But they were nothing compared with the laughter of the girl. It went
through him like the flash and point of Le Balafré's long sword. He was
helpless before that sound of mirth. He wanted to hold up his hands and
cower away from her and from her dancing eyes. So he stood,
ponderous, tortured, and the three pairs of clear eyes watched him and
enjoyed his torture. Better, far better, that dark castle in ancient France,
and the wicked Oliver and the yet more wicked Louis.
"Lay hold on that stump," shouted Harry.
He heard the directions through a haze. It was twice repeated before he
bowed and set his great hands upon the ragged projections, where the
side roots had been cut away. He settled his grip and waited. He was
glad because this bowed position gave him a chance to look down to
the ground and avoid their cruel eyes. How bright those eyes were,
thought Bull, and how clearly they saw all things! He never doubted
the justice behind their judgments of him; all that Bull asked from the
world was a merciful silence--to let him grub in his books now and
then, or else to tell him how to go about some simple work, such as
digging with a pick. Here one's muscles worked, and there was no
problem to disturb wits which were still gathering wool in the pages of
some old tale.
But they were shrilling new directions at him; perhaps they had been

calling to him several times.
"You blamed idiot, are you goin' to stand there all day? We didn't give
you that stump to rest on. Pull it up!"
He started with a sense of guilt and tugged up. His fingers slipped off
their separate grips, and the stump, though it groaned against the
taproot under the strain, did not come out.
"It don't seem to budge, somehow," said Bull in his big, soft, plaintive
voice. Then he waited for the laughter. There was always laughter, no
matter what he did or said, but he never grew calloused against it. It
was the one pain which ever pierced the mist of his brain and cut him
to the quick. And he was right. There was laughter again. He stood
suffering mutely under it.
The girl's face became grave. She murmured to Harry, "Ever try praisin'
to big stupid?"
"Him? Are you joshin' me, Jessie? What's he ever done to be praised
about?"
"You watch!" said the girl. Growing excited with her idea, she called,
"Say, Bull!"