He raised himself on his flippers with an angry movement.

We were a dozen feet apart.

Still I advanced steadily, looking for him to turn tail at any moment and run.
At six feet the panicky thought rushed into my mind, What if he will not run?
Why, then I shall club him, came the answer.

In my fear I had forgotten that I was there to get the bull instead of to make him run.
And just then he gave a snort and a snarl and rushed at me.

His eyes were blazing, his mouth was wide open; the teeth gleamed cruelly white.
Without shame, I confess that it was I who turned and footed it.