He can't catch you there." But I was in no mind to take to a tree, and wait for some inglorious discovery by a rescue party from the house.

I found my fighting blood rising, and became of the mind to show Sir Jonas who was his master, regardless of who might be his owner.
His youth kept him in good wind still, and he charged me again and again, keeping me hard put to it to find trees enough, even in an orchard full of trees.

Once he ripped the bark half off a big trunk as I sprang behind it, and he stood with his head still pressed there, not two feet from where I was, with my hand against the tree, braced for a sudden spring.

His front foot dug in the sod, his eyes were red, and between his grumbles his breath came in puffs and snorts of anger.
Evidently he meant me ill, and this thought offended me.
Near by me on the ground lay a ragged limb, cut from some tree by the pruners, now dry, tough and not ill-shaped for a club.

I reached back with my foot and pulled it within reach, then stooped quickly and got it in hand, breaking off a few of the lesser branches with one foot, as we still stood there eying each other.