Near him were several cows and a half-grown calf.

Beyond was the main herd, extending as far as Joe could see--a great sea of black humps! The lad breathed hard as he took in the grand sight.
"Pick out the little fellar--the reddish-brown one--an' plug him behind the shoulder.

Shoot close now, fer if we miss, mebbe I can't hit one, because I'm not used to shootin' at sich small marks." Wetzel's rare smile lighted up his dark face.

Probably he could have shot a fly off the horn of the bull, if one of the big flies or bees, plainly visible as they swirled around the huge head, had alighted there.
Joe slowly raised his rifle.

He had covered the calf, and was about to pull the trigger, when, with a sagacity far beyond his experience as hunter, he whispered to Wetzel: "If I fire they may run toward us." "Nope; they'll run away," answered Wetzel, thinking the lad was as keen as an Indian.
Joe quickly covered the calf again, and pulled the trigger.
Bellowing loud the big bull dashed off.