He leaps again, an' comes back th' same way, but at th' third jump he goes through a wider place in th' rails, an' lands on th' other side o' the fence, on that there same head.

Then he scrambles to his feet, an' starts off after them hounds.
"Now, you all know that a bulldog ain't built for speed, he's built for war.

In th' first place, his fore legs is so far apart they's almost strangers, an' his hind legs is too short, an' th' rest of him's too heavy for all of 'em.

But Bull keeps goin', industr'ous.

An' he goes so fast that 'bout every thirty yards he stumbles, an' falls on his face, an' his head plows up large chunks of Montana soil.
"By this time them wolf-fox-hounds has flown into them hills, they touchin' th' ground 'bout every hunderd feet.