This was rather after the fashion of the ostrich, which, to avoid being seen, buries its head in the sand; nor was it likely that the beast, if irritated at sight of a man, would acquiesce in the phenomenon of an umbrella at large, and strolling on its own responsibility.

But as yet the bull's back was towards it.
Stealthily Mr.Fogo crept round.

He had placed about seventy yards between him and the animal, and had almost gained the summit when a dismal accident befell.
"_Cl'k--Whir-r-r-r-roo-oo-oo!_" It was the alarum in his tail-pocket.

The bull looked up, gazed wildly at the umbrella, snorted, lashed out with his tail, and started in pursuit.

Quick as thought, Mr.Fogo dropped his screen, and, with a startled glance around, dashed at full speed for the ridge, the infernal machine still dinning behind him.
Luckily, the bull's onset was directed at the umbrella.