At
last, however, a yank of the deer's head--Jimmy had him by the
horns--caused the plug hat to snap off, and the next second the deer's
sharp foot went through it. You will remember Achilles did not get
excited until his helmet touched the dust. Well, from what the cold,
pale light of fact shows of the size and prowess of those ancient
swaggerers, Jimmy-hit-the-bottle could have picked Achilles up by his
vulnerable heel and bumped his brains out against a tree, and this
without strain; so when the pride of his life, his precious plug hat,
was thus maltreated, his rage was vast in proportion. His eyes shot
streaks of black lightning; he twisted the deer's head sideways, and
with a leap landed on his back. Once there, he seized an ear between
his strong teeth and shut down. We rose to our feet and yelled. It
was wonderful, but chaotic. I would defy a moving-picture camera to
resolve that tornado into its elements of deer and Injun. We were
conscious of curious illusions, such as a deer with a dozen heads
growing out of all parts of a body as spherical as this, our earth, and
an Injun with legs that vetoed all laws of gravitation and anatomy.
Poor Billy Buck! He outdid the wildest of our pitching horses for a
half minute; but the two hundred and odd pounds he had on his back
told--he couldn't hold the gait. Jimmy wrapped those long legs around
him--the deer's tail in one hand, the horn in the other, and the ear
between his teeth--and waited in grim determination.
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