The mother was a little fawn-colored Jersey cow, with short, sharp
horns pointing straight forward, and game to the last inch of her trim
make-up. Her fury, at sight of that black hulk approaching her foolish
young one, was nothing short of a madness. But it was not a blind
madness. She knew what she was doing, and was not going to let rage
lose her a single point in the game of life and death.
"In spite of her disadvantage in being down the slope and so having to
charge straight uphill, she hurled herself at the enemy with a ferocity
that rather took him aback. He wheeled, settled upon his haunches, and
lifted a massive forepaw, to meet the attack of a blow that should
settle the affair at once. But the little cow was not to be caught so.
Almost as the bear delivered his lunging stroke she checked herself,
jumped aside with a nimbleness that no bull could have begun to match,
and sank both horns deep into her great antagonist's flank. Before she
could spring back again beyond his reach, however, with a harsh groan
he swung about, and with the readiness of an accomplished boxer brought
down his other forepaw across her neck, smashing the spine. Without a
sound the gallant little cow crumpled up and fell in a heap against the
bear's haunches.
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