We dragged the wire through panel after panel, and at intervals Dad would examine the blistering sky for signs of rain.

Once when he looked up a red bullock was reaching for his waistcoat, which hung on a branch of a low tree.

Dad sang out.
The bullock poked out his tongue and reached higher.

Then Dad told Joe to run.

Joe ran--so did the bullock, but faster, and with the waistcoat that once was a part of Mother's shawl half-way down his throat.