From its socket in the old bull's skull one of his huge antlers broke with that sharp snapping sound, and in another moment four inches of stiletto-like horn buried itself back of his foreleg.

In an instant all hope and courage left him, and he swung backward yard by yard, with the younger bull prodding his neck and shoulders until blood dripped from him in little streams.

At the edge of the clearing he flung himself free and crashed off into the forest.
The younger bull did not pursue.

He tossed his head, and stood for a few moments with heaving sides and dilated nostrils, facing in the direction his vanquished foe had taken.

Then he turned, and trotted back to the still motionless cows and yearling.
Kazan and Gray Wolf were quivering.