He went to the stump and examined the side of one of the roots.
It was stained with crimson.
"Look where his finger tips worked through the dirt and the bark, right down to the solid wood," murmured Joe.
They looked at each other uneasily.

"My gosh," said Joe, "think of the way I handled him the other night! He--he let me trip him up and throw him!" He shuddered.

"Why, if he'd laid hold of me just once, he'd of squashed my muscles like they was rotten fruit!" Of one accord they turned back to the house.

At the door they paused and peered in, as into the den of a bear.

There sat Bull on the floor--he risked his weight to none of the crazy chairs--still looking at his stained hands.