of poplar thickets. Hugh covered it in extraordinarily short time, although it seemed to him unnumbered hours. He was just coming, panting, up the last slope, when he met Dick, equally breathless, running toward him.
“It’s Hulda,” gasped his friend. “The Indians are trying to drive her off; they have headed her away off yonder, over the hill.”
He pointed, for even as he spoke, they caught sight of Hulda crossing a clearing, running with the awkward gait common to excited cows and lowing her amazement and dismay at the indignity put upon her
“You strike across the ridge and I will run down into the valley,” directed Dick. “I think I can head her off. They sha’n’t steal Hulda!”
With a shout, the two boys plunged to the rescue. Hugh was quick enough to reach her, halfway down the slope, but totally unable to check her course. The mild Hulda, now thoroughly alarmed, came down the hill with a blind rush, blundered against him and rolled him head over heels. He picked himself up, unhurt, and ran
