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Show Chick Sales 15 "The b u l l , " yells Alf. Herman is paralyzed between the two animals, unable to attend to either capture. "Move, you baby," says Alf. "Get over where that bull is and poke him hard." Alf runs, his straw hat bouncing. Herman runs, holding the prodding stick like a ramrod, too long for his small arms. The stick slants ground-ward, rising and f a l l i n g. "I c a n ' t , Dad." "Run. We can't lose this b u l l ." The long stick slams into a rise of ground. Herman's hands slide until the end of the stick pushes his stomach almost to his back. "Daddy," he screams. "Fool." Alfred runs after the b u l l , almost to the trees. Herman's pain sears red; he doubles over and tries to find a place inside of himself that doesn't hurt when he breathes. "Get over here, now!" Alf is screaming, his face swollen behind his neutral eyeglasses. Clutching his abdomen, Herman runs unsteadily, dragging the stick behind him. Alf wrenches the prod from the boy's hands and whirls toward the trees, ready to charge. But the bull has stopped, mid-chase, lured by a patch of grass. It stops dead s t i l l . Alf crouches, ready to fight a non-contest, as the bull pulls a t a l l weed and crushes i t between slow-moving jaws. |