CHAPTER VIII
OLD man Corbier had time and again warned Gideon, the younger of the two farm-hands: "Don't tease Giant; he's bad tempered and you'll end by making him kick over the traces."
Usually, when this subject came up at table, a long discussion followed, with apologies and explanations.
Giant was a descendant of a cow named Marjolée that the old man had bought twenty years before at a Twelfth Night Fair, during one of those very severe winters that we don't get any more. This Marjolée came from Nantes and was beautiful above, superb below, well built, and a great producer of butter. Try to find cows like her nowadays! There had been Griselle out of her, Farinière out of Griselle, and out of Fariniere there were Pomponne and Giant, the gray bull with the black collar.
A powerful strain, unequalled for labour and fairly quick to fatten. Unfortunately they were too frisky. The cows were domineering with their stable companions. They broke down the hedges, jumped over the fences. As for the bulls, they had to be broken in very young, otherwise they were likely to become dangerous. The breaking in of Giant had been delayed too long, because he was so handsome.
"Giant will tickle your ribs," said the old man. The two farm-hands and the young master shrugged their shoulders, used as they were to living with cattle.
Gideon never came near the bull without teasing him. The bull responded, clanking his chain, lowering his head with a long, threatening bellow which rumbled in his giant throat. Gideon mocked him:
"Moo-oo, Boo-oo.… Come on, Giant."
Sometimes he grasped the bull by the horns and the bull, entering into the game, pushed hard.
Little by little things grew bad, but the boy did not leave off, for whenever he was alone he took a keen pleasure in trying his young strength to the point of danger. He really fought with the beast, kicking it with his wooden shoes, and evading the still uncertain thrust of the horns.
One day, at last, things became ugly. Giant started the fray and went into it with all his might. The young man had only just time to jump out of the stall, dropping his armful of fodder.
"What's the trouble?" asked Michael Corbier, coming on the scene.
"It's Giant, sir. If I hadn't got out, he would have butted me into the rack."
Michael took it badly.
"If you'd only leave him alone! Why tease the animals and spoil their tempers, especially when you are a coward yourself?"
The lad straightened.
"A coward? No more of a coward than the next one, I'll have you know! Animals are just animals, and I don't want to be trampled on."
"Very well then. Get out! I'll give him his feed myself."
"Look out for him, I warn you."
Corbier shrugged his shoulders and went to get an armful of feed. The bull had never been unfriendly with him.
"Turn around, Giant."
He threw his armful and found that some of the hay had fallen under the animal's hoofs.
"You rascal, wasting the feed I give you!"
He stooped down, picked up a few large fistfuls and was straightening up again, when the bull went at him with his head. He rolled over on the floor, tried to shout, but could not find his voice. He succeeded, however, in partly raising himself and slipping into the manger. Fortunately Gideon had not gone far. With a bravery and promptness one would not have expected of him, he jumped at the bull's head.
"Help! Boiseriot, help!"
The bull hurled himself at the crossbar, a solid oak beam, snorting and growling and wild-eyed. Boiseriot came running from the grange with a heavy iron bar. Madeleine came running, too; at the first cry she had jumped up from her milking stool, overturning the stool and spilling her pail of new milk. She attacked the bull from behind, trying to tie his hind legs and throw him. He gave her a kick and she rolled over on the straw.
Boiseriot struck with his iron bar, but in vain, hindered by Gideon, who was hanging on to the horn and the muzzle. Corbier at last managed to shout:
"A rope!"
Madeleine had already thought of that. She ran to the grange and came back with a leather strap. The bull was gathering himself up for a final effort. Seeing him draw his hind legs together, she quickly fastened the strap around them and threw herself backward.
"Boiseriot!"
The man turned to her.
"Get to his side," she said. "I am going to throw him."
A brief gleam flickered in his evil eyes. She was struck by it.
"Hurry up!" she cried in a colorless voice.
He put his shoulder against the bull's flank and, Madeleine pulling sharply, the bull fell.
Corbier scrambled out by way of the rack. He wasn't much hurt, and he forced himself to laugh, though still pale and breathless. The farm-hands were laughing too. Gideon wiped his right hand, which was bloody from the bull's nostrils. Boiseriot looked at Madeleine, who was trembling so hard now that she had to lean against the wall for support. Michael said, when it was all over:
"Thank you, all of you. I can't talk. I'm going to get a drop of brandy."
He left the stable and Madeleine followed him. After a bit she came back.
"Well," said Gideon, "all right now?"
"Yes, he's better since he had a drink. But I—I can't seem to pull myself together."
She picked up her milking stool and resumed her work. Boiseriot, who was bringing in an armful of feed, kept his eye on her. Noticing that in her agitation she was trying absent-mindedly to milk a cow she had already milked, he sneered as he brushed past her:
"You were afraid for him, weren't you? … Devil take you, I'll sic the boys on you yet!"