"Hubert!" Callie cried, as the bull swung his great head and threw a barrel aside. It rolled along the street, barely missing Colonel Davenport as he ran pell-mell toward them. He leaped out of its path, losing his hat, but came on, closing with Callie on the rampaging beast. From somewhere Trev's footman Charles had appeared, running at her side. Everyone else scattered away, wise in the ways of enraged bulls.

"Hold!" Callie screamed at Charles, f linging out her arm before he could run past her. "Colonel! Stop! Don't go near him!"

The men froze in midstride. Hubert bellowed, the strange squealing sound echoing over the turmoil in the street. He turned toward her, searching, his breath frosting in the air like great puffs from a steam engine. Callie's knees were failing under her. Her head spun with pain. Someone pulled the calf's lead from her hand, but she never took her eyes from the bull.

"Hubert!" she called, tasting blood in her mouth. "Come now, Hubert…" She put that little note in her voice, the sweet note that promised treats and an ear scratch, but the bull was confused and angry, uncertain of where he was. He lowered his head and pawed the street.

"Come along," she crooned. A red hen trotted past her, zigzagging toward the bull and away. Hubert made a charge at it, almost taking out its tail feathers before it squawked and f lew out of range. "Come along," Callie warbled desperately. "Walk on, Hubert. There's a good boy."

He swung his head, eyeing a kid goat that pranced too close. Callie held her breath, dreading for him to strike out with his horns. But the little animal stood with its legs spread, staring up at the snorting giant above it as if Hubert were the eighth wonder of the world. Hubert lowered his horns and pawed once, staring back balefully.

Everything had gone quiet around them. Even the loose animals seemed to pause. The kid gave one tiny, uncertain bleat. The bull snuff led. They touched noses.

As if some question had been answered between them, Hubert heaved a great sigh and gave the little fellow a lick that near bowled it over.

"Good boy," Callie said. She began to walk toward him slowly. Her knees were knocking. The kid darted away as she approached, but Hubert merely swayed his head toward her and blinked in a dreamy way. She caught the lead dangling from his nose ring.

A crowd had gathered in a wide, wary circle around them. The Malempré pen lay in ruins.

"It's Hubert," she managed to say in a small voice, remembering her part. The darkness at the edge of her vision seemed to close in on her. Her breath failed. "This isn't… a Belgian bull. It's… Hubert."