“In with you!” exclaimed Whiskerandos, impatiently. “Don’t keep me here, dying with thirst at the hole.”
I drew back with a gesture of caution. “Whiskerandos,” said I, “I don’t like the green door open yonder. If any one came through it into the yard and cut off our retreat!”
“Nothing dare, nothing win!” he exclaimed; “I am thirsty and I must have water:” and, hurrying through the little opening which I have mentioned, he was soon eagerly drinking at the trough.
Hesitating, doubting, I was about to follow him, and already my nose was through the hole, when a sight, at the remembrance of which I shudder still, made me withdraw it instanter. Through the fatal green door near the pump, a young man, with his hands in his pockets and his cap cocked on one side, followed by several dogs, leisurely sauntered into the yard.
I saw in an instant that for Whiskerandos escape was impossible. He had the whole length of the yard to cross; his foes were far nearer to him than me. His only chance was that of not being perceived; but this in broad daylight, with the noses of three or four dogs not two yards from him, was a miserable chance indeed. The dogs instantly found him out, and were at him in a moment. My unhappy companion darted behind the trough, quick as a flash of lightning. I felt assured that he would there bravely defend himself to the last; but what could one poor rat do, albeit the boldest of his race, against such terrible odds!
“Ha! a rat!” exclaimed the young man, looking quite amused and pleased—barbarian that he was!—at the prospect of seeing a poor defenceless creature torn to pieces before him. “Ha! Carlo, give it him!—shake him by the ear!” The young man actually laughed aloud with delight!
I could not see Whiskerandos, for the trough was between us: I fancied his look of fierce despair as he faced the foes from whom he could not flee, and from whom he could expect no pity. He had evidently got into some corner, from which the dogs could not easily dislodge him; for they stood yelping and barking, showing their white teeth, with their greedy eyes all turned to one point.
So the human savage came to their aid. Having taken up a stick which happened to be lying on the ground near, while the dogs retired a step to allow their master to give his ungenerous assistance, he pushed the stick behind the trough, and by its means dragged poor Whiskerandos from his last place of refuge!
“Ha! the fellow’s dead! I must have killed him with the stick!” cried the young man; and stooping down he lifted up the poor rat by the tail, and held him aloft to examine him more closely, while the dogs leapt and barked around, eager to tear their victim limb from limb!
“He’s been in the wars—lost his ears!” laughed the young man, still holding the stiffened body on high by the tail. “I’m sorry I poked him with the stick; he’d have given us some sport with the dogs!” Did ever such a heartless monster walk on two feet before!