Then, by the time Olive had sobbed out her pitiful tidings, both he and Link Ferris had set off down the street at a dead run. Instinctively they were heading for an alley which bisected the street a furlong below—an alley wherein abode Eben Shunk and where his backyard pound was maintained.
Truly, Chum had let himself and others in for an abundance of trouble when he scratched and nosed at the recalcitrant barn door until he pried it wide enough open to let him slip out. He had caught the scent, as Link predicted, and he had turned into the main street of Hampton a bare five minutes behind the carryall.
As he was on his orderly journey toward the Chatham home, Olive spied him from the dooryard and ran out to greet him.
And Eben Shunk, seeing them, waited only long enough to snatch up his rope and landing net, and gave chase. Coming upon the unsuspecting pair from behind, he was able to jam the net over Chum’s head before the placidly pacing collie was aware of his presence.
Chum, catching belated sight and scent of his enemy, sought right valiantly to free himself and give battle. But the tough meshes of the net had been drawn as tightly over his head and jaws as any glove, holding him helpless. And Shunk was fastening the rope about the wildly struggling neck. It was then that Olive sprang to her canine comrade’s aid, only to be slapped out of the way by the irate and overoccupied man. Whereat, she had fled for reinforcements.
A dog has but a single set of weapons, namely, his mighty jaws. The net held Chum’s mouth fast shut. The noose was cutting off his wind. And bit by bit strangulation and confusion weakened the collie’s struggles. With a final wrench of the noose, Shunk got under way. Heading down street toward his own alley, he dragged the fiercely unwilling prisoner behind him. A crowd accompanied him, as did their highly uncomplimentary remarks.
As Shunk reached the mouth of the alley and prepared to turn toward his own yard, two newcomers were added to the volunteer escort. But these two men were not content to look on in passive disgust. The elder of them hurled himself bodily at Shunk.
Link intervened as his enraged father-in-law was about to seize the dog catcher by the throat.
“Don’t!” he warned, thrusting Chatham back. “There’s the cop! You’re a judge. You sure know a better way to get Shunk than to punch him. If you hit the man you give him a chance to sue. Do the suing, yourself!”
While he talked, Link was using his hastily drawn farm knife in scientific fashion. One slash severed the noose from about Chum’s furry throat. A second cut parted the drawstring of the net. A dexterous tug at the meshes tore the net off the dog’s head, setting free the terrible imprisoned jaws.