Both Stephen and his dog, not far away, heard it. Steve immediately stopped swimming, and said, “Sic it, Carlo! Sic it! Fetch him out!”
Bob chuckled, again uttered the cry, and was rewarded by hearing Carlo flying towards him. “Now, to keep out of the dog’s sight till he gets into this hollow,” he muttered, suiting the action to the word. “If Steve should come, too,”—and he grew pale at the thought,—“I’ll get the worst of it! But Steve won’t come.”
In this conclusion Bob was quite right; for Stephen preferred a good bath to a doubtful chase after a squirrel. Besides, he could not hunt the squirrel without dressing himself; and before that could be done, Carlo would probably have caught it, or else have given up the pursuit. Therefore, Stephen wisely determined to enjoy his bath, and let his dog hunt alone.
Crafty Bob had considered all these points, and felt quite easy in his ambush. He was wise in his day and generation.
“Sic it!” Stephen cried again; and Carlo, with his nose bent to the ground, ran hither and thither, trying to get scent of the “squirrel.”
Bob gave another encouraging squeak, and the dog plunged through the shrubbery into the hollow.
He feared the dog, and knew the risks he was running; but revenge spurred him on, and he remained collected and resolute, while Carlo, quite surprised, was taken at a disadvantage.
They grapple with each other, almost human dog and almost brutal boy, have a severe struggle, and fight desperately; but in the end, Bob slips his muzzle over Carlo’s nose, fastens it, and then binds his feet with the cords and straps.
Bob is master of the situation.