“He’s a tramp,” said the man. “A tramp, Nero. Do you understand?”
The dog growled fiercely and seemed eager to break away, but his master restrained him.
“Not now, boy,” he said. “Wait. He doesn’t look like a tramp, but he is. You know what to do to tramps, don’t you, boy?”
The animal showed his teeth in something like a snarl.
“Steady! Hold your temper now, Nero, but watch him—watch him! That’s all.”
By this time it was necessary for the three players to hurry back to the bench, as John Swiftwing already had two strikes called against him.
The dog strained and started when Dick walked away, but the man held him in restraint.
Swiftwing finally hit the ball, but it went into the hands of Skelding, who made a pretty throw to first, and the young Indian was out.
Frank Merriwell was the next batter. He had a favorite bat, but, by some mischance, it was not in the pile, and he was compelled to take another stick.