“NOW!”
“Well, you’d better hurry,” I said, “for he’s coming.”
The bulldog was moving slowly towards us, uttering strange grunts, and looking excitedly round at the cattle, who were beginning to close in on us and him. My cousin with one strenuous effort ripped the pocket off her mackintosh.
“I’ve got it at last!” she panted, putting in a cartridge with trembling fingers and cocking the pistol. “It’s awfully stiff, and I know it throws high, but anyhow, it will frighten him—I don’t really want to hit him.”
“For goodness’ sake wait till I get behind you,” I replied. “Now!”
There was a report like a cannon, and I saw my cousin’s arm jerk heavenwards, as if hailing a cab. The next moment the cattle were flying to the four winds of heaven, and the bulldog, far from being alarmed or hurt, was streaking through the heather in hot pursuit of the largest cow of the herd.
This was a more appalling result than we could possibly have anticipated. Not only had we failed to intimidate, but we had positively instigated him to crime.