“Good for you!” cried Frank. “Wait till I finish the other.”
He drew his own pistol and fired, but his aim was poor, and the bullet merely grazed the blood-hound’s back.
With a howl of rage the hound sprang away from the tree. Then with set teeth and gleaming eyes, he turned to attack Bob.
“Go for him, Leo!” cried Raymond.
He was in a rage and would have liked nothing better than to see the hound tear Bob to pieces.
Bob again took aim and pulled the trigger. But for some reason the weapon failed to go off.
The next instant the young photographer was knocked flat on his back by the blood-hound.
Seeing this, Frank leaped down from the tree and rushed forward.
“Get back there!” he yelled at the hound, and fired his pistol at the same time.
But the beast paid no attention to the command. He snapped at Bob, and it was only by a quick movement to one side that the young photographer kept himself from having his arm torn to shreds.