“Go for him!” cried Raymond.
Lying on his back, Bob made another attempt to shoot the blood-hound. He pulled the trigger again, and this time the pistol went off, and with a shrill yelp the beast keeled over and lay on his side with a bullet through his head.
“I’ll fix you for that!” screamed Raymond.
He gave a shrill whistle, but already half a dozen men came running from the bar-room of the hotel, anxious to know what the firing was about.
“Is that you, Raymond?”
“What’s up?”
“These fellows are prowling about the place,” returned Raymond.
“That so?”
“They are up to no good. This one just shot both my dogs.”
“Don’t say! Why, those dogs were worth a hundred dollars.”