“Where is the mad dog?” cried Dan Baxter, in alarm.
“There he is!” shouted Gus Coulter, turning pale. “Oh, I do hope he doesn’t come this way!”
All of the cadets and the others present looked in the direction from whence the cries proceeded. They saw a middle-aged woman running along a footpath to the side of the field. Behind her was a big dog, who was frothing at the mouth and snapping his teeth together viciously.
“Help me! Save me from the dog!” cried the woman. She was evidently some farmer’s wife who lived in the neighborhood. She had been carrying a basket, but had thrown the article at the dog, in a weak effort to stay his progress.
When the alarm came Jack had one of the rifles in his hand. It was loaded, and now he turned quickly with the weapon.
“Take care! Don’t hit the woman!” began Captain Putnam, when the crack of the weapon cut short his warning. Taking hasty aim, the young major had fired at the mad animal. A yelp followed, the dog leaped high in the air, and then came down and lay still.
“Good! Jack nailed him!” shouted Andy. “A fine shot!”
“Let me see if he is dead,” said Captain Putnam, and catching up another rifle he ran forward, followed by half a dozen cadets. Soon they reached the woman, who was on the point of fainting from fright and from running.
“Is he—he—dead?” she faltered.
“Yes, he is dead,” announced the master of the Hall, making a close examination. “The bullet must have gone straight through his brain.”