He sprang towards them, and grasping the dog's collar with both hands, exerted all his strength to pull him off. Strong and savage as the hairy hermit had become from the loneliness of his life, he had all a dog's grateful remembrance of a kindness, and recognizing the hand which had flung him the welcome bone earlier in the day, he suffered Edwin to choke him off without turning on him.
"Run!" cried Edwin to the boy he had delivered; "run beyond his reach whilst I hold him."
He had no need to repeat his exhortation. The shrieking boy fled like the wind. It was not Cuthbert; Edwin knew that by the fleetness of his hare-like speed. He did his best to soothe and coax the angry dog, keeping his eye meanwhile on the retreating figure.
As the distance between them increased, Edwin let the dog go. The fugitive changed his course, and was circling round to regain the road. Then Edwin started at right angles, and so got between him and the hut, where Effie and Cuthbert were probably asleep.
"They will be so frightened," thought Edwin, "if he runs in for refuge. For poor little Eff's sake I must stop him."
So they came up face to face in the open ground beyond the black shadow of the boundary, and eyed each other in the starlight.
"Whero!" exclaimed Edwin.
"Ah, you!" cried the Maori boy, holding out both hands. "To meet you is good."
"Come in with me and rest," continued Edwin. "Are you hurt? It was madness to try to pass the boundary dog in the dark. He might have torn you to pieces."
Out spoke the young savage, "I would have killed him first."