“That was the funny part of it,” Lucile went on. “Of course, Jim wouldn’t believe it was his Bull the boy was talking about, but he went with him just the same.
“When he turned the corner he came upon a spectacle that dazed him. He stood with his eyes and mouth wide open, gazing at Bull—it was his Bull, but oh, disgraced forever! There he was on his back in the dust, with a great collie making flying leaps over him. Each time he jumped those terrible nails ripped a piece of flesh from poor Bull——”
“But I never thought a collie had half a chance against a bull dog,” Mrs. Wescott interrupted, incredulously. “And such a dog as Bull, at that!”
“Well, you see, the collie’s owner explained all that afterward. He said that Bull couldn’t get at his dog’s throat because of his unusually long, thick hair—and, as a rule, that’s Bull’s first move, you know.”
“Catch him by the throat and hang on—yes, I know,” her guardian supplemented. “Then what did Jim do?”
“He wanted to go to the rescue. I believe he would have tried to pull the collie off with his own hands, but a man held him off, crying, ‘Haven’t you any sense, man, to try to separate dogs when they’re fighting?’
“‘Fighting?’ roared Jim. ‘It isn’t a fight—it’s slaughter. If he’s your mutt, call him off. Don’t ye see he’s killin’ ’im?’
“‘He is punishing him pretty badly, I’ll admit,’ said the stranger, so calmly that Jim nearly exploded.
“‘If you don’t call that dog o’ yourn off,’ he yelled, purple with rage, ‘by all that’s holy, I will, and ’twill be with a shot-gun.’ 40
“The man saw he meant it, so he whistled softly.”