James saw her then.
"Get away," he shouted. "Get away from there!"
She threw the gate open and stood leaning against it to keep it wide.
"China-Ching," she called; "come on,—China-Ching!"
But it was the other dogs that tore past her. First one, then another, then two together, and then the whole wild, panting pack of them.
"For Gawd's sake;" the man shrieked. "Get—get—" The words were lost in his breathless choking.
The chow-dog was the last to go. For a second he stood beside her. She bent over him. She was afraid to touch him; afraid that at that moment her hands might involuntarily hold him.
"Go on, China-Ching;" she urged frantically; "go on!"
"Hey, you—!" The man stormed at the dogs. "Here—, here—!" He whistled; "here, boy,—here, old fellow,—come on;—"
He suddenly stood still. He tried to make his whistling persuasive. He was out of breath. When he saw that they would not come to him he ran after them. They scattered pellmell before him. She saw them disappearing in every direction. Some of them slinking away with their tails between their legs; some of them crawling into the bushes on their bellies; some of them rushing head-long, racing madly into the night. Only the yellow mass of the chow-dog went in even padded patter out toward the road.