“Ain’t scared of him, are yer!” said Dan’l.
Dexter gave him a sharp look.
“That he ain’t,” said Peter. “Look here, Master Dexter,” he whispered, “don’t let him hug you, but give it him right straight out, and he’ll be down and howl in two two’s.”
Dexter made no reply, but stepped into the great shallow punt-like contrivance, seized the prop handed to him, and prepared to use it, but the strong steady thrust given by Peter sent him well on his journey, and in less than a minute he was across.
“Come on, Dan’l,” cried Peter. “Don’t I wish we was acrost too!”
They crept among the trees at the extreme corner of the garden, where they could hold on by the boughs, and crane their necks over the river, so as to see Dexter tearing along the opposite bank into the next meadow where Bob was fishing, in happy ignorance of the approach of danger; and, to further take off his attention, he had just hooked a good-sized perch, and was playing it, when Dexter, boiling over with the recollection of many injuries culminating in Bob’s cowardly lies, came close up and gave a formal announcement of his presence by administering a sounding crack on the ear.
Bob dropped his rod into the river, and nearly jumped after it as he uttered a howl.
“Look at that!” cried Peter, giving one of his legs a slap. “Oh, I wish I was there!”
Bob was as big a coward as ever stepped. So is a rat; but when driven to bay a rat will fight.
Bob was at bay, and he, being in pain, began to fight by lowering his head and rushing at his adversary.