“Look here, Shon, the young chentleman knows how to hantle his gun. I don’t want you, and I don’t want your dogs. You, Sneeshing, come back.”
The ugly little Scotch terrier had waited till Scoodrach came near, and then crept down among the rocks to a crevice where he could get quietly into the water without a splash, and was paddling to the side of the boat, looking like an otter swimming.
Sneeshing whined and made a snap at the water.
“Do you hear, sir? Come back!” cried Kenneth; but just then Scood leaned over the side, gripped the little dog by the loose skin at the back of his neck, and lifted him into the boat.
Sneeshing’s first act was to run forward and give himself a tremendous shake to get rid of the water, and then he performed a sort of triumphant dance, and ended by placing his forepaws over the side, and barking at his fellows on the rock.
Bruce seemed to frown at him, showed his teeth, and then uttered a deep baying bark; but Dirk answered the challenge of his little companion by barking furiously, then running up and down upon the rocks for a few moments, watching the boat, as if calculating whether he could leap in; and ending by plunging into the sea with a tremendous splash.
“Come back, sir! Do you hear? come back!” shouted Kenneth, when Dirk raised his head from the water, and uttered a remonstrant bark, which seemed to say,—
“It isn’t fair. You’re letting him go.”
“Hit him with an oar, Scood,” cried Kenneth. “Here, you Dirk, come back, sir, or I’ll pepper you!”
As he spoke, Kenneth raised the gun he carried and took aim at the dog, who threw up his head and uttered a piteous howl, but kept on swimming up and down beside the boat.