Tom Halstead wasn’t a coward, as everyone familiar with his career well knows. But the dog had the upper hand at this moment, and any attempt to show fight would have been sheer folly.
“I guess you’ll agree to offer no nonsense, won’t you, Halstead?” chuckled Mr. Bolton, roughly. “If you do, I’ll call my dog off, though the beast will be at hand if needed.”
Hank Calmly Dropped the Rock
Captain Halstead’s blood was boiling over the hopelessness of this defeat in what he had hoped would be the very hour of his success. Before he could reply, however, the dog made the next move.
Behind the whole group was a quick, light step. The dog was the first to hear it. Springing back from the young skipper with a new growl of warning, the brute turned, making a fresh spring.
Hank Butts had just crossed the stone wall that bordered the road. In his two hands Hank held a rock slightly larger than his head. Nor did the freckle-faced youth seem greatly alarmed. As the bull dog sprang Hank calmly bent forward and dropped the heavy rock on the animal’s head just in the nick of time.
Without uttering a sound the savage brute dropped to the ground, dead. Ellis leaped forward at the newcomer, but Hank Butts, with a speed that seemed strange in him, snatched up the dog and hurled it full in the face of the sham reporter.
“Here, you young rascal!” roared Justin Bolton, as Ellis toppled over backward. He rushed at Hank, but Mr. Bolton was a stout, middle-aged man—no match in agility for a country boy.