The outlaws, who had seated themselves on the turf, instantly sprang to their feet.
“Throw up your hands!” went on the voice.
But, instead of obeying this command, the men dropped to the earth again and prepared to fight. The attempt was a failure.
The boys, however, were on their feet, and the instant the outlaws crouched down they were off, being closely followed by the bulldog, who had all along looked with disfavor upon the proceedings. Captain Joe hesitated for a second, looking longingly at the exposed leg of one of the outlaws and then sprang forward.
In a minute the outlaw was on his feet, thundering great oaths at the dog, and doing his best to release his leg from the teeth of the animal. His efforts proved ineffectual, serving only to throw him to the ground again, where he lay foaming with rage.
“Call off the dog!” he shouted, writhing about on the turf in agony. “He is killing me!”
Hour after hour Jule had spent teaching the dog to obey his Peter Pratt, and now it came into play.
“Let go, you cur!” he cried. “Don’t kill the man! Let go, or I’ll have your hide for a foot rug!”
By this time the outlaws, regardless of their companion’s oaths and cries for help, were crouching lower in the bushes, mindful only of that first command to “throw up your hands!”
Captain Joe, in obedience to the command, released his hold on the outlaw and started after the boys. No sooner was the man released from the jaws of the dog than he drew a weapon and fired, the bullet cutting a long furrow in the dog’s side.