“I have not your dog! That black dog is mine!”
And at this Mr. Addison broke in with:
“Yes, and I suppose that big yellow dog is yours, too!” and he pointed to a large yellow animal that was sneaking around behind a red wagon. The yellow dog was not what you would call a friendly dog. He was more like a wolf or a fox. “Is that your dog?” asked Mr. Addison, pointing to the animal.
“Yes, that’s my dog, too,” answered the Gypsy.
“Then you’re just the man I’m looking for!” exclaimed the farmer. “That’s the yellow dog that’s been chasing my sheep and taking my chickens. And he took Mr. Blake’s sheep and chickens, too! Now then, I’m a deputy sheriff of this county. As you know, that’s just as good as a policeman in the city. And either you’ve got to get rid of that yellow dog and pay me for the loss of my lambs and chickens, and Mr. Blake for his, or I’ll arrest you, and drive you away from this camp. Now, what’s it going to be, Mr. Gypsy? I guess you’ll find you have one dog too many!”
“My dog never kills sheep or chickens!” said the Gypsy, but he was not as bold as he had been at first.
“Well, plenty of farmers near me have seen this yellow dog of yours, and they know what he has done,” said Mr. Addison. “Now, either you’ll get rid of that yellow dog, or you’ll get out of here,” and he spoke sharply.
“Well, if my yellow dog hurt your sheep or chickens I didn’t know it,” said the Gypsy, and his voice was quite different now.
“I’m telling you about it,” said Mr. Addison. “And, what’s more, you’ve got to pay us for the animals and fowls your dog killed. And now what about this other dog—the black one that belongs to these children? Where’s the dog Skyrocket?”
“I don’t know,” answered the Gypsy. “I haven’t got their dog.”