Alas for poor Carlo, if the axe had struck him! But he was wary, and knew something of warlike tactics, and with watchful eye carefully noted Abner's movements. The boy uttered a cry of alarm at the peril of his favorite, but Carlo sprang to one side just as the axe descended, and it was buried in the earthen floor of the cabin so deeply that Abner could not immediately recover it.
The advantage was thus transferred to the other side, and the dog was not slow in perceiving it.
With a bound he sprang upon his adversary, and bore him to the floor, seizing his coat between his strong teeth. He pulled and tugged at this with a strength which no ordinary cloth could possibly withstand.
“Take him off! take him off!” shrieked Abner in terror.
The boy sprang to the rescue.
“Come away, Carlo,” he said, grasping him by the collar; “come away, that's a good dog.”
But, habitually obedient as Carlo was, his young master found it difficult to get him away. He felt that he had received a grievous injury—that his life had been attempted—and he wanted to have satisfaction. Finally his master succeeded in drawing him away, but not till Mr. Holden's coat was badly torn.
The latter was crestfallen and angry, and not so grateful as he ought to have been to his young defender.
“I'll make your father pay for this coat, you young rascal!” he said.
“It isn't my fault, Mr. Holden,” said the boy.