Almost before his name had left my lips, I heard the thud of his feet, like the hoofbeats of a horse, and knew that he was coming, but not the Chance I had ever seen before—mild-eyed and gentle as a baby. Every part of his body was bristling with rage, making him twice as big as usual. His eyes were red as balls of fire, and his teeth showed white between his open jaws. If I had not known him, I should have thought him mad, and, as it was, I felt a little shiver of fear as he came rushing on, with a low, angry growl, and his head low down.
The bandit’s back was to him, and he did not know the danger threatening him until Chance came round in front and two big feet struck him in the stomach, stretching him upon the ground, with Chance standing over him and looking at me for instructions as to what he should do next. I had heard some Russian oaths, but never any quite so fierce as those which came from the lips of the prostrate young man, who had wrenched my bag from my side, and kept it, with a tight grip.
“Chance,” I said, pointing to the bag, “that is mine. Get it for me!”
He understood, and in a moment the bag was in my hand, and on that of the bandit was an ugly wound, where Chance’s teeth had been. The dog still kept his place over the fallen man, growling angrily whenever his foe attempted to rise.
“Please, lady, call him off!” the man pleaded, his face white and his teeth chattering with terror.
I was nearly as white as he was, and trembling in every limb, as I stood looking at him.
“Oh, please let me go before he nabs me!” he continued, as, lifting up his head, he looked down the long street, where a policeman was just appearing in response to a tardy summons from the butki. “I’ve been in a dungeon, I’ve had the knout, and they did not make me any better. Let me go,” he said. “I did wrong, and am sorry!”
The knout and dungeon had an ugly sound. All my womanly pity awoke for the wretch, who was little more than a boy.
“I’ll give you another chance to do better,” I said, bidding the dog come to me, which he did rather unwillingly, growling savagely as the man sprang up, and, picking up his hat, exclaimed: “Thanks, lady! I’ll not forget it!” and then disappeared into some den or alley.
The women began to gather around me by this time, all talking together, and evidently so pleased at the escape of the thief that I was almost as much afraid of them as of him. The tired-faced woman, however, who had suggested the police, was different, and, when she asked me to sit down, I assented, for I was very tired, and went toward her door.