"Oh, dear," said Gordon, "when he gets those great white teeth on to him, won't the blood fly? I hope he won't swallow him whole, for we want his hide to make shoe strings."
"You bet," said I. Then patting the dog on the head, I continued: "Won't old Skip be ashamed when he sees you, Towser?"
Skip was a little brindle cur who had watched the whole farm night and day for ten years. He would never worry the cat or chase the chickens, but would speak, roll over, sit up, or play he was dead, to please us boys. He could hustle the cattle out of the corn, keep the pigs from the door and had kept all the rabbits and woodchucks away from the garden. In fact, he was a friend to everyone except Towser. Of course, he was jealous of him.
When we boys arrived on the scene, we found old Skip bounding over the wall back and forth, barking, squealing, pawing and biting off roots in his great excitement, while the woodchuck was chattering, whistling and snapping his teeth in great shape.
"Oh, look here, Gordon," said I, as I peeped into the wall, "He is as big as two tomcats; it must be the one father said had been nibbling all our green pumpkins."
"Yes, yes," says Gordon, "Pa said Skip has been trying to get between him and his hole all summer, and now our Towser has got him at last. Say, Merrick, don't you think we had better let Skip kill him. I'm afraid that Towser will tear him all to flitters and we won't have his hide left."
Now there was a terrible yelping and we discovered that the big bulldog was shaking little Skip unmercifully. We clubbed him off, and tried to drive Skip home, as, of course, we would not need him any more, but he would not go, so we tied him to a white birch tree with Towser's chain and continued tearing down the wall.
Gordon's countenance took on a sort of a funeral aspect as he said, "Now, Mr. Woodchuck, you have got to die."
"Yes," said I, as I jammed my dirty thumb into my mouth to keep from weeping, "My heart aches for him, but it has got to be done."