The man, who as stated was a powerful fellow, made a spring at Murray, when quick as lightning the old timer dealt him a blow with a billy that brought him to his knees. He shouted murder, but the next instant the darbies were on him, and then he wilted and became quiet, and in less time than it takes to tell it the rest of the family were secured and dragged into the house.
Murray uttered a whistle and the hound came bounding forward. The well-trained animal had waited for his signal with the seeming intelligence of a human being.
The detective let the dog smell a hat which he had brought with him and gave the command:
“Go find.”
We could fill a book with accounts of extraordinary displays of sagacity by dogs, and the detective had an animal as intelligent as any beast ever started on a scent. The great brute scented around for a few moments and then scratched at a door leading down to the cellar, and once below he scented and scented, searching here and there, and for a long time appeared to be at fault; and the detective remarked to Ike, who stood by with a mask lantern in his hand:
“He’s lost the trail, Ike.”
“No, sir, he is only doubtful, that’s all. He is on the trail, just a little perplexed. He’ll get there; you give him time.”
“You talk as though you knew the dog.”
“No, but I’ve been watching him. I know their habits, and I tell you he’s just bothered a little, but you trust a hound like him to untangle. He’ll get there, you can bet.”
A little time and it appeared as though Ike had measured the dog just right, for the animal went round and round, his nose almost rubbing against the stone wall lining the cellar, and every time he came to a certain spot he would stop and scent more particularly and then go around again, and then Ike said: