"Take 'im, Tige!" bellowed the farmer, pointing toward Sam Wing with the rake.
The Chinaman's Waterloo was close upon him. He had time to give one last frantic look behind, and then Tige caught him by the slack of his dripping garments and pulled him down.
"Don't let the dog hurt him!" yelled Matt.
"Watch 'im, Tige!" cried the farmer. "Good dorg, Tige! Watch 'im!"
The farmer got up and gave the hencoop a vicious kick.
"Jee-whillikins, mister," said he, "what's that slant-eyed heathen been up to, hey? He looks like he'd dropped outen a wet rag bag."
"He's a thief," answered Matt.
"He barked my shins somethin' turrible with that hencoop. But yew got him now, an' don't yew fergit it. That Tige is the best dorg fer tramps an' sich yew ever seen."
Together they walked to the place where Tige, growling savagely and showing his teeth, was standing over the prone Chinaman.
Sam Wing dared not make a move. Had he so much as lifted a finger, the bulldog would have been at his throat.