"Why, that's the dog now."
I was angry, but I was quiet, and I got up and walked over toward him.
"Tell me what you are talking about," I said.
"I'm talking about that dog. My daughter owns him and I've come for him."
"Well, you can't get this dog," I said, "because he's mine."
"Oh! he is, is he?"
"Yes, I brought him here with me when I came. I've had him since he was a puppy."
"Oh! you did!"
"Yes, I did. Go back there, Dix, and lie down!" for Dix, with the hair up on his broad back and a wicked look in his eye, was growling his low, ominous bass that meant war. At the word, however, he went back to his corner and lay down, his eye watchful and uneasy. His prompt obedience seemed to stagger Mr. McSheen, for he condescended to make his first attempt at an explanation.
"Well, a man brought him and sold him to my daughter two months ago."