Fearing that he would be killed on the spot, though I was sick and dizzy from the blow, I seized Dix by the throat and with a strong wrench of his windpipe at the same time that I gave him an order, I broke his hold. And fortunately for the ruffian, his heavy coat collar had partially saved his throat.
The wretch staggered to his feet with an oath and supported himself against the wall while I pacified Dix, who was licking his chops, his hair still up on his back, his eyes still on his enemy.
"Are you hurt?" I asked, for, though still dizzy, the need to act had brought my senses back.
"What business is that of yours?" he demanded brutally. "Wait a minute. I'll kill that d——d dog."
The reply to my inquiry was so brutal that my anger rose.
"You drunken beast! Say a word and I'll give you to him again and let him worry you like a rat. You see him! Keep back, Dix!" for the dog, recognizing my anger, had advanced a little and flattened himself to spring on the least provocation.
"I didn't mean no offence," the fellow growled. "But I don't like a d——d dog to be jumpin' at me."
"You don't! What did you mean by trying to murder me?"
"I didn't try to murder you."
"You did. I have no money—not a cent. I'm as poor as you are."