"Let up, Wallace; don't be a fool," cried his companion, touched by the mute suffering.
"He'll mind me or I'll brain him," hissed Chet, quite beside himself. "Go!"
Bulow crouched lower and feebly essayed to lick his master's boot.
With an oath, the latter brought the butt of the gun down on his defenceless head, once, twice, thrice, and then there was a convulsive struggle and a dead dog lay weltering in his own blood.
At another time, when Carm owned a common mongrel dog, there was a cat and three well-grown kittens at the barn. Master and Bobby had petted them until they were perfectly tame.
For some reason or other, Chet determined that they must die, but instead of humanely killing them, he bade Tommy set the dog on them.
This just suited the lad.
Getting them all together, he gave the dog his orders. It happened right in my sight, and all I could do was to kick and neigh, but no one paid any attention. Carm and Tommy were enjoying what they called "the fun."
The first kitten fought valiantly, but soon the cruel teeth sank in her throat and she lay limp.
It took a long and exciting chase to get hold of another one.