She glanced at the child again, who had not moved.
“Come on, sonny,” she called coaxingly, “come on—please.”
Slowly the child came forward, hesitant, afraid, his small face pale with fright.
He sidled near and put out a dirty hand to the dog’s right ear. The little hand closed—pulled—and Nance felt the dog’s body twitch in an effort to obey. She knew at once that that was the way they travelled together—the child holding to his ear. Slowly she relaxed her grip, let go the backward pressure. The Collie jerked free and backed off shaking his head, and Nance sat up, folding her feet beneath her.
Then she smiled at the two waifs of Blue Stone Cañon.
“That isn’t a nice way to treat folks who come to see you, is it, sonny?” she asked, “to set your dog on them?”
“I didn’t set him on,” said the child in a high treble, “he set himself on you.”
“I guess you’re right,” answered the girl, “but don’t let go of him again. Go over there and pick up that package and bring it to me.”
She pointed to the package of bread and meat which had been flung wide in the recent trouble, and the child obeyed, dragging the Collie along, who went unwillingly, his distrustful and baffled eyes turned back across his shoulder to keep her in sight.
The child, too, was wary, reaching far out, stretching his small body to the utmost between her hand and his hold on the dog’s ear.