“Try to bite me, will yuh?” snarled the messenger.
He glanced around for some sort of a weapon, evidently not caring to get within kicking distance of the dog again, when Jim Legg spoke mildly—
“You really shouldn’t do that.”
The messenger whirled around and stared at Jim Legg. He did not recognize him as the man who had put the dog in the car at the main line.
“What in —— are you doin’ in my car?” he demanded.
Jim Legg shifted uneasily.
“Well, I—I’m watching you mistreat a dumb brute, it seems. That’s my dog, and I didn’t put him on here to be kicked.”
“Your dog, eh?”
The messenger came closer. He recognized Jim now.
“Got on at Encinas, eh?”