Poke was lavishing blandishments upon the dog, and extending the bait; so it was left to Step to make explanation.
“It’s that chicken business. We’re going to get even—teach him a lesson, I mean.... Got a scheme, a crackerjack scheme. Just you keep your eyes peeled.”
“They’re peeled, all right, but——” Sam hesitated an instant. “I say, you fellows, better not get in trouble. Remember, you belong to the Safety First Club!”
“Huh! No chance of trouble—for us!” Step insisted. “Look here, Sam!” He displayed part of the chain with a snap at the end. “Two just like this—see? Well, we’re going to pass one of ’em around the dog’s neck, so-fashion.” In illustration he wound the chain about his own left wrist and for good measure took an extra turn. “Then we fasten it.” Another illustration, the rusty spring of the catch being moved with some difficulty. “Then, having fixed it so he can’t get rid of it, we——”
There Step broke off, for good and sufficient reason. For things were beginning to happen, and the procession of events was moving with startling speed.
The dog, sacrificing caution to appetite, came within Poke’s reach; whereupon Poke, dropping the meat, caught the hound as he tried to gobble up the bait; deftly slipped the second chain about the animal’s neck, successfully worked the snap at the first attempt; wheeled; whipped out a match; struck it, and lighted a rag protruding like a fuse from the old tin lantern, which had been brought from behind Step’s back, as that youth gave Sam an object lesson.
The kerosene-soaked rag flamed fiercely; almost instantly, dense black smoke began to pour from the holes in the lantern. Poke, who had been busy with the contrivance and the dog, with never a thought of complications involving his comrade, sprang back with a shout of glee, which perhaps added somewhat—though increase was scarcely needed—to the terror of the hound, which gave a panic-stricken howl and a tremendous bound.
Step, who had been tearing desperately and quite vainly at the chain about his wrist—the rusty catch stuck as if it had been soldered—was caught off his balance; dragged forward and into a run, which, under the circumstances, he could not check. The big dog, as heavy and powerful as many a sledge-team leader of the Far North, bolted wildly, yet with a general purpose; and this purpose being to seek asylum from the infernal machine at his heels, he dashed through the gate and toward the house, Step following, willy-nilly, his long legs flying and his long arms going like the arms of a windmill in a gale; while dangling from the chain between dog and boy, the old lantern emitted great volumes of choking smoke of most evil odor.
“Say, Step, where you going?” shouted the bewildered Poke, who was still unaware of the difficulty in which his chum was involved. “What’s the matter? The pair of you look like an engine going to a fire!”
Now to this Step, for perfectly good reasons, made no reply. And Poke, seeing that Sam was running after his friend, joined in the pursuit. So the procession swept up the drive, turned a corner of the house, and headed for the side porch, under which the dog had a den of his own, entrance to which was secured by a break in the latticework. Through this opening he shot with a final tug of such violence that Step was jerked forward, falling on his knees, with his head close to the barrier. And as by this time his fright fairly matched the dog’s, and as he fell to shouting for help as lustily as he could against the odds of the suffocating smoke, which poured through the lattice, and as the dog was howling more madly than ever, it may be imagined that there was a pretty to-do under and about the side porch of the Mercer house.