hand.

But the bull-terrier was to escape the fate unjustly inflicted on so
many of its fellows. The girl, crouching over the dog, barred the
policeman's purpose.

"Get away from him, miss," the officer directed. "He ain't safe, even
if he's quiet. I know mad dogs. A bullet's the only medicine."

"Chub isn't mad in the least," the girl snapped; "though he's been
through enough to make him crazy--and so have I. If you're so anxious
to do your duty, officer," she added, bitterly, "why don't you arrest
that horrid, hulking man over there?" She pointed a neatly gloved,
accusing finger at the motionless Zeke, who was staring fixedly at the
point where he hoped the abyss might yawn.

"What's he done?" the policeman inquired gruffly. He was miffed over
this lost opportunity. The slayer of a mad dog is always mentioned as
a hero in the newspapers.

The girl stood up. The dog, at the end of the leash, also stood up,
and shook itself. It had, to all seeming, recovered fully. It regarded
Zeke intently from its red eyes. But it did not growl. It was plain
that the bull-terrier was thinking deeply, and that Zeke was the
center around which thought revolved. But, if the dog did not growl,
its mistress showed no lessening of hostility. She explained
succinctly to the representative of the law:

"He assaulted my dog--with his feet and his hands."

"And maybe he bit him, too!" the policeman suggested, with heavy
sarcasm. He could not forgive this pretty girl for foiling his
heroism.

The girl did not heed. Her white brow was wrinkled in a frown. She was
recalling, with an effort, her somewhat meager knowledge of legal
terms.

"I shall charge him with homicidal assault," she announced firmly.

"I hope you'll tell that to the sarge," the officer chuckled, his
pique forgotten in appreciation of the girl's naive announcement.
"I'll take this chap to the station-house. You'll appear against him,
miss?" The girl nodded emphatically. He turned on Zeke, frowning.
"Come on quiet, young feller, if you know what's good for ye." His
practiced eye studied the young mountaineer's physique respectfully.

Zeke made no movement, nor answered nor lifted his eyes. The policeman
attributed this demeanor to recalcitrancy. He put the revolver in his
pocket, drew his club and took a step forward. Yet, he sensed
something unfamiliar in the situation; the stiff posture of the arms
and hands of the culprit attracted his attention. He felt vaguely t