Into the dust crashed
the two dogs; Lad on top. Before they struck ground, the collie's
teeth had found their goal ire the side of the larger dog's
throat; and every whalebone muscle in Lad's body was braced to
hold his enemy down.
It was a clever hold. For the fall had thrown the mongrel on his
side. And so long as Lad should be able to keep the great foaming
head in that sideways posture, the other dog could not get his
feet under him again. With his legs in their present position, he
had no power to get up; but lay thrashing and snapping and
snarling; and trying with all his cramped might to free himself
from the muscular grip that held him prostrate.
It was all over in something like two seconds. Up stormed the
crowd; the pistol-wielder at its head. Three shots were fired at
point-blank range. By some miracle none of them harmed Lad;
although one bullet scratched his foreleg on its way to the black
giant's brain.
As soon as she could, the Mistress got herself and the
loudly-praised Lad into the car and set off for home. Now that
the peril was over, she felt dizzy and ill.
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