And Lad, continued to "watch" the pistol.
The dog was having a lovely time. Seldom had he been happier. All
good collies respond in semi-psychic fashion to the moods of
their masters. And, to Lad, the very atmosphere about him was
thrilling just now to waves of stark excitement. With the
delightful vanity which is a part of the collie make-up, he
realized that in some manner he himself was a prominent part of
this excitement. And he reveled in it.
As Wefers pulled back his imperiled arm, the Mistress stepped
forward, before the Master could speak or move.
"Even if it were true that he could get rabies by a bite from a
rabid dog," said she, "and even if that dog, yesterday, were mad,
that wouldn't affect Laddie. For he didn't bite Laddie. He never
got the chance. Lad pinned him to the ground. And while the
mongrel was struggling to get up, you shot him. One of your
bullets flicked Lad's foreleg. But the mongrel's teeth never came
within twelve inches of him. I can testify to that."
"He was fighting with a mad dog!" reiterated Wefers, fumingly.
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