ent, in utter apathy, where he had dismounted from it.

The horse went into a reluctant and stiff-legged gallop, while Jerry
followed, snarling and growling wrath at so high a pitch that almost he
squalled.

"It's all right, Michael," Harley soothed. "Take it easy. Don't hurt
yourself. The trouble's over. Anybody'll happen along any time now and
get us out of this fix."

But the smaller branch of the two composing the fork broke, and Michael
fell to the ground, landing in momentary confusion on his head and
shoulders. The next moment he was on his feet and tearing down the road
in the direction of Jerry's noisy pursuit. Jerry's noise broke in a
sharp cry of pain that added wings to Michael's feet. Michael passed him
rolling helplessly on the road. What had happened was that the livery
horse, in its stiff-jointed, broken-kneed gallop, had stumbled, nearly
fallen, and, in its sprawling recovery, had accidentally stepped on
Jerry, bruising and breaking his foreleg.

And the man, looking back and seeing Michael close upon him, decided that
it was still another dog attacking him. But he had no fear of dogs. It
was men, with their rifles and shotguns, that might bring him to ultimate
grief. Nevertheless, the pain of his bleeding legs, lacerated by Jerry
and Michael, maintained his rage against dogs.

"More dogs," was his bitter thought, as he leaned out and brought his
whip down across Michael's face.

To his surprise, the dog did not wince under the blow. Nor for that
matter did he yelp or cry out from the pain. Nor did he bark or growl or
snarl. He closed in as though he had not received the blow, and as
though the whip was not brandished above him. As Michael leaped for his
right leg he swung the whip down, striking him squarely on the muzzle
midway between nose and eyes. Deflected by the blow, Michael dropped
back to earth and ran on with his longest leaps to catch up and make his
next spring.

But the man had noticed another thing. At such close range, bringing his
whip down, he could not help noting that Michael had kept his eyes open
under the blow. Neither had he winced nor blinked as the whip slashed
down on him. The thing was uncanny. It was something new in the way of
dogs. Michael sprang again, the man timed him again with the whip, and
he saw the uncanny thing repeated. By neither wince nor blink had the
dog acknowledged the blow.

And then an entirely new kind of fear came upon the