unaided before her eyes, Dora caught sight of a large
half-loose stone in the path. "Stand back, May," she gasped, as she tore
it up. Dora's face was as white as paper; she was sick with fright and
distress; she would fain have shut her eyes if she had not known that
she needed every advantage which sight could give her to prevent her
hitting Tray, instead of his foe, as the two rolled over each other in
the struggle which was growing deadlier every second.

"Stop," cried a voice of command behind her, "you'll have the dog turn
upon you as soon as he has finished his present job," and a welcome
deliverer ran forward just in time. He seized the first tail he could
grasp--luckily for him it was Tray's and not Growler's--and hung on to
it like a vice. The "redder" of the combatants, regardless of "the
redder's lick," which was likely to be his portion, continued to hold
the tail of the now yelling Tray, and at the same time seized him by the
scruff of the neck with the other hand, and dragged both animals, still
locked together, with his whole force nearer and nearer to the edge of
the bank by the river.

A new terror beset May. "Take care, you'll have them in the water."

No sooner said than done. With a plunge the two dogs fell heavily into
the Dewes, while the man who had brought them to this pass kept his own
footing with difficulty.

"They'll both be drowned," cried May, clasping her hands in the last
depths of anguish.

"Not at all," said Tom Robinson, panting a little from his exertions
and wiping his hands with his handkerchief. "I did it on purpose--don't
you see? It was the only way to make the beggars lose their grip. Look
there, they are swimming like brothers down the stream--that small
spitfire of yours is not badly hurt. I told you that you were spoiling
him--you ought to make him obey and come to heel, or he will become the
torment of your life. The bank shelves a little a few yards further
down; you will find that he will come to shore shaking himself nothing
the worse. It may be a lesson to him; if not, I should like to give him
a bit of my mind."

True enough, Tray scrambled up the bank presently, bearing no more
alarming traces of the fray than were to be found in his limping on
three legs, and halting every other minute that he might ruefully attend
to the fourth.

Growler also landed, and after glancing askance at his antagonist and at
the champion who had suddenly interposed between Tray and