na
fire-eater. He placed himself in front of the hero of the night's
adventure, as resolute and as intractable as though he had known all the
facts in the case, and intended to carry out to the letter the wishes of
his master.

Tom slowly retreated towards the garden fence, the dog still following him
up. He had tried coaxing and conciliation, and they had failed. As he
cautiously backed from the house, his feet struck against a heavy cart
stake, which seemed to suggest his next resort. He was well aware that any
quick movement on his part would cause the dog to spring upon him. Placing
his toe under the stake, he raised it with his foot, till he could reach
it with his hand, keeping his gaze fixed upon the eyes of the dog, which
glared like fiery orbs in the gloom of the hour.

Tige saw the stick, and he appeared to have a wholesome respect for it--a
sentiment inspired by sundry beatings, intended to cure a love of mutton
on the hoof, or beef on the shelf. The brute retreated a few paces; but at
this moment Squire Pemberton appeared at the front door, with a lantern in
his hand. He understood the "situation" at a glance.

"Take him, Tige! Stu' boy!" shouted the squire.

The dog snarled an encouraging reply to this suggestion, and moved up
towards the fugitive. Tom's courage was equal to the occasion, and he
levelled a blow at the head of the bull dog, which, if it had hit him
fairly, must have smashed in his skull. As it was, the blow was a heavy
one, and Tige retreated; but the shouts of the squire rallied him, and he
rushed forward to the onslaught again.

Tom, as we have before had occasion to suggest, was a master of strategy,
and instead of another stroke at the head of his savage foe, with only one
chance in ten of hitting the mark he commenced swinging it vigorously to
the right and left, as a mower does his scythe. His object was to hit the
legs of the dog--a plan which was not entirely original with him, for he
had seen it adopted with signal success by a fisherman at the Harbor. The
consequence of this change of tactics was soon apparent, for Tige got a
rap on the fore leg, which caused him to yelp with pain, and retire from
the field. While the dog moved off in good order in one direction, Tom
effected an equally admirable retreat in the other direction.

On reaching the road, he pulled on his boots, which he had picked up after
the discomfiture of his canine antagonist. Squire Pemberton still stood at