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“The feller he bited–Jake.”

“There, don’t cry, little un; seems to me the purp did the proper caper. What do you think, pardner?”

“In my opinion,” answered the Eastern man, “the dog’s action was decidedly laudatory.”

“And yer think same as I do that the pup hadn’t ought to be killed for doin’ it?”

“Decidedly not.”

“Say, sis, ain’t yer got any friends to sort of stand off the feller as allows to do the killin’?”

“No, sir, nobody except father, and he–drinks sometimes and don’t care for Rover, and he says he don’t want no trouble.”

“Ain’t yer got no one else?”

“No, sir; nobody but Rover. Mother’s dead and I ain’t got nobody but Rover. Oh, dear me!”

The girl buried her face in the shaggy coat of her friend and sobbed.

The Cowboy sat down on the step beside her; the dog eyed him inquiringly, but evidently decided he was a friend and wagged his tail slightly.

“Don’t cry, my girl; brace up, now; perhaps they won’t kill him after all.”

“Oh, yes, they will. Jake is over in the saloon now; I saw him go in. He’ll do it sure; he hates Rover.”

“May I speak to your lap-dog? Will he tear me up much if I pat him?” inquired the Cowboy.

“I wouldn’t fool with him, sir; Rover don’t like strangers.”

The Cowboy snapped his fingers at the dog and called to him:

“Come here, Rover.”

The splendid animal walked solemnly to him and, resting his head on his knee, looked up steadily into his face.

“Don’t seem to be too savage nor nothin’–pretty decent sort of dog.”

“Oh, he is, sir; he is just the sweetest, lovingest dog that ever lived. I had him when he wa’n’t no bigger than a coon, and couldn’t eat nothin’ but milk, and he loves me, don’t you, Rover? and I love him, and he’s all I’ve got to love in the world, and they’re goin’ to kill him. Oh, Rover, Rover, what shall I do? what shall I do?”

“Now, sis, tell us about the row–did the dog begin the trouble?”

“Oh, no, sir; Jake came along this morning and I was settin’ here playin’ with Rover, and Jake he grabbed me and tried to kiss me, and I put up a holler and Rover bited him in the leg. Jake swore and wanted to kill him, but he didn’t darst to, and he didn’t have no gun; so he’s gone home to get his gun and he’ll be back pretty quick and he’s goin’ to kill him.”

The girl had stopped crying, but little hysterical sobs choked her from time to time as she talked.

The Cowboy pulled the dog’s ears gently and the animal responded by licking his hand.

“Seems to me, pardner, that Jake ain’t actin’ quite white in this deal.”

“It’s an outrage,” warmly responded the Eastern man.

“I see two fellers,” continued the Cowboy, gently stroking the dog’s head, “comin’ around the corner of the house; maybe we’d better ask ‘um please not to hurt the dog.”

“I agree with you, most decidedly.”

The girl caught sight of the men and uttered a cry of fear. Seizing Rover by the collar, she attempted to drag him inside the house, but the dog braced himself and growled savagely, facing the newcomers.

“Say, pard,” remarked the Cowboy quietly, “suppose they are impolite?”

“Well.”

“Can you fight?”

“I can try.”

“Bully for you, pard; that’s the stuff! Shake.”

The two men shook hands warmly. Jake and his companion were now very near, and as they came up Jake pulled a large revolver from its holster.

“Now, girl, get away from that dog; I’m goin’ to shoot him and I don’t want to hurt yer.”

The girl turned white, but she placed herself in front of Rover, shielding him as much as she could with her slender body.

“Hold on, my friend,” interposed the Cowboy; “you mus’n’t shoot that dog.”

“Who’s goin’ to stop me?” sneered Jake.

“I am.”

“You are, are you? Well, I’m goin’ to shoot him just the same.”

“If you shoot that dog I’ll give you such a beating yer own mother won’t know yer. Sabby?”