"G-R-R-R," we heard from the police-dog.
"She has made a leap at the hand that holds the gun," cried
Kennedy, now rising and moving rapidly in the same direction. "She
has been taught that a man once badly bitten in the hand is nearly
out of the fight."
We followed, too. As we approached we were just in time to see
Schaef running in and out between the legs of a man who had heard
us approach and was hastily making tracks for the road. As he
tripped, she lunged for his back.
Kennedy blew shrilly on a police whistle. Reluctantly, Schaef let
go. One could see that with all her canine instinct she wanted to
"get" that man. Her jaws were open, as, with longing eyes, she
stood over the prostrate form in the grass. The whistle was a
signal, and she had been taught to obey unquestioningly.
"Don't move until we get to you, or you are a dead man," shouted
Kennedy, pulling an automatic as he ran. "Are you hurt?"
There was no answer, but as we approached, the man moved, ever so
little, through curiosity to see his pursuers.
Pages:
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445