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As next in rank I then took up the fight, and discharged both barrels at the flying enemy, as I sat on horseback, Juanita dancing a break-down jig as I did so. One bird came down with a crippled wing, but made tracks for the bushes the moment it touched the ground. Before he reached cover, the Doctor, who represented the artillery, sent half a dozen bullets from his Henry rifle whizzing after him, making it very lively indeed for him, but not even knocking out a feather. Just then a ranchero's dog came trotting down the road, and calling him to us, I pointed to the clump of chaparral in which the wounded quail had taken refuge, clapping my hands and shouting "sic him! sic him!" with all my might at the same time. Thus encouraged, our volunteer corps went in. and to our infinite satisfaction we heard that miserable quail piping like a sick chicken in a moment more. "We've got him! We've got him!" we shouted in chorus. We were in error again; the dog had got him, and a brief observation of his movements satisfied us that he meant to keep him too. The infamous brute absolutely had the audacity to walk out of the bushes with our quail in his mouth, right before our eyes, and refusing with a savage growl to surrender it to me, trot deliberately off down the road, toward the residence of his master. "Here, doggy! Come, doggy! O, the nice doggy! pretty doggy!" etc., we repeated in the most persuasive and endearing accents, only to provoke his visible contempt, and increase the derisive elevation of his vertebrae and the rate of his speed. What kind of