We
paused and waited in the heavily-laden night air, wondering. The
soughing of the night wind in the evergreens was mournful. Did it
betoken a further tragedy?
There was a slight noise from the other side of the house. Craig
reached out and drew us back into the shadow of the thicket,
deeper.
"Some one is prowling about, I think. Leave it to the dog."
Searchlight, who had been near us, was sniffing eagerly. From our
hiding-place we could just see her. She had heard the sounds, too,
even before we had, and for an instant stood with every muscle
tense.
Then, like an arrow, she darted into the underbrush. An instant
later, the sharp crack of a revolver rang out. Searchlight kept
right on, never stopping a second, except, perhaps, in surprise.
"Crack!" almost in her face came a second spit of fire in the
darkness, and a bullet crashed through the leaves and buried
itself in a tree with a ping. The intruder's marksmanship was
poor, but the dog paid no attention to it.
"One of the few animals that show no fear of gun-fire," muttered
Kennedy, in undisguised admiration.
"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.
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