The Splendid Spur | Page 5

the window, as if to avoid this, and calls
again--
"Hist!" says he, and beckons with a finger.
The man at the window still held his tongue (I suppose because those in
the room would hear him if he spoke), and so for a while the two men
studied one another in silence, as if considering their next moves.
After a bit, however, the bully lifted a hand, and turning back into the
lighted room, walks up to one of the players, speaks a word or two and
disappears.
I sat up on the window seat, where till now I had been crouching for
fear the shaft of light should betray me, and presently (as I was
expecting) heard the latch of the back perch gently lifted, and spied the
heavy form of the bully coming softly over the grass.
Now, I would not have my readers prejudiced, and so may tell them
this was the first time in my life I had played the eavesdropper. That I
did so now I can never be glad enough, but 'tis true, nevertheless, my
conscience pricked me; and I was even making a motion to withdraw
when that occurred which would have fixed any man's attention,
whether he wish'd it or no.

The bully must have closed the door behind him but carelessly, for
hardly could he take a dozen steps when it opened again with a scuffle,
and the large house dog belonging to the "Crown" flew at his heels with
a vicious snarl and snap of the teeth.
'Twas enough to scare the coolest. But the fellow turn'd as if shot, and
before he could snap again, had gripped him fairly by the throat. The
struggle that follow'd I could barely see, but I heard the horrible sounds
of it--the hard, short breathing of the man, the hoarse rage working in
the dog's throat--and it turned me sick. The dog--a mastiff--was
fighting now to pull loose, and the pair swayed this way and that in the
dusk, panting and murderous.
I was almost shouting aloud--feeling as though 'twere my own throat
thus gripp'd--when the end came. The man had his legs planted well
apart.
I saw his shoulders heave up and bend as he tightened the pressure of
his fingers; then came a moment's dead silence, then a hideous gurgle,
and the mastiff dropped back, his hind legs trailing limp.
The bully held him so for a full minute, peering close to make sure he
was dead, and then without loosening his hold, dragged him across the
grass under my window. By the sycamore he halted, but only to shift
his hands a little; and so, swaying on his hips, sent the carcase with a
heave over the wall. I heard it drop with a thud on the far side.
During this fierce wrestle--which must have lasted about two
minutes--the clatter and shouting of the company above had gone on
without a break; and all this while the man with the white hair had
rested quietly on one side, watching. But now he steps up to where the
bully stood mopping his face (for all the coolness of the evening), and,
with a finger between the leaves of his book, bows very politely.
"You handled that dog, sir, choicely well," says he, in a thin voice that
seemed to have a chuckle hidden in it somewhere.
The other ceased mopping to get a good look at him.

"But sure," he went on, "'twas hard on the poor cur, that had never
heard of Captain Lucius Higgs--"
I thought the bully would have had him by the windpipe and pitched
him after the mastiff, so fiercely he turn'd at the sound of this name.
But the old gentleman skipped back quite nimbly and held up a finger.
"I'm a man of peace. If another title suits you better--"
"Where the devil got you that name?" growled the bully, and had half a
mind to come on again, but the other put in briskly--
"I'm on a plain errand of business. No need, as you hint, to mention
names; and therefore let me present myself as Mr. Z. The residue of the
alphabet is at your service to pick and choose from."
"My name is Luke Settle," said the big man hoarsely (but whether this
was his natural voice or no I could not tell).
"Let us say 'Mr. X.' I prefer it."
The old gentleman, as he said this, popped his head on one side, laid
the forefinger of his right hand across the book, and seem'd to be
considering.
"Why did you throttle that dog a minute ago?" he asked sharply.
"Why, to save my skin," answers the fellow, a bit puzzled.
"Would you have done it for fifty pounds?"
"Aye, or