Through this group pushed the man with the ten-gallon can. Close behind now followed the gaunt Irish setter. It happened quickly, like one of those mountain tragedies that brood over such places, remnants of feuds that hang on to the skirts of civilization. Two muffled pistol shots broke the peace and security of the village and brought men running to the garage. For the man with the ten-gallon can had turned at last, and Frank had sprung straight at his throat. From the confusion of crowding men came the hoarse shout, "Turn me loose! Let me kill that dog! Can't you see? He's mad as hell!" "I've got the dog all right!" cried the big man in the broad-brimmed hat. "If he's mad I'll 'tend to him!" Plunging, barking, begging to be turned loose, old Frank was dragged backward across the cement floor. In the door of a glass-enclosed office the big man, holding tight to his collar, turned. "Here--you--Sam!" he panted. "Run to the hotel. Tell Mr. Earle--the gentleman that just came with his wife--we got a man down here and a red Irish setter. Quick! Catch him before he leaves!" Then they were in the office, and the door was shut. The big man had sunk breathless into a chair still holding to the dog's collar. He was quiet now. But the blood that dripped slowly on the floor was no redder than his eyes. The door opened and he plunged forward. But it was a stranger--a young man with a star on his coat. "Sam got 'em, Sheriff," he said, "they're comin' now. Must I bring the man in here?" "No. Keep him out there. This fellow's still seein' red." "Hit?" "Ear. That's all." "Well, he left his mark on that devil, all right!" The young man went out. Still the sheriff held the dog's collar. Still through the glass windows the crowd stared in. But suddenly it parted and then Frank saw them. "Hold on!" panted the sheriff. "No use to tear the house down. They'll be in here in a minute!" The door opened, they were in the office, the sheriff had turned him loose. He was jumping up against his tall master, long ears thrown back, upraised eyes aglow, heart pounding against his lean ribs. But it was the look in his young mistress's eyes that brought him down to the floor before her in sudden recollection that went straight to his heart, that set him all atremble with choking eagerness. "Take us to him, Frank!" she gasped, her hands clenched tight against her breast. He led them--master and mistress and strange officers, neighbours from back home, old Squire Kirby, Bob Kelley, John Davis--led them out of the town, up the shaded road across which slanting sunbeams gently sifted. He led them to that car he had followed secretly through the days and watched without sleep through the nights. Only his master's low-voiced command held him back with them. "Steady, Frank! Steady, old man!"