As he spoke, Ferris made a motion of his forefinger toward the tensely expectant dog and thence toward the lane. The gesture was familiar from sheep herding experience. At once, Chum darted back a few yards and stood just inside the boundaries of his master’s land. A clucking sound from Link told him where to halt. And the collie stood there, tulip ears cocked, plumy tail awag, eyes abrim with mischief, as he waited his adversary’s next move. Seldom did Chum have so appreciative an audience to show off before. Shunk, rope and net in hand, bore down upon his prey. As he came on he cleared decks for action by yanking his coat off and slinging it across one shoulder. Thus his arms would work unimpeded. So eagerly did he advance to the hunt that he paid no heed to Link. Wherefore, he failed to note a series of unobtrusive gestures and clucks and nods with which Link guided his furtively observing dog. The next two minutes were of interest. Shunk unslung his rope as he advanced. Five feet away from the politely waiting collie he paused and flung the noose. He threw with practised skill. The wide noose encircled the dog. But before Shunk could tighten it, Chum had sprung lightly out of the contracting circle and, at a move of Link’s finger, had backed a few feet farther onto Ferris’s own property. Chagrined at his miss and spurred on by the triple chuckle of his audience, the man coiled his rope and flung it a second time. Temper and haste spoiled his aim. He missed the dog clean. Baby Olive laughed aloud. Chum fairly radiated contempt at such poor marksmanship. Coiling his rope as, at another signal, Chum backed a little farther away, Shunk shouted: “I’ll git ye, yet! An’ when I do, I’ll tie you to a post in my yard an’ muzzle you. Then I’ll take a club to you, till there ain’t a whole bone left in yer carcass. If Ferris buys you free, there won’t be more’n sassage-meat fer him to tote home.” Olive gasped. The grin left Link’s face. Dorcas looked up appealingly at her husband. Shunk flung his noose a third time. Chum, well understanding now what was expected of him, bounded far backward. “Get off of my land!” called Ferris, in a queerly gentle and almost humble voice. “When I take this cur off’n it with me!” snarled the catcher, too hot on the quest to be wholly sane. He coiled his rope once more. At a gesture from Link, the dog lay down. “In the presence of a competent witness I’ve ordered you off my land,” repeated Ferris, in that same meek voice. “You’ve refused. The law allows me to use force in such a case. It—” Deceived by the humility of the tone and lured by the dog’s new passivity, Shunk made one final cast of the noose. This time its folds settled round the collie’s massive throat ruff. In the same fraction of a second, Ferris yelled: “Take him, Chum! Take him!”