Bob, son of Battle . ere with the water 38 FIRST BLOOD dripping from him. A red stream was running slowlyfrom his chin; his head was bare, and face working. James Moore stood eyeing him with some pity and somecontempt. Behind was Tammas, enjoying the Saml regarded them all with an impassive melan-choly. MAdam turned and bent over Red Wull, who still laylike a dead thing. As his master handled him, the button-tail quivered feebly; he opened his eyes, looked abouthim, snarled faintly, and glared with devilish hate at thegray dog and the group with him. The little man picked him up, s
Bob, son of Battle . ere with the water 38 FIRST BLOOD dripping from him. A red stream was running slowlyfrom his chin; his head was bare, and face working. James Moore stood eyeing him with some pity and somecontempt. Behind was Tammas, enjoying the Saml regarded them all with an impassive melan-choly. MAdam turned and bent over Red Wull, who still laylike a dead thing. As his master handled him, the button-tail quivered feebly; he opened his eyes, looked abouthim, snarled faintly, and glared with devilish hate at thegray dog and the group with him. The little man picked him up, stroking him he turned away and on to the bridge. Half-wayacross he stopped. It rattled feverishly beneath him, forhe still trembled like a palsied man. Man, Moore! he called, striving to quell the agi-tation in his voice—I wad shoot yon dog. Across the bridge he turned again. Man, Moore! he called and paused. Yell notforget this day. And with that the blood flared up a dullcrimson into his white PART IITHE LITTLE MAN ^. ^ .-. BBSS ?•?* ,,j ^, 11^,- „. , ._ ^ <**&&
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookidbobsonofbatt, bookyear1898
