"
And then a dog walked into the room where they sat--a black-and-tan
hound, long-eared, lazy, confident of welcome.
Plunkett turned his head and looked at the animal, which halted,
confidently, within a few feet of his chair.
Suddenly the sheriff, with a deep-mouthed oath, left his seat and,
bestowed upon the dog a vicious and heavy kick, with his ponderous
shoe.
The hound, heartbroken, astonished, with flapping ears and incurved
tail, uttered a piercing yelp of pain and surprise.
Reeves and the consul remained in their chairs, saying nothing, but
astonished at the unexpected show of intolerance from the easy-going
man from Chatham county.
But Morgan, with a suddenly purpling face, leaped, to his feet and
raised a threatening arm above the guest.
"You--brute!" he shouted, passionately; "why did you do that?"
Quickly the amenities returned, Plunkett muttered some indistinct
apology and regained his seat. Morgan with a decided effort
controlled his indignation and also returned to his chair.
And then Plunkett with the spring of a tiger, leaped around the
corner of the table and snapped handcuffs on the paralyzed Morgan's
wrists.
"Hound-lover and woman-killer!" he cried; "get ready to meet your
God."
When Bridger had finished I asked him:
"Did he get the right man?"
"He did," said the Consul.
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