At this
she howled. Then she used coarse language--not to me, but to the
bullterrier--till she coughed with exhaustion. Then she ran round
the house trying every door. Then she went off to the stables and
barked as though some one were stealing the horses, which was an
old trick of hers. Last she returned, and her snuffing yelp said,
"I'll be good! Let me in and I'll' be good!"
She was admitted and flew to her pillow. When she was quieted I
whispered to the other dog, "You can lie on the foot of the bed."
The bull jumped up at once, and though I felt Vixen quiver with
rage, she knew better than to protest. So we slept till the
morning, and they had early breakfast with me, bite for bite,
till the horse came round and we went for a ride. I don't think
the bull had ever followed a horse before. He was wild with
excitement, and Vixen, as usual, squealed and scuttered and
scooted, and took charge of the procession.
There was one corner of a village near by, which we generally
passed with caution, because all the yellow pariah-dogs of the
place gathered about it.
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