Fred determined. "So here goes!"

Opening the largest blade of his pocketknife, Fred cut one of
the guy-ropes. He passed around the tent, cutting each one in
turn, until the canvas shelter fell over in a white mass.

"Won't they be sore, though?" laughed Fred maliciously, as he
started to carry off the camp supplies.

Gr-r-r-r-r! Gr-r-r-r!

Just as Fred was straightening up to start off with his load for
a bush-screen near the lake front, Ripley heard that ominous growl.
There was also the sound of something moving through the bushes.

As Fred turned his face blanched.

"Harry Hazelton's bull-dog!" he quivered, now utterly frightened
as he caught sight of the gleaming teeth in that ugly muzzle.
"I didn't know that they had brought that beast with them. It's
the lake for mine! If I can only get into the water I can swim
faster than the dog!"

All this flashed through his mind in an Instant. Young Ripley
started in full flight.

Close behind him, bounding savagely, came the bull-dog, Towser!

Trip! Fred's foot caught in a root. Crying out in craven fright,
Fred Ripley plunged to the ground.