this moment Squire Pemberton appeared at the front door, with a lantern in
his hand. He understood the "situation" at a glance.

"Take him, Tige! Stu' boy!" shouted the squire.

The dog snarled an encouraging reply to this suggestion, and moved up
towards the fugitive. Tom's courage was equal to the occasion, and he
levelled a blow at the head of the bull dog, which, if it had hit him
fairly, must have smashed in his skull. As it was, the blow was a heavy
one, and Tige retreated; but the shouts of the squire rallied him, and he
rushed forward to the onslaught again.

Tom, as we have before had occasion to suggest, was a master of strategy,
and instead of another stroke at the head of his savage foe, with only one
chance in ten of hitting the mark he commenced swinging it vigorously to
the right and left, as a mower does his scythe. His object was to hit the
legs of the dog--a plan which was not entirely original with him, for he
had seen it adopted with signal success by a fisherman at the Harbor. The
consequence of this change of tactics was soon apparent, for Tige got a
rap on the fore leg, which caused him to yelp with pain, and retire from
the field. While the dog moved off in good order in one direction, Tom
effected an equally admirable retreat in the other direction.

On reaching the road, he pulled on his boots, which he had picked up after
the discomfiture of his canine antagonist. Squire Pemberton still stood at
the door trying to bring Tige to a sense of his duty in the trying
emergency; but the brute had more regard for his own shins than he had for
the mandate of his master, and the victor was permitted to bear away his
laurels without further opposition.