Link, in his own occasional trudges along this bit of state road,
had often seen costly dogs in the tonneaus of passing cars. He
had seen several of them scramble frantically to maintain their
footing on the slippery seats of such cars; when chauffeurs took
the sharp curve, just ahead, at too high speed. He had even seen
one Airedale flung bodily from a car's rear seat at that curve,
and out into the roadway; where a close-following motor had run
over and killed it.

This collie, doubtless, had had such a fall; and, unseen by the
front seat's occupants, had struck ground with terrific force--a
force that had sent him whirling through mud and grease into the
ditch, with a broken front leg.

How long the beast had lain there Link had no way of guessing.
But the dog was in mortal agony. And the kindest thing to do was
to put him out of his pain.

Ferris groped around through the gloom until, in the ditch, his
fingers closed over a ten-pound stone. One smashing blow on the
head, with this missile, would bring a swift and merciful end to
the sufferer's troubles.

Poising the stone aloft, Link turned back to where the dog lay.
Standing over the victim, he balanced the rock and tensed his
muscles for the blow. The match had long since gone out, but
Link's dusk-accustomed vision could readily discern the outlines
of the collie. And he made ready to strike.