recognized that the pleasant-voiced, indolent-looking stranger
had just rescued him from a captor who had been treating him
abominably. Wherefore, in gratitude and dawning adoration, he
came to pay his respects.

Brice patted the silken head so confidingly upraised to him.
He knew dogs. Especially, he knew collies. And he was hot
with indignation at the needlessly brutal treatment just
accorded this splendid beast.

But he had scant time for emotions of any kind. The beach
comber had regained his feet, and in the same motion had lost
his self-control. Head lowered, fists swinging, he came
charging down upon the stripling who had the audacity to upset
him.

Brice did not await his onset. Slipping lithely to one side
he avoided the bull-rush, all the time talking in the same
pleasantly modulated drawl.

"I saw this dog, earlier in the day," said he, "in a car, with
some people. They drove this way. The dog must have chewed
his cord and then jumped or fallen out, and strayed here. You
saw him, from the water, and tried to steal him. Next to a
vivisectionist, the filthiest man God ever made is the man who
kicks a dog. It's lucky--"

He got no further. Twice, during his short speech, he had
had to twist, with amazing speed, out of the way of
profanity-accompanied rushes. Now, pressed too close for