and leaving the seven little prisoners quaking at the far end, set off
on foot for the nearest ranch, cursing his faithless Horse as he went.

In the afternoon he returned with his pard and tools for digging. The
little ones had cowered all day in the darkened hole, wondering why
their mother did not come to feed them, wondering at the darkness and
the change. But late that day they heard sounds at the door. Then light
was again let in. Some of the less cautious young ones ran forward to
meet their mother, but their mother was not there--only two great rough
brutes that began tearing open their home.

[Illustration]

After an hour or more the diggers came to the end of the den, and here
were the woolly, bright-eyed, little ones, all huddled in a pile at the
farthest corner. Their innocent puppy faces and ways were not noticed
by the huge enemy. One by one they were seized. A sharp blow, and each
quivering, limp form was thrown into a sack to be carried to the nearest
magistrate who was empowered to pay the bounties.

Even at this stage there was a certain individuality of character among
the puppies. Some of them squealed and some of them growled when dragged
out to die. One or two tried to bite. The one that had been slowest to
comprehend the danger, had been the last to retreat, and so was on top
of the pile, and therefore the first killed. The one that had first
realized the peril had retreated first, and now crouched at the bottom
of the pile. Coolly and remorselessly the others were killed one by
one, and then this prudent little puppy was seen to be the last of the
family. It lay perfectly still, even when touched, its eyes being half
closed, as, guided by instinct, it tried to "play possum." One of the