For the last couple of miles before Cluhir was reached the road and the river ran their parallel course in a line that was nearly direct, and, from a long way off, Larry was aware of the figure of a man and woman and a dog, preceding him towards the town.  He noted presently that the dog had passed from view, and then he saw the man and the woman hurry across the road and pass through the gateway of a field.  He was soon level with the gate.  There was a little knot of people just within the field, and in the moment of perceiving that the woman was Tishy Mangan, he also saw that a fierce fight was in progress between two dogs.

“Oh, stop them, stop them!” Tishy was screaming.  “That’s my father’s dog, and he’ll be killed!”

She belaboured the dogs, futilely, with her parasol.

The man who was with her, a tall and elaborately well-dressed young gentleman with a red moustache, confined himself, very wisely, to loud exhortations to the remainder of the group, who were lads from the town, to call off their dog; and the remainder of the group, with equal wisdom and greater candour, were unanimously asserting that they would be “in dhread” to touch the combatants.  The dogs were well matched—­strong, yellow-red Irish terriers; each had the other by the side of the throat, and each, with the deep, snuffling gurgles of strenuous combat, was trying to better his hold on his enemy.

Larry, swift in action as in thought, was off his bicycle and into the ring without a second of hesitation.

“Catch your dog by the tail,” he shouted to the boys, while he performed the like office for the Doctor’s dog.  “Now then!  Into the river with them!”

The two dogs, fast in each other’s jaws, were lifted, and were borne across the road to the edge of the footpath, below which the river ran, deep and strong.

“Now then!”

The two rough, yellow bodies were swung between Larry and his coadjutor.

“Now!  Let ’em go!”

The dogs flew like chain-shot through the air, and, with a tremendous splash disappeared from view in the river.  They rose to the surface still keeping their hold of one another, and sank again.  A second time they rose without having loosened their grip, but at their third appearance they were apart.

“Now boys!  Cruisht them well, or they’ll be at it again when they land!”

The “cruishting,” which means pelting with stones, succeeded.  The enemies landed at different points.  Miss Mangan’s charge was recaptured, his antagonist was stoned by his owners until out of range, and the incident closed.

It was not, however, without result.

“I think you never met Captain Cloherty, Mr. Coppinger?” said Tishy, with a glance at Captain Cloherty that spoke disapproval.  “He’s not as useful in a fight as you are, though he is in the Army!”

“My branch of the service mends wounds, it doesn’t go out of its way to get them!” returned Captain Cloherty, composedly, “and I haven’t any use for getting bitten.”