“Rube,” said his uncle, “stand right whar you am!  No use ob runnin’, for he’ll cotch you; when he gets nigh ’nough bang him wid your hoe; if dat don’t fotch him, I’ll gib him anoder whack and dat’ll finish him suah.”

Fate seemed to have ordered that the younger person should hold the van in the peril, though he was tempted to take his place by his relative, so that the attack of the dog should be met by both at the same instant.  This promised to be effective, but the time was too brief to permit any plan of campaign.

The brute was already within a hundred yards of Rube, who, with his hoe drawn back, as though it were a club, tried to calm his nerves for the struggle.  He would have fled, had he not known that that would draw pursuit to himself.  He was inclined to urge his uncle to join him in a break for freedom, the two taking diverging routes.  Since the canine could not chase both at the same time, such a course was certain to save one, but, inasmuch as the youth was at the front, he knew he must be the victim, and the prospect of a mad dog nipping at his heels, with fangs surcharged with one of the most fearful venoms known, was too terrifying to be borne.  He, therefore, braced himself, and, with a certain dignity and courage, held his ground.

A dog suffering from the rabies often shows odd impulses.  This one was within fifty feet of Rube, when he turned at right angles and trotted toward the other side of the cornfield.

“Now’s your time, chile!” called Uncle Pete; “got de gun quick, and if he comes back we’ll be ready for him.”

It was the first suggestion that struck the nephew favorably, and he acted upon it at once.  The dog might change his mind again and return to the attack, in which event no weapon could equal a loaded gun.

As Rube ran with his broad-brimmed hat flapping in his eyes, he kept glancing over his shoulder, to make sure the brute was not following him, while his uncle held his position, with his hoe grasped and his eye fixed on the animal, trotting between the hills of corn.  He managed also to note the action of his nephew, who was making good time, and whose progress caused the hearts of the two to heat high with hope.

Had the fence ahead of the dog been open, doubtless he would have soon passed out of sight; but, as if recalling his trouble in entering the field, and possibly seeing his error in leaving two victims, he stopped only an instant in front of the rails, when he turned and came at a swifter gait than before, straight for Uncle Pete.

The latter stared a second or two and then shouted: 

“Quick, Rube! he means me dis time!” And he dashed off, not to join his nephew, but to reach the side of the field opposite the nose of the animal.

By this time the youth had his hands on the smoothbore musket and his courage came back.  He saw his uncle crashing over the hills, the picture of dismay, while the dog rapidly gained on him.