As Frank passed through the court, he picked up his rifle, which Mr. Winters had thrown down after taking that flying shot at Pierre.  The stock felt damp in his grasp, and when he looked at his hand, he saw that it was red with blood.

“I understand one thing now, just as well as if I had stood here and witnessed it,” said he, to himself.  “When Pierre went out of my room, he ran in here to see who it was visiting the ranch at this late hour, and when he found that it was Uncle James, he thought he would get the safe key.  He was too much of a coward to attack him openly, and so he slipped up and knocked him down with the butt of my rifle.  That’s what made the wound on uncle’s head, and that’s how it came that Pierre could hold him down with one hand.  Didn’t I know all the time that there was something up?  Now, if Pierre had succeeded in getting the safe key, no doubt he would have renewed his attempts to make me tell where I had put the key of the office.  Would I have been coward enough to do it?  No, sir!  I would have—­Hallo!”

This exclamation was called forth by the sudden appearance of the dog, which crept slowly toward his master, looking altogether as if he had been guilty of something very mean.

“So you have got back, have you?” said Frank, sternly.  “What do you mean by going off to hunt rabbits when you ought to stay at home?  And what excuse have you to offer for allowing that robber to get up after you had pulled him down?”

Marmion stopped, and, laying his head close to the pavement, wagged his tail and whined piteously.

“I don’t wonder that you feel ashamed of yourself,” said his master.  “Come here, you old coward.”

The dog reluctantly obeyed, and, when he came nearer, another mystery was cleared up, and Frank knew why his favorite had behaved so strangely.  One end of a rope was twisted about his jaws so tightly that he could scarcely move them, and the other, after being wound around his head and neck to keep the muzzle from slipping off, was fastened to both his fore feet, holding them so close together that it was a wonder that he could walk at all.  Frank’s anger vanished in an instant.  He ran into his room after his knife, to release the dog from his bonds, and then he discovered that the animal had not come out of the fight unharmed.  Two gaping wounds in his side bore evidence to the skill with which Pierre had handled his bowie.

At that moment, Frank felt a good deal as Llewellyn must have felt when he killed the hound which he imagined had devoured his child, but which had, in reality, defended him from the attacks of a wolf.  He had scolded Marmion for his failure to hold the robber after he had thrown him down, and had been more than half inclined to give him a good beating; while the animal had, all the while, been doing his best, and, in spite of his wounds and bonds, had kept up the fight until Pierre mounted his horse and fled from the ranch.