“Why,” said the school-master, and again he hesitated, but old Joel, in a voice that was without hope, encouraged him: 

“Go on!”

“What was they?”

“Jack had blood on his muzzle, and a little strand o’ wool behind one ear.”

There was no hope against that testimony.  Melissa broke away from her mother and ran out to the road—­weeping.  Chad dropped with a sob to his bench and put his arms around the dog:  then he rose up and walked out the opening while Jack leaped against his leash to follow.  The school-master put out his hand to stop him, but the boy struck it aside without looking up and went on.  He could not stay to see Jack condemned.  He knew what the verdict would be, and in twenty minutes the jury gave it, without leaving their seats.

“Guilty!”

The Sheriff came forward.  He knew Jack and Jack knew him, and wagged his tail and whimpered up at him when he took the leash.

“Well, by —­, this is a job I don’t like, an’ I’m damned ef I’m agoin’ to shoot this dawg afore he knows what I’m shootin’ him fer.  I’m goin’ to show him that sheep fust.  Whar’s that sheep, Daws?”

Daws led the way down the road, over the fence, across the meadow, and up the hill-side where lay the slain sheep.  Chad and Melissa saw them coming—­the whole crowd—­before they themselves were seen.  For a minute the boy watched them.  They were going to kill Jack where the Dillons said he had killed the sheep, and the boy jumped to his feet and ran up the hill a little way and disappeared in the bushes, that he might not hear Jack’s death-shot, while Melissa sat where she was, watching the crowd come on.  Daws was at the foot of the hill, and she saw him make a gesture toward her, and then the Sheriff came on with Jack—­over the fence, past her, the Sheriff saying, kindly, “Howdy, Melissa.  I shorely am sorry ta have to kill Jack,” and on to the dead sheep, which lay fifty yards beyond.  If the Sheriff expected to drop head and tail and look mean he was greatly mistaken.  Jack neither hung back nor sniffed at the carcass.  Instead he put one fore foot on it and with the other bent in the air, looked without shame into the Sheriff’s eyes—­as much as to say: 

“Yes, this is a wicked and shameful thing, but what have I got to do with it?  Why are you bringing me here?”

The Sheriff came back greatly puzzled and shaking his head.  Passing Melissa, he stopped to let the unhappy little girl give Jack a last pat, and it was there that Jack suddenly caught scent of Chad’s tracks.  With one mighty bound the dog snatched the rawhide string from the careless Sheriff’s hand, and in a moment, with his nose to the ground, was speeding up toward the woods.  With a startled yell and a frightful oath the Sheriff threw his rifle to his shoulder, but the little girl sprang up and caught the barrel with both hands, shaking it fiercely up and down and hieing Jack on with shriek after shriek.