"
"Yep," grunted Buck, "it's sure disgustin' to have a dog as tame as
that. I'd bet he ain't killed another dog for a whole day, maybe!"
And still Barry saw no irony in this.
He answered, as gravely as before: "No, it was the day before yesterday.
Somebody come to town and got drunk. He had two dogs, and sicked 'em on
Bart."
Buck Daniels controlled an incipient shudder.
"Both dead?"
"I was inside the house," said Dan sadly, "and it took me a couple of
seconds to get outside. Of course by that time Bart had cut their
throats."
"Of course. Didn't the drunk guy try to pot Bart?"
"Yes, he got out his gun; but, Mr. O'Brien, the bartender, persuaded him
out of it. I was glad there wasn't no trouble."
"My God!" exclaimed Buck Daniels. And then: "Well, let's go inside.
We'll take your man-eater along, if you want to."
A shadow came in the eyes of Barry.
"Can't we talk jest as well out here?"
"What's the matter with findin' some chairs?"
"Because I don't like to get inside walls. You know how four walls seem
like so many pairs of eyes standin' around you?"
"No," said Buck bluntly, "I don't know nothin' of the kind. What d'you
mean?"
"I dunno," answered Barry, depressed. "It jest seems that way. Ain't you
noticed how sort of close it is in a house? Hard to breath? Like you had
on a shirt too small for you."
"We'll stay out here, then."
The other nodded, smiled, and made a gesture to the dog behind him.
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