Now the white dog was atop, now the tan. So many
interfered that there was no interference.
It was Warrington who had cried out. He had been listening to the
orator; and Jove, smelling his enemy from afar, slyly crept out of his
master's reach. The white dog had also been on the watch. In the drop
of an eyelid the battle was on. Warrington instantly comprehended the
situation, when he saw McQuade, who had every confidence in his dog,
clear a circle. He pushed his way through the swaying wall of men and
commanded those in front to stand back. He was furious. He had no
objections to human beings fighting, but he detested these bloody
conflicts between dumb brutes. He called to Jove, but Jove was past
hearing; he had tasted his enemy's blood. Once Warrington succeeded in
parting the dogs, but the crush prevented his making the separation
complete. Instantly they were at it again. The police made superhuman
efforts to arrive before it was all over. The fight, however, came to
an end as suddenly as it had begun. Jove found his grip. But for the
broad collar on McQuade's dog the animal would have been throttled
then and there.
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