He stared then and stood back and scratched the hair on his nape.
"Beggar my shoes!" said John. "This weren't no devil-dog, but a living
creature! The Hound be a spirit and don't leave no mark where he runs; but
the dog that made these tracks weighs a hundred and fifty pound if he
weighs an ounce; and look you here. What be this?"
Well, Millicent looked and there weren't no shadow of doubt as to what her
father had found, for pressed in the mire and gravel at river edge was the
prints of a tidy large boot.
William Parsloe came along at the moment; but he knew nought, though he
put two and two together very clever.
"'Tis like this," he said; "you ran into the poachers, Millicent, though
what the blackguards was up to with a hugeous dog I couldn't tell you. And
now I'll lay my life that what I saw back along was the same creature and
he whipped away and warned his masters."
"But me?" asked the girl. "Why for if I fainted and fell into the river,
didn't I drown there for you or father to find next day?"
"Yes," added John. "How came that to be, Bill?"
"I see it so clear as need be," explained Parsloe, who had a quick mind.
"You fell in the water and the dog gave tongue. The blackguards came along
and, not wishful to add murder to their crimes, haled you out. Then they
carried you away from the water, loosened your neckerchief and finding you
alive, left you to recover.
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