Strolling on towards the sheep, he passed about thirty yards from where they lay hidden.

Already she was thinking how exciting it would be when they rose out of the bushes, and faced him in quite the best "We are Hawkshaw, the detective" style.
But they had to reckon with one thing they had overlooked, and that was the collie pup.

That budding genius, blundering along after his master, suddenly stopped, turned towards the fallen tree, and sniffed the air.
Then he ran a few steps towards them, and stopped, his ears pricked and his eyes fixed on the tree; barked sharply, drew back a pace or two, bristled up the hair on his neck, and growled.
Red Mick turned round; "'Ello, pup," he drawled, "what's up ?" The puppy came forward again, quite close to the tree this time, and barked sharply.

"Good pup," said Mick, "fitch him out, pup!--What is it--native cat?
Goo for 'im!" Thus encouraged, the puppy darted forward barking, and Red Mick stopped leisurely, picked up a large stone, and sent it crashing among the branches.

It passed between Hugh and Miss Grant, and came near enough to stunning one or other of them.