Henriques' voice had convinced him of a more urgent danger, and so soon as the trigger hand of the Portugoose rose, the dog sprang.
The bullet went wide, and the next moment dog and man were struggling on the ground.
A dozen hands held me from going to Colin's aid, but oddly enough no one stepped forward to help Henriques.

The ruffian kept his head, and though the dog's teeth were in his shoulder, he managed to get his right hand free.

I saw what would happen, and yelled madly in my apprehension.

The yellow wrist curved, and the pistol barrel was pressed below the dog's shoulder.

Thrice he fired, the grip relaxed, and Colin rolled over limply, fragments of shirt still hanging from his jaw.