Tom's courage was equal to the occasion, and he levelled a blow at the head of the bull dog, which, if it had hit him fairly, must have smashed in his skull.

As it was, the blow was a heavy one, and Tige retreated; but the shouts of the squire rallied him, and he rushed forward to the onslaught again.
Tom, as we have before had occasion to suggest, was a master of strategy, and instead of another stroke at the head of his savage foe, with only one chance in ten of hitting the mark he commenced swinging it vigorously to the right and left, as a mower does his scythe.

His object was to hit the legs of the dog--a plan which was not entirely original with him, for he had seen it adopted with signal success by a fisherman at the Harbor.

The consequence of this change of tactics was soon apparent, for Tige got a rap on the fore leg, which caused him to yelp with pain, and retire from the field.

While the dog moved off in good order in one direction, Tom effected an equally admirable retreat in the other direction.
On reaching the road, he pulled on his boots, which he had picked up after the discomfiture of his canine antagonist.