Diver v. Dogcatcher

The lack of foresight on the part of the Dog Breeder - first for bringing her dogs to the dueling ground, and next for tying their leads to her arm while dueling - results in a series of complications.

The German schnauzers, in a frenzy of excitement and worry after their owner falls, begin barking and baying wildly. The Diver tries walking closer to calm them, but he's met with defensive snarls and quick bites from one dog, then three others. He backs away.

Stetson watches from the door of the cabin.

The Grave Digger arrives. He suggests shooting them all. One by one, he says calmly, in the gullet.

This is nixed by the Diver, holding the only free pistol, the other being beneath an increasingly tangled mass of leash and dog.

They watch as some of the squirming dogs begin whining, biting at each other.

Why not, offers the Grave Digger, shoot the dog you like least. Or two, three. The three ugliest dogs.

They all look alike! frets the Digger. I can't tell which is worse.

Oh the one with the limp, he's the worse.

Which one is that?

One being mounted by the ugly cur with dirt in its mouth, next to the one what's fighting with the other to lick the blood from the tit of the woman.

He thinks of shooting - even to the point of raising the pistol - but can't in good conscience bring himself to do it. They're all good dogs, he says dejectedly. I can't shoot any of them.

The Grave Digger looks to Stetson. Stetson shakes his head. The Grave Digger frowns deeply. With no other solution, he goes about an alternate plan.

Woosh, shoo, shah! he cries, arms high in the air, advancing on the dogs. They bark loudly, but - to the Diver's amazement - begin backing away. As they back away, they drag the tangled corpse of their master with them. Gun free, the Grave Digger grabs it. With only slight hesitation he aims and fires. The limping dog falls with a howl. The other dogs, shocked by the report of the pistol, fired so close, take off -- the six carrying both the body of their master and now one of their own.

As the Grave Digger aims to take out the second dog, the Diver dives (fitting), knocking down the Grave Digger, gun and all.

The dogs flee east, running headlong into the forest.

Ah spit! says the Grave Digger.

That night the Diver listens to incessant barking from far off in the forest. It dies off gradually sometime in the early morning.

When the Dogcatcher arrives, the Diver relays the events of the past day. The Dog Catcher identifies himself as such. He's a thin man with a purposeful look about him, the type of look that says to strangers: I'm a man completely invested, for better or worse, in the duties of my profession. And so he is.

I'll get those dogs back, he nods.

The Diver wants to tell him it's a fool's errand; that, either way, whether the dogs are recovered or not, nothing would come of them. But the conviction with which the Dogcatcher vowed their capture takes him aback.