Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 27)( Page 3 ) His Duty

"Go on!  Finish it!"  Tom muttered grimly; "I'll have you this time if I wait till morning!" So he stood at the window waiting and watching, until every sound had died away outside.  He listened intently: there was not a stir; there was nothing to be seen in the moonlit yard; nothing to be heard; not even a breath of air to rustle the leaves in the big fig tree. Then, in the same dead stillness the dim form of a dog appeared in the doorway, stepped softly out of the fowl-house, and stood in the deep shadow of the little porch.  Tom lifted the gun slowly and took careful aim.  When the smoke cleared away, the figure of the dog lay still, stretched out on the ground where it had stood; and Tom went back to bed, satisfied. The morning sun slanting across the yard shone in Tom's eyes as he pushed the reed gate open and made his way towards the fowl-house. Under the porch, where the sunlight touched it, something shone like burnished gold. He was stretched on his side--it might have been in sleep; but on the snow-white chest there was one red spot. And inside the fowl-house lay the kaffir dog- dead. Jock had done his duty.
                                                                                    The End.