Free The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog by Robert Warr Page B

howling for my master. I have found that humans may ignore a barking dog, especially in the distance, but most of them will respond to a good mournful howl.  The more a person likes dogs, the more quickly they come.
    I had no sooner heard your uncle shout for me and start in my direction than the injured man started stirring.
    ‘It’s all right, old boy,’ slurred the man in the river. As he spoke, he moved his left arm. I think he intended to pat me. With a horrible splash he collapsed face down in the water. He struggled for a second and then became still.
    I lunged forward and grabbed his shoulder in my teeth.  I had intended to pull him to the bank but, for some reason or other, I only managed to roll him over. I had him on his back but I could not move him another inch. However, by pulling up on his jacket I found that I could keep both our noses out of the water, while still being able to make muffled barking sounds.
    The strain on my neck was terrible and I soon realised that I would have to let go. I was trying to work out a way of getting the poor man on to the bank when my master arrived. It was the work of a minute for your uncle to lift the injured man by the shoulders and then to pull him to the top of the bank. He then knelt and listened to the unconscious man’s chest.
     

     
    Caught in the branches of a low willow was the body of a man.
     
     
    ‘Well, Snuffles,’ he said, ‘this poor fellow’s alive, if only barely. Guard him while I go for help.’
    With that, your uncle took off his jacket and placed it over the injured man before running off in the direction of the village. I looked at my master’s jacket before it occurred to me that my master thought that the injured man was cold. I therefore lay down beside him sheltering him from the faint summer breeze and waited for your uncle to return.
    Now that the man was on the riverbank, I had an opportunity to reflect on his appearance. From his clothes, I perceived that he was in all likelihood a gamekeeper of some description. Looking at his face, I could see several scrapes and contusions.  In my opinion, he had been knocked unconscious by a blow to the back of the head. Once he was down his assailant had dragged him a short distance, by the feet, and then thrown him in the river. If I was correct, we were talking about an attempted murder. When you consider what I had heard only that morning, there was definitely some evil at work in this idyllic paradise.  The reason for the attack on this man was currently beyond me but I was certain that your uncle would be able to resolve this puzzle.
    It wasn’t more than ten minutes later that your uncle arrived back with the innkeeper and an academic -looking man who turned out to be the local doctor and went by the name of Wilson. The doctor instantly went to the injured man and started an examination.
    ‘Why it’s Fred Wallace,’ exclaimed the Innkeeper. ‘He’s Lord Arnston’s water bailiff. He was in the Lion only last night.’ The innkeeper hesitated before continuing, ‘I can see what happened: he was walking home, rather the worse for wear, and fell into the river. This could have been a very tragic accident.’
    Dr Wilson looked at the innkeeper and said, ‘Can you go to the Hall and let His Lordship know that one of his staff is hurt ? We shall require a cart to get him home and plenty of blankets. The quicker the better, if you don’t mind.’
    It seemed to me that the innkeeper was reluctant to leave, but found that he had no real excuse for staying. When he was safely out of earshot, the doctor turned to your uncle and said , ‘In my opinion this man was attacked.’
    ‘I agree with you , doctor,’ said my master, ‘but do you have any idea who might have done this to him?’
    ‘Fred came to me recently and asked if I had treated anyone with shot wounds in the legs. Apparently, he had come on a gang netting the river and had let fly with his shotgun. He found some blood