Suddenly through the mist of mosquitoes came a dull whack and an outburst of "language". The cow went on placidly chewing till Fred got on his feet and furiously attacked her with the milking-stool. It was bad enough to be whacked on the ear with a brick by a stupid old cow， but the uproarious enjoyment and ridicule of the bystanders made it unendurable.
Bingo， hearing the uproar， and divining that he was needed， rushed in and attacked Dunne on the other side. Before the affair quieted down the milk was spilt， the pail and stool were broken， and the cow and the dog severely beaten.
Poor Bingo could not understand it at all. He had long ago learned to despise that cow， and now in utter disgust he decided to forsake even her stable door， and from that time he attached himself exclusively to the horses and their stable.
The cattle were mine， the horses were my brother' s， and in transferring his allegiance from the cow-stable to the horse-stable Bingo seemed to give me up too， and anything like daily companionship ceased， and yet， whenever any emergency arose Bingo turned to me and I to him， and both seemed to feel that the bond between man and dog is one that lasts as long as life.
Bingo' s loyalty to the horses was quite remarkable； by day he trotted beside them， and by night he slept at the stable door. Where the team went Bingo went， and nothing kept him away from them. This interesting assumption of ownership lent the greater significance to the following circumstance.
I was not superstitious， and up to this time had had no faith in omens， but was now deeply impressed by a strange occurrence in which Bingo took a leading part. There were but two of us now living on the De Winton Farm. One morning my brother set out for Boggy Creek for a load of hay. It was a long day' s journey there and back， and he made an early start. Strange to tell， Bingo for once in his life did not follow the team. My brother called to him， but still he stood at a safe distance， and eying the team askance， refused to stir. Suddenly he raised his nose in the air and gave vent to a long， melancholy howl. He watched the wagon out of sight， and even followed for a hundred yards or so， raising his voice from time to time in the most doleful howlings. All that day he stayed about the barn， the only time that he was willingly separated from the horses， and at intervals howled a very death dirge. I was alone， and the dog' s behavior inspired me with an awful foreboding of calamity， that weighed upon me more and more as the hours passed away.