"Do I got to drink in a barnyard?
What's the dog doin' here ?" And he caught up the heavy little whiskey glass and hurled it at the crouching dog.

It thudded heavily, but it brought no yelp of pain; instead, a black thunderbolt leaped from the corner and lunged down the room.

It was the silence of the attack that made it terrible, and Strann cursed and pulled his gun.

He could never have used it.

He was a whole half second too late, but before the dog sprang a voice cut in: "Bart!" It checked the animal in its very leap; it landed on the floor and slid on stiffly extended legs to the feet of Strann.
"Bart!" rang the voice again.
And the beast, flattening to the floor, crawled backwards, inch by inch; it was slavering, and there was a ravening madness in its eyes.
"Look at it!" cried Strann.