ened. That was a serious moment, if you like, for Sourdough; for in
addition to the huge power of those jaws there was weight--a hundred and
sixty-four pounds of sinew, bone, and rubber-like muscle behind and
above the jaws.

A very desperate vigor stirred in Sourdough's limbs as he took the
course which is only taken at critical moments. He deliberately turned
farther on his back--the position of all others most dreaded--in order
to bring his feet into play, his jaws being momentarily helpless. His
abdominal muscles were in splendid order. Like a lynx, Sourdough drew in
and up his powerful hind quarters, and, as if they had been a missile
launched from a catapult, slashed his two hind feet along Jan's belly,
as a carpenter might rip a board down with a chisel.

In that same moment Sergeant Moore stepped forward, with a hoarse cry:

"Here, damme!" he shouted at O'Malley, "you'd better haul off your
captain's dog, or--or mine'll kill him!"

And with a resounding thwack he brought his riding-cane down across
Jan's forehead. It was this, rather than his own very serviceable two
chisels, that brought the husky sudden release from the grip upon his
neck, which, already deep-sunk, had been like to finish his career. The
high-crowned shape of Jan's skull, and the soft fineness of the skin and
hair that covered it, made him very sensitive to a blow on the head.
Also he knew it was a man's attack, and not a dog's. When he saw who the
man was, he roared at him very ferociously. And that was the first
occasion upon which Jan had ever shown his teeth in real anger to a
human.

Had not Sourdough been there, it is hard to say what might have
happened. As it was, the sergeant's intervention and Jan's angry
response thereto gave Sourdough the opportunity he had longed for. It
gave him, in safety, the rush at Jan from the side. It would have
availed him little if Jan had seen him coming. But Jan, engaged in
threatening his human enemy, saw nothing till the tremendous impact of
Sourdough's rush took him off his feet, and the husky got, not precisely
the true throat-hold he wanted, but a deadly hold, none the less, in the
flesh of Jan's dewlap.

The position of a few seconds earlier had been practically reversed.
Jan's blood was running between Sourdough's fangs now--a fiery tonic,
and veritable _eau-de-vie_ to the husky. Sourdough's catlike
tactics--perhaps the best and safest in such a case--were not adopted by
Jan, who never yet