ridges,--nor to realize that they were filled with
Number Eight shot, for quails,--she thrust two of them into the breech
and, turning, fired pointblank at the sow.

Lad was down again; and the sow,--no longer in a squealing rush, but
with a new cold deadliness,--was gauging the distance to his exposed
throat. The first shot peppered her shoulder; the tiny pellets scarce
scratching the tough hide.

The Mistress had, halted, to fire. Now, she ran forward: With the
muzzle not three feet from the sow's head, she pulled trigger again.

The pig's huge jaws road opened with deliberate width. One forefoot was
pinning the helplessly battling dog to earth, while she made ready to
tear out his throat.

The second shot whizzed about her head and face. Two or three of the
pellets entered the open mouth.

With a sound that was neither grunt nor howl, yet which savored of
both, the sow lurched back from the flash and roar and the anguishing
pain in her tender mouth. The Mistress whirled aloft the empty and
useless gun and brought it crashing down on the pig's skull. The carved
mahogany stock broke in two. The jar of impact knocked the weapon from
its wielder's numbed fingers.

The sow seemed scarce to notice the blow. She continued backing away;
and champed her jaws as if to locate the cause of the agony in her
mouth. Her eyes were inflamed and dazed by the flash of the gun.

The Mistress took advantage of the moment's breathing space to bend
over the staggeringly rising Lad; and, catching him by the ruff, to
urge him toward the house. For once, the big collie refused to obey. He
knew pig nature better than did she. And he knew the sow was not yet
finished with the battle. He strove to break free from the loved grasp
and to stagger back to his adversary.

The Mistress, by main strength, drew him, snarling and protesting,
toward the safety of the house. Panting, bleeding, reeling, pitiably
weak, yet he resisted the tender urging; and kept twisting his bloody
head back for a glimpse of his foe. Nor was the precaution useless.
For, before the Mistress and her wounded dog were half-way across the
remaining strip of lawn, the sow recovered enough of her deflected wits
and fury to lower her head and gallop down after them.

At her first step, Lad, by a stupendous effort, wrenched free from the
Mistress's clasp; and flung himself between her and the charging mass
of pork. But, as he did so, he found breath for a trumpet-bark that