ed his teeth
deeper. They touched the soft bottom and for a moment floundered in the
mud. Then Kazan loosened his hold. He was fighting for his own life
now--and not for Broken Tooth's. With all of the strength of his
powerful limbs he struggled to break loose--to rise to the surface, to
fresh air, to life. He clamped his jaws shut, knowing that to breathe
was to die. On land he could have freed himself from Broken Tooth's hold
without an effort. But under water the old beaver's grip was more deadly
than would have been the fangs of a lynx ashore. There was a sudden
swirl of water as a second beaver circled close about the struggling
pair. Had he closed in with Broken Tooth, Kazan's struggles would
quickly have ceased.

But nature had not foreseen the day when Broken Tooth would be fighting
with fang. The old patriarch had no particular reason now for holding
Kazan down. He was not vengeful. He did not thirst for blood or death.
Finding that he was free, and that this strange enemy that had twice
leaped upon him could do him no harm, he loosed his hold. It was not a
moment too soon for Kazan. He was struggling weakly when he rose to the
surface of the water. Three-quarters drowned, he succeeded in raising
his forepaws over a slender branch that projected from the dam. This
gave him time to fill his lungs with air, and to cough forth the water
that had almost ended his existence. For ten minutes he clung to the
branch before he dared attempt the short swim ashore. When he reached
the bank he dragged himself up weakly. All the strength was gone from
his body. His limbs shook. His jaws hung loose. He was beaten--completely
beaten. And a creature without a fang had worsted him. He felt the
abasement of it. Drenched and slinking, he went to the windfall, lay
down in the sun, and waited for Gray Wolf.

Days followed in which Kazan's desire to destroy his beaver enemies
became the consuming passion of his life. Each day the dam became more
formidable. Cement work in the water was carried on by the beavers
swiftly and safely. The water in the pond rose higher each twenty-four
hours, and the pond grew steadily wider. The water had now been turned
into the depression that encircled the windfall, and in another week or
two, if the beavers continued their work, Kazan's and Gray Wolf's home
would be nothing more than a small island in the center of a wide area
of submerged swamp.

Kazan hunted only for food now, and not for pleas