mashed against his
shoulder, and sent him down in the sand. Before he could recover Sandy
was upon him, with all the fury of a man gone mad. He shortened the
babiche by twisting it again and again about his hand, and the club rose
and fell with the skill and strength of one long accustomed to its use.
The first blows served only to add to Kazan's hatred of man, and the
ferocity and fearlessness of his attacks. Again and again he leaped in,
and each time the club fell upon him with a force that threatened to
break his bones. There was a tense hard look about Sandy's cruel mouth.
He had never known a dog like this before, and he was a bit nervous,
even with Kazan muzzled. Three times Kazan's fangs would have sunk deep
in his flesh had it not been for the babiche. And if the thongs about
his jaws should slip, or break--.

Sandy followed up the thought with a smashing blow that landed on
Kazan's head, and once more the old battler fell limp upon the sand.
McTrigger's breath was coming in quick gasps. He was almost winded. Not
until the club slipped from his hand did he realize how desperate the
fight had been. Before Kazan recovered from the blow that had stunned
him Sandy examined the muzzle and strengthened it by adding another
babiche thong. Then he dragged Kazan to a log that high water had
thrown up on the shore a few yards away and made the end of the babiche
rope fast to a dead snag. After that he pulled his canoe higher up on
the sand, and began to prepare camp for the night.

For some minutes after Kazan's stunned senses had become normal he lay
motionless, watching Sandy McTrigger. Every bone in his body gave him
pain. His jaws were sore and bleeding. His upper lip was smashed where
the club had fallen. One eye was almost closed. Several times Sandy came
near, much pleased at what he regarded as the good results of the
beating. Each time he brought the club. The third time he prodded Kazan
with it, and the dog snarled and snapped savagely at the end of it. That
was what Sandy wanted--it was an old trick of the dog-slaver. Instantly
he was using the club again, until with a whining cry Kazan slunk under
the protection of the snag to which he was fastened. He could scarcely
drag himself. His right forepaw was smashed. His hindquarters sank under
him. For a time after this second beating he could not have escaped had
he been free.

Sandy was in unusually good humor.

"I'll take the devil out of you all right," he