is strained nerves and muscles a strength
beyond the utmost which he had yet been able to put forth. His jaws
worked upward, secured a cleaner grip, ground slowly closer; and at
last his teeth crunched together. A great shudder shook the body of
the lynx. It straightened out, limp and harmless.

For perhaps a minute Sonny maintained his triumphant grip, shaking the
foe savagely. Satisfied, at last, that he was meeting with no more
resistance, he let go, stood off, and eyed the body with searching
suspicion. Then he turned to the Kid. The Kid, careless of the blood
and wounds, kissed him fervently on the nose, called him "Poor Sonny!
Dear, good Sonny!" and burst into a loud wailing.

Knowing that the one thing now was to get the Kid home again as soon
as possible, Sonny started, looking back, and uttering a little
imperative bark. The Kid understood, and followed promptly. By the
time they reached the fence, however, Sonny was so weak from loss of
blood he could hardly climb through. The Kid, with blundering but
loving efforts, helped him. Then he lay down.

At this moment the voices of Joe and Ann were heard, shouting, calling
wildly, from the yard. At the sound, Sonny struggled to his feet and
staggered on, the Kid keeping close beside him. But he could manage
only a few steps. Then he sank down again.

The man and woman came running up the pasture, calling the Kid; but
the latter would not leave Sonny. He trotted forward a few steps, and
stopped, shaking his head and looking back. When Joe and Ann came near
enough to see that the little one's face and hair and clothes were
splotched with blood, fear clutched at their hearts. "My God! what's
happened to him?" gasped Ann, striving to keep up with her husband's
pace. But Joe was too quick for her. Darting ahead, he seized the
little one, lifted him up, and searched his face with frantic eyes.
For all the blood, the child seemed well and vigorous.

"What's it mean, Kid? Ye ain't hurt--ye ain't hurt--tell me ye
ain't hurt, Kid! What's all this blood all over ye?" he demanded
breathlessly.

By this time Ann was at his side, questioning with terrified eyes.

"Tain't me, Unc' Joe!" protested the Kid. "I ain't hurted. It's poor
Sonny. He's hurted awful. He killed the great, big--great, big--" the
Kid was at a loss how to explain, "the great, big, dreadful cat, what
was goin' to eat me up, Sonny did."

Joe Barnes looked at the dog, the torn sides, streaming red wounds,