changed
beast. His one eye was fastened upon the fox breeder. His bared,
bleeding lips revealed inch-long fangs between which there came now a
low and menacing snarl. The tawny crest along his spine was like a
brush; from a puzzled toleration of David his posture and look had
changed into deadly hatred for Thoreau, and fear of him. For a moment
after his first warning the Frenchman's voice seemed to stick in his
throat as he saw what he believed to be David's fatal disregard of his
peril. He did not speak to him again. His eyes were on the dog. Slowly
he raised his rifle; David heard the click of the hammer--and Baree
heard it. There was something in the sharp, metallic thrill of it that
stirred his brute instinct. His lips fell over his fangs, he whined, and
then, on his belly, he dragged himself slowly toward David!

It was a miracle that Thoreau the Frenchman looked upon then. He would
have staked his very soul--wagered his hopes of paradise against a
_babiche_ thread--that what he saw could never have happened between
Baree and man. In utter amazement he lowered his gun. David, looking
down, was smiling into that one, wide-open, bloodshot eye of Baree's,
his hand reaching out. Foot by foot Baree slunk to him on his belly, and
when at last he was at David's feet he faced Thoreau again, his
terrible teeth snarling, a low, rumbling growl in his throat. David
reached down and touched him, even as he heard the fox breeder make an
incoherent sound in his beard. At the caress of his hand a great shudder
passed through Baree's body, as if he had been stung. That touch was the
connecting link through which passed the electrifying thrill of a man's
soul reaching out to a brute instinct.

Baree had found a man friend!

When David stepped away from him to Thoreau's side as much of the
Frenchman's face as was not hidden under his beard was of a curious
ashen pallor. He seemed to make a struggle before he could get his
voice.

And then: "M'sieu, I tell you it is incredible! I cannot believe what I
have seen. It was a miracle!"

He shuddered. David was looking at him, a bit puzzled. He could not
quite comprehend the fear that had possessed him. Thoreau saw this, and
pointing to Baree--a gesture that brought a snarl from the beast--he
said:

"He is bad, m'sieu, _bad_! He is the worst dog in all this country. He
was born an outcast--among the wolves--and his heart is filled with
murder. He is a quarter wolf, and you can't c