iven the liberty of the yard, who
should he run foul of but Tom! The struggle had to come sometime, and it
was just as well that it came thus early, while Tom and Mux were on an
equal footing as to size, for Mux was young and growing.

Tom was boss of the yard. Every farmer's dog that went to town by our gate
knew enough to pass by on the other side. Tom had grown a little lordly
and opinionated. He was sleeping in the sun on the shed-step as Mux ambled
up. At sight of the coon Tom rose in more than his usual feline mightiness
and cast such a look of surprise, scorn, and annihilating intent upon the
interloper as ought to have struck terror to the stoutest heart. But Mux
hardly seemed to understand. On he came, right into certain destruction, a
very lamb of innocence and meekness. O you unsuspecting little stranger!
Don't you see this awful monster swelling, swelling into this hideous
hump? No, Mux did not see him. Tom was raging. His teeth gleamed; his eyes
blazed green; his claws worked in a nervous way that made my flesh creep.
He was vanishing, not, like the Cheshire Cat, into a long lovely grin, but
vanishing from a four-legged cat into a yellow, one-legged hump. All that
was left of him now was hump.

Mux was only a few feet away. Tom began to advance, not directly, but just
a trifle on the bias, across Mux's bows so to speak, as if to give him a
broadside. They were within range. Tom was heaving to. I trembled for the
young coon. Suddenly there was a hiss, a flash of yellow in the air,
and--a very big surprise awaiting Thomas! That little coon was no stupid
after all. He had not rolled up his sleeves, nor doubled up his fists, nor
put a chip upon his shoulder; but he knew what was expected of him, just
the same. He snapped instantly upon his back, received the cat with all
four of his feet, and gave Mr. Tom such a combing down that his golden fur
went flying off like thistle-down in autumn.

It was all over in less than half a minute. I think Tom must have made a
new record for himself in the running high jump when he broke away from
his ring-tailed antagonist. He struck out across the yard and landed
midway up the clothes-post with a single bound. And Mux? He ambled on
around the yard, as calm and unconcerned as if he had only stopped to
scratch himself.

Much of this unconcern, however, was a quiet kind of swagger. When he
thought no one fiercer than a chicken or the humbled Mr. Tom was looking,
he would shu