or in the growl with which
he darted under the foe's huge body and sank his teeth strategically
into the nearest hind paw. But the life would have been crushed out of
him in half a minute, had not the Pup, at this critical juncture, come
flopping up awkwardly to see how his little friend was faring.

Now the Pup, as we have seen, was simply overflowing with good-will
towards dogs, and cats, and every one. But that was because he thought
they were all friendly. He was amazed to find here a dog that seemed
unfriendly. Then all at once he realized that something very serious
was happening to his playmate. His eyes reddened and blazed; and with
one mighty lunge he flung himself forward upon the enemy. With that
terrific speed of action which could snap up a darting mackerel, he
caught the mastiff in the neck, close behind the jaw. His teeth were
built to hold the writhings of the biggest salmon, and his grip was
that of a bulldog--except that it cut far deeper.

The mastiff yelped, snapped wildly at his strange antagonist, and
then, finding himself held so that he could not by any possibility get
a grip, strove to leap into the air and shake his assailant off. But
the Pup held him down inexorably, his long teeth cutting deeper and
deeper with every struggle. For perhaps half a minute the fight
continued, the mad contortions of the entangled three (for Toby still
clung to his grip on the foe's hind paw) tearing up the snow for a
dozen feet in every direction. The snow was flecked with crimson,--but
suddenly, with a throbbing gush, it was flooded scarlet. The Pup's
teeth had torn through the great artery of his opponent's neck. With a
cough the brute fell over, limp and unresisting as a half-filled bran
sack.

At this moment the mastiff's owner, belatedly aware that the tables
were being turned on his vicious favorite, came yelling and cursing
over the gate, brandishing a sled stake in his hands. But at the same
time arrived Captain Ephraim, rushing bareheaded from the kitchen, and
stepped in front of the new arrival. One glance had shown him that the
fight was over.

"Hold hard there, Baiseley!" he ordered in curt tones. Then he
continued more slowly--"It ain't no use makin' a fuss. That murderin'
brute of yourn begun it, an' come into my yard to kill my own little
tike here. He's got just what he deserved. An' if the Pup here hadn't
'a' done it, I'd 'a' done it myself. See?"

Baiseley, like his mongrel follower, was a