legs a dozen feet away, the wiry crest along his
spine erect, his muscles tense.
Miki heard the man-beast's voice.
"Go to, you devil! GO TO!"
Miki waited, without the quiver of a muscle. Thus much he had learned
of his hard lessons in the wilderness--to wait, and watch, and use his
cunning. He was flat on his belly, his nose between his forepaws. His
lips were drawn back a little, just a little; but he made no sound, and
his eyes were as steady as two points of flame. Le Beau stared. He felt
suddenly a new thrill, and it was not the thrill of his desire for
vengeance. Never had he seen a lynx or a fox or a wolf in a trap like
that. Never had he seen a dog with eyes like the eyes that were on
Netah. For a moment he held his breath.
Foot by foot, and then almost inch by inch, The Killer crept in. Ten
feet, eight, six--and all that time Miki made no move, never winked an
eye. With a snarl like that of a tiger, Netah came at him.
What happened then was the most marvellous thing that Jacques Le Beau
had ever seen. So swiftly that his eyes could scarcely follow the
movement, Miki had passed like a flash under the belly of Netah, and
turning then at the end of his trap chain he was at The Killer's throat
before Le Beau could have counted ten. They were down, and The Brute
gripped the club in his hand and stared like one fascinated. He heard
the grinding crunch of jaws, and he knew they were the Wild Dog's jaws;
he heard a snarl choking slowly into a wheezing sob of agony, and he
knew that the sound came from The Eller. The blood rose into his face.
The red fire in his eyes grew livid--a blaze of exultation, of triumph.
"TONNERRE DE DIEU! he is choking the life out of Netah!" he gasped.
"NON, I have never seen a dog like that. I will keep him alive; and he
shall fight Durant's POOS over at Post Fort O' God! By the belly of
Saint Gris, I say--"
The Killer was as good as dead if left another minute. With upraised
club Le Beau advanced. As he sank his fangs deeper into Netah's throat
Miki saw the new danger out of the corner of his eye. He loosed his
jaws and swung himself free of The Killer as the club descended. He
only partly evaded the smashing blow, which caught him on the shoulder
and knocked him down. Quick as a flash he was on his feet and had
lunged at Le Beau. The Frenchman was a master with the club. All his
life he had used it, and he brought it around in a sudden side-swing
that landed with terrific for
|