Part 12 (1/2)

The Boy's pride was hurt.

”I can make him bring one out,” he said.

Tom shook his head:

”Not much. Less see ye?”

The Boy stepped down to the dog's side.

”Look out, ye fool, don't let yer foot slip in thar!” his father warned.

The Boy knelt beside the dog, patted his back and began to talk to him in low tense tones:

”Fetch 'im out, Bone! Go after 'm! Sick 'em, boy, sick 'em!”

Closer and closer the brave old fighter edged his way, only a low mad growl answering to the Boy's urging. His eyes were blazing now in the red rays of the rising sun like two b.a.l.l.s of fire. With a sudden savage plunge he hurled himself into the den and quick as a flash of lightning his short hairy neck gave a flirt, and a c.o.o.n as large as one of the hounds whizzed ten feet into the air, and, with his white teeth s.h.i.+ning, struck the ground, lighting squarely on his feet. A hound dashed for him and one slap from the long sharp claws sent him howling and bleeding into the canes.

But old Boney had watched him in the air, and, circling the pack that faced the c.o.o.n, with a quick leap had downed him. Then every dog was with him and the battle was on. Eight dogs to one c.o.o.n and yet so sharp were his claws, so keen the steel-like points of his teeth, he sometimes had four dogs rolling in agony beside the growling ma.s.s of fur and teeth and nails.

The fight had scarcely begun when one of the remaining c.o.o.ns leaped out of the den. Tom's watchful eye had seen him. He pulled three dogs from the first battle group and hurled them on the new fighter. He had scarcely started this struggle when the third sprang to the top of the earthen breastwork, surveyed the field and with sullen deliberation, trotted to the water's edge, jumped in and, placing two paws on a swaying limb, dared any dog to come.

Here was work for the veteran! Boney was the only dog in the pack who would dare accept that challenge. Tom choked him off the first c.o.o.n, pulled him to the bank and showed him his enemy in the water. He looked just a moment at the snarling, daring mouth and made the plunge.

The boy had followed the dog and watched with bated breath. He circled the c.o.o.n twice, swimming in swift graceful curves. But his enemy was too shrewd. A flank movement was impossible. The c.o.o.n's fierce mouth was squarely facing him at every turn and the dog plunged straight on his foe.

To his horror the Boy saw the fangs sink into his friend's head, four sets of sharp claws circle his neck, a tense grey ball of fur hanging its dead weight below. The water ran red for a moment as both slowly sank to the bottom.

Eyes wide with anguish he heard his father cry:

”By the Lord, he'll kill that dog sh.o.r.e--he's a goner!”

”No, he won't neither!” the Boy shouted, leaping into the water where he saw them go down.

Before his father could warn him of the danger his head disappeared in the deep still eddy.

”Look out for us, Dennis, with a pole I'm goin' ter dive fer 'em!”

In a moment they came to the surface, the man holding the Boy, the Boy grasping his dog, the c.o.o.n fastened to the dog's head.

”Well, don't that beat the devil!” Tom laughed, as he carried them to a little rocky island in the middle of the creek.

The Boy intent on saving his dog had held his breath and was not even strangled. The dog had buried his nose in the c.o.o.n's throat and was chewing and choking with savage determination.

Tom stood over them now on the little island with its smooth stone-paved battle arena ringed with the music of laughing waters. He threw both hands above his s.h.a.ggy head and yelled himself hoa.r.s.e--the wild cry of the hunter's soul in delirious joy.

”_Yaaaiih! Yaaaiiih!_”

A moment's pause, and then the low snarl and growl and clash of tooth and claw! Again the hunter's gnarled hands flew over his head.

”_Yaaaiih! Yaaaaiiih! Yaaiih! Yaaaaiiiihhh!!_”