The largest hound again flew at the buck’s throat, while one of the others, getting a foothold, climbed to the buck’s back.
But the advantage of the hounds was only temporary. The big hound was again caught on those terrible antlers, impaled this time, and when it was hurled through the air to sink again on the lake it did not rise.
The hound that still remained in the water in front of the buck, now caught the latter by the nose, and the buck fell with a threshing sound. It rose, though, shaking off both hounds.
“Hurrah!” screamed Merry, sending his canoe skimming over the water. “Hurrah! Hurrah!”
So admirable and plucky was the fight the buck was making that he was fairly wild with admiration and delight.
John Caribou was close to the buck, and still standing up in his canoe.
The hound that caught the buck by the nose now received a thrust that tore open its side and put him out of the fight; but the other one again leaped to the buck’s hip and hung there, refusing to be dislodged.
At this hound John Caribou struck with his heavy paddle.
The blow was a true one. It tumbled the hound into the water, where the guide came near following.