The great hounds were mad with excitement; indeed, Chenobi had the greatest difficulty in keeping them away from the dying monster. All through the combat they had been restless, snarling, and baring their great fangs, as they raced to and fro behind their master. His word alone had prevented them from hurling themselves to certain destruction against the saurian’s claws; but now, with the smell of blood in their nostrils, their lust to kill proved too much for their obedience. With their lean flanks palpitating with eagerness, the whole four bounded, swift as light, across the quarry, and leapt for the monster’s throat. A hoarse command from the king they did not heed, although twice repeated, and for this disobedience one of the four paid dearly.
As he sprang the reptile’s jaws opened, and, with a sickening crunch, the great teeth closed upon the hapless hound’s skull. A moment later the lifeless carcase of Chenobi’s pet was flung almost at his master’s feet.
But it was the saurian’s last effort. One great choking gasp he gave, a torrent of blood poured from his nostrils, then he plunged heavily forward, almost crushing the three hounds, hanging like grim death to his throat.
“Thank God!” Mervyn cried, “we have been marvellously delivered. Chenobi”—turning to the Ayuti—“your steed has saved us.”
“Muswani is an old fighter,” the king replied, striding over to the elk, who had retired into the background again after overthrowing the reptile. He patted the brute’s glossy hide and murmured words of endearment into its ears, which Muswani seemed perfectly to understand.
“I guess the old elk’s a stayer,” remarked Silas; “we’d ha’ been in a real tight corner but for him. Say, Mervyn, what do you think of the beastie yonder?”
“Horrible!” returned the scientist with a shudder. “The brute’s far worse than Triceratops, for it’s a wholly carnivorous feeder.”
“I assume we were down on its bill of fare, then?” asked the Yankee, moving forward to examine the carcase, at which the hounds were still tearing.
“Nothing would come amiss to the brute,” Mervyn assented, producing his note-book and pencil.
“H’m,” Haverly remarked, as he surveyed the dead monster, “a fairish-sized sort of tadpole. Fifty foot from nose to tail, and perhaps a bit over. Say, William, come and have a look at your uncle. You an’ Wilson are mighty quiet over there.”