I’m strong again. I rise half up—my lips move—I speak—I cry out: “Quick, good Bulger, or all is lost!” A single glance at the terrible plight of his little master tells him all. With a howl of rage, his dark eyes shooting flame, he throws himself upon the heels of the Wind Eaters. His sharp teeth pierce like needles!
Crack!
Again and again he sends his fangs through the skin of a Wind Eater.
Crack! Crack!
Their clubs cease swinging. A cry of horror goes up, as for the fourth time good Bulger’s teeth pierces the heel of a Wind Eater and sends his body with a loud report to vanish into thin air.
They turn; they break away in wild dismay; they fly for their lives, casting away their clubs and abandoning their victim. I could see no more.
It grew black, a vertigo seized me. I tried to free my hands to touch my loved Bulger, for death, I thought, had come!
When life came back Bulger was licking my hands and face and whining piteously. He had gnawed the netting free from the limbs of his little master.
With a cry of joy and a brust of tears, I caught that faithful, loving creature to my breast.