Jet thought it possible he might yet escape, and started toward the shelter of the trees; but the sound of his footsteps soon told the brute where to look for his prey.
With a low, angry yelp he turned, standing motionless a few seconds, during which time Jet continued to back farther away from the house in order that there might be less chance the noise of the conflict would be overheard.
Then the dog crouched for a spring, and Jet, every muscle strained to its utmost tension, stood ready to receive him.
The battle was short.
While the dog was yet in the air Jet struck out with the heavy stick, and his aim was perfect.
The club fell squarely on the brute's head, crushing the skull as if it had been an egg-shell, and without so much as a moan the dog dropped dead.
There was yet another to be met, but so far he had not made his presence known save by angry barks, and Jet ran for the woods with all speed.
He gained the shelter of the trees and paused for an instant to look back.
If he must meet the companion of the animal he had killed it would be better to do so at the edge of the undergrowth where he could have a fair view of his antagonist, rather than fight in the darkness where the branches would obstruct his movements.
No sound came from the inmates of the house to show that they had been alarmed.