"Harky!" Mun roared. "Men don't hit wimmen!"
"Why don't they?" Harky growled.
"You're being childish, Harold," Melinda said sweetly. "Duckfoot's simply gone off somewhere. Perhaps he got tired and went home."
Harky tried to speak and succeeded only in choking. If it was insult to assert that Duckfoot could not be half duck, it was heresy even to imply that he left a hunt and went home because he was tired. Harky recovered his breath.
"Duckfoot didn't go home!" he screamed.
"Really, Harold," Melinda said, "it isn't necessary to make so much noise."
Harky was saved by the bell-like tones of a suddenly-tonguing hound.
"Queenie's got one," Raw Stanfield said.
"That's Glory tonguing," Melinda corrected. "She's pitched just a shade higher than Queenie."
"Now, Miss," Raw stuffed his tobacco into a corner of his mouth, "I know my own hound."