The dog wagged his tail. The man could see the movement of kindly greeting in the starlight, and ventured close. He bent low and called again:
"Come on, boy!"
The dog answered with a whine, wagged his tail, came close and thrust his nose against the man's arm in a welcome greeting. With his left hand the man stroked the warm, furry head, while his right slowly slipped the ugly sharpened cutlass from its scabbard.
Still stroking the dog's head and softly murmuring words of endearment, he straightened his body:
"Bully old dog! Fine old doggie—"
The dog's eyes followed the rising form with confidence, wagging his tail in protest against his going.
The hand gripped the brass hilt of the cutlass, the polished steel whizzed through the air and crashed into the yellow mass of flesh and bones.
His aim was bad in the dark. He missed the dog's head and the sword split the body lengthwise. To the man's amazement a piercing howl of agony rang through the woods.
He dropped his sword and gripped the quivering throat and held it in a vise of steel until the writhing body was still at last.
Inside the darkened cabin, the mother stirred from an uneasy sleep. She shook her husband and listened intently. The only sound that came from without was the chirp of crickets and the distant call of a coyote from the hill across the creek.