"Did ye ever see such a dog!" he cried through his tears.
"He beats creation!" was the admiring answer.
The Boy bent low over the squirming pair and his voice was in perfect tune with his dog's low growl:
"Eat him up, Bone! Eat him alive!"
"Don't touch 'em!" Tom warned. "Let 'im have a fair fight—ef he don't kill that coon I'll eat 'im raw, hide an' hair!"
Boney had succeeded at last in fastening his teeth in a firm grip on the coon's throat. He held it without a cry of pain while the claws ripped his ears and gashed his head. Deeper and deeper sank his teeth until at last the razor claws that were cutting relaxed slowly and the long lean body with its beautiful fur lay full length on the red-marked stones.
The dog loosed his hold instantly. His work was done. He scorned to strike a fallen foe. He started to the water's edge to quench his thirst and staggered in a circle. The blood had blinded him.
The Boy sprang to his side, lifted him tenderly in his arms, carried him to the water and bathed his eyes and head.
"He's cut all to pieces!" he sobbed at last. "He'll die—I just know it!"
"Na!" his father answered scornfully. "Be all right in two or three days."