'Take two to one on Grace's tarrier.' ... 'Not weight enough. Shure, none o' them dogs could pull him down.' ... 'A shilling on Comerford's sheep-dog!' and so on.
The barrel was turned upon its side, and Stubbs, half blinded by the glare, and wholly terrified, saw many men peering at him. The cluster of grinning faces all seemed to be part of one awful monster; and he slunk back, growling, with bared teeth.
'Begob, he'll put up a fight,' said Micksey Bolger. 'Let the dogs come at him wan be wan, at first.'
The first was a medium-sized dog, with prick ears, and a woolly yellow coat. He evinced a decided desire to fly at the throats of the rest of his kind, but this being checked, he advanced truculently to the barrel, with his scruff standing up. Some one kicked the tub and shouted: 'Git up, ye divil'; and there was a chorus of yells from the bystanders. Stubbs bundled out in a hurry, and at the same moment the dog flew at his throat. The unprovoked assault restored his wits to the badger. At any rate here was a definite enemy, who fought, not with sacking and rope, but by recognised methods. He struck out, scoring his assailant's shoulder, and then backed hastily into the barrel, until only his striped snout could be seen. A badger realises that his weakness lies in his lack of agility, and by preference he fights with his back to a tree, that he may not be taken in the rear. Three times the dog charged the barrel; and each time, strong and vigilant, the badger drove him back, amid the shouts of the men and the yells of the surrounding dogs. For the fourth time the dog—the blood trickling down his muzzle—rushed in. His temper was up, he was utterly reckless, and he left his shoulder unguarded. Like lightning Stubbs' claws fell—and under that stroke the dog's ribs were laid bare. His owner came forward and carried him out of the ring, and the next dog was brought out.
Of the fight which Stubbs fought for the next hour I shall say little more, for it is neither good to read about nor to write of. It will be sufficient to say that of the five dogs which at last were set upon him at once, four bear scars to this day, and the fifth never moved again. Although Stubbs still crouched victoriously in the barrel, he had sustained three or four wounds. His eyes were red, for he was very angry, and he growled continuously; but he was very tired. However, there was no dog left to match him.
The men stood round undecidedly, when suddenly a voice in the group said: 'Shure, ye should set Kinchella's dog agin him!'
'Me dog's too good for this sort of job,' returned Kinchella. But his voice was none of the steadiest, for, in addition to the farm and a flourishing poaching business, Borrigan showed the match-box in the window.[4]
[4] In some parts of Ireland a box of matches in a cottage window is a secret sign that the place is a 'shebeen,' or house where drink is distilled, or sold without a licence.
'Ah, now, what hurt to him,' said Mark in honeyed tones, for he was in no hurry for his customers to depart. 'Shure, he is twice the size o' that little baste there, and he'd have him pulled down aisy.'