Both animals were splendid specimens of their class. What Kiopo wanted in height, little though that was, he made up for in breadth and depth of shoulder and chest. An onlooker would have said that in actual fighting powers, the creatures were almost equally matched, though the chances lay on the side of the stranger. It would be only a close observer of beasts who would have marked not merely the depth of Kiopo's chest, but the greater width of his skull between the eyes.
It was plain that Lone Wolf was in an ugly mood. The hairs along his back stood stiffly, and his eyes gleamed like smouldering brands. In Kiopo he saw the hated rival whose hunting lay so close to the borders of his own range, and whose howling was a nightly challenge to the lordship of Carboona. He was well aware that Kiopo was not a foe to be slighted; but his repeated victories had made him insolent, and in the present instance he was confident of success.
Kiopo too, was in a rage; partly because his right to exist had been challenged by a powerful foe, partly because of the presence of Dusty Star. The mere idea that any harm threatened the Little Brother was more than enough to rouse him to a fury of fighting pitch. Rather than that a hair of the Little Brother should be injured, he would fight to the death. Yet in spite of his anger, he was wary. He had not fought Stickchi in vain. His strong limbs gathered well beneath him, he bided his time.
Suddenly, the Lone Wolf sprang.
Dusty Star caught his breath, and gripped his rock more tightly. The fight had begun!
Kiopo was not caught napping. In a flash he jerked his body sideways, so that Lone Wolf, instead of bearing him down as he had intended, and so gaining the advantage, landed close on his left flank. And although his fangs raked Kiopo's ribs, Kiopo replied at the same instant by a counter slash that ripped his antagonist's shoulder.
The fight had started now in real earnest. It was a wolfish whirlwind of motion. The two enraged animals bounded, slashed, gripped together, tore themselves apart, in a series of movements so lightning-swift as to baffle the eyes. When locked together, sometimes one would be on top, sometimes the other; but their immense strength, and amazing agility, made it impossible for either of them to hold the other down for any length of time. And Lone Wolf soon learnt that, when Kiopo was on his back, his methods were even more to be feared than when he was on his feet; for it was then that his hind quarters came most successfully into play. Those powerful quarters, fully armed with claws, were formidable engines of war when directed against Lone Wolf's stomach. More than once Lone Wolf was forced to loosen his grip upon his foe and tear himself away with a yelp of pain. And each time, like a relentless fury, Kiopo had leaped upon him in a fresh onslaught. Soon, both animals were streaming with blood; yet their many wounds, far from lessening their rage, seemed to make them more madly determined to fight on to the death.
Perched upon his rock, Dusty Star watched the appalling struggle going on immediately below him, with an excitement and a dread that passed all bounds. His close intimacy with wild animals, had taught him that a fight of this sort could only be ended by the death of one or other of the fighters, and his terror naturally was lest Kiopo should not be able to hold his own. He had never known him to fail before; but then never before had he encountered a foe so nearly matched with him in strength. So far, it would not have been possible to say that either wolf had gained any decided advantage over the other, but now Dusty Star observed something which filled him with a new fear. Either by chance or design, the wolves were very much nearer to the edge of the precipice than at the beginning of the fight. Surely, he thought, Kiopo, the always wary one, must have realized that? In his frantic anxiety to make sure that he realized, Dusty Star clapped his hands and shouted.
Whether Kiopo understood the warning or not, the sound of Dusty Star's voice seemed to goad him to fresh efforts. The Little Brother had cried. He was fighting for the Little Brother as much as for himself. For a while it seemed as if the Lone Wolf must succumb to the fresh fury of his onslaught. In spite of this, Dusty Star saw with horror that the fight had rolled closer than ever to the edge.
And now it seemed that Kiopo had begun to lose his temporary advantage. Soon it became all too plain that he was steadily losing ground, and was being pushed nearer and nearer to the fatal edge. At last he reached it. In the final struggle for mastery, the wolves, still tearing furiously at each other, seemed poised on the very brink. In another moment, one or other, if not both, must surely be dashed to destruction. Again, in a fever of suspense, Dusty Star held his breath.