The dog turned round instantly. His fangs were dripping with blood, and he snarled fiercely, his baleful eyes glowing with ferocity. But he slunk off when he recognized his assailant, allowing the 78 second dog to run for its life, howling with canine fear.
Andy went over to the dog that was stretched upon the snow.
“Guess ’e’s done, boss,” he said, looking up at Hervey as the latter came over to his side. “Say, that’s about the slickest scrapper round these parts. Gee-whizz, ’e went fur me like the tail end o’ a cyclone when I took your plug to the barn. It was they curs that kind o’ distracted his attention. Mebbe thar’s more wolf nor dog in him. Mebbe, I sez.”
“Yes, he’s a devil-tempered husky,” said Hervey. “I’ll have to shoot him one of these days.”
“Wa’al, I do ’lows that it’s a mercy ’e ain’t got no more’n three shanks. Mackinaw! but he’s handy.”
The four women had watched the scene from the kitchen door. Hervey came over to where they were standing.
“I’m sorry, mother,” he said. “Neche has killed one of your dogs. He’s a fiend for fighting. I’ve a good mind to shoot him now.”
“No, don’t go for to do that,” said his mother. “We oughtn’t to have sent Andy to take your horse. I expect the beast thought he was doing right.”
“He’s a brute. Curse him!”
Prudence said nothing. Now she moved a little away from the house and talked to the dog. He was placidly, and with no show of penitence, lying down and licking a laceration on one of his front legs. He occasionally shook his great head, and stained the snow with the blood which dripped from his fierce-looking ears. He paused in his operation at the 79 sound of the girl’s voice, and looked up. Her tone was gentle and caressing. Hervey suddenly called to her.