"All right here, old hoss!" came the cheery answer, that made the other experience immediate relief.
And then Maurice looked toward the spot where he had had his last glimpse of his late enemy.
Something was moving amid the snow that covered the ground.
"You got him, Thad; he's kicking his last!" yelled the excited Maurice, as he gazed with distended eyes at the feeble struggles that marked the passing of the powerful brute.
By the time the marksman had reached the spot the animal had given up the ghost; but even in death he presented a ferocious aspect that made Maurice shiver.
"Phew! that was an exciting little time," he said, wiping his forehead, as though somewhat overheated by his recent exertions.
"Where d'ye suppose he came from?" asked the other, as he bent over the victim of the steady-shooting gun, and shrugged his shoulders at sight of the bared white teeth, so wicked in appearance.
"I don't know. Looks to me like he might be a wild dog; but perhaps he belongs to some shanty-boat crowd below here. I wouldn't be too ready to tell about this until we're well away. It might breed trouble for us, you see," said Maurice, sagely.
"But he tackled you without cause, and any fellow is allowed to defend himself," expostulated the other.
"That's good logic, generally; but the owner of the dog never looks at things from the right side. He'd blame you for shooting, and say we ought to have chased the beast off with pea-shooters. Well, he kept me jumping right lively up to the time I lost my grip on this old ax. Then I got up in that blessed tree, though I'll never know just how I did the trick. H'm! that old gun of mine is some shooter, ain't she? My! how you knocked a hole in the critter. That was going some, for you. Thad, don't you forget it, son."