He had fought with moles, with rats, and even with a crow—but never with an opponent which stared so keenly back as this one. Although he could not see its eyes in the gloom, the smoke-dog’s glare made his own smart until they watered, so that he had to keep wiping them dry with his forepaw.
Now the mysterious beast was upon them! “Madness” saw his mother spring to her feet—and he rushed valiantly towards the enemy, his mouth opened wide to seize it by the throat. Instead, he himself was seized by the throat! He had to open his mouth still wider; he felt as if his tongue were being torn out; he coughed and spluttered; a suffocating feeling racked his nose; he could not draw breath; his nostrils pricked and smarted as if clutched by the monster’s invisible claws. Snorting and sneezing, he turned and fled for his life.
He has managed to escape; luckily the monster could not hold him! Also, it does not drive him to frenzy, like that confounded old crow, by jabbing at his tender whiskers all the time. It is more merciful, and allows him to retreat in peace.
He regains his breath and is almost himself again. He rubs his head well with both forepaws and prepares for another attack. This time he is determined not to run away—and he shakes his head up and down to see where he is.
Fortunately for little “Madness” as well as for “Terror,” who together with Grey and White lay crouched in a corner of the tomb, their eyes flashing green with fright ... fortunately indeed for the whole happy family, the “smoke-dog” abruptly ceased barking its stinking breath down towards them.
The bundle of hay brought by the labourers was consumed. They could have procured more easily enough—for there was plenty of corn round the hill, and it lay in sheaves—but they had found out by now that smoke was there in abundance—what was lacking was a draught to carry the smoke down into the hole.
And besides, what if they did manage to suffocate the beast—they would never be able to get it out and skin it; so that there would be no pelt to make an odd shilling or two out of! What was the use of it all?
Well, after all, they had killed time for a couple of hours ... and they threw themselves on their backs and began to play with Box, stroking his back and ears. Yes, he was a fine dog! “Here, Box, Box!”—and they smacked their trouser-legs—“seize cat, seize cat!”
That day was the last the kittens spent in the old viking-grave!