the choreman, was lambasting the intruder with the business end of a two-tine hay-fork, and shouting frightful curses at him in a strong American accent.
As Hervey came upon the scene, Neche hurled his victim from him, either dead or dying, for the dog lay quite still where it fell upon the snow. Then, impervious to the onslaught of the choreman, he seized the other dog.
“Come out of it, Andy,” cried Hervey.
The hired man ceased his efforts at once, glad to be done with the savage. Hervey then ran up to the infuriated husky, and dealt him two or three terrible kicks.
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.
“Don’t go near him. He’s as treacherous as a dogone Indian.”
“Come back,” called out her mother.
The girl paid no attention. She called again, and patted her blue apron encouragingly. The animal rose slowly to his feet, looked dubiously in her direction, then, without any display of enthusiasm, came slowly towards her. His limp added to his wicked aspect, but he came, nor did he stop until his head was resting against her dress, and her hand was caressing his great back. The huge creature seemed to appreciate the girl’s attitude, for he made no attempt to move away. It is probable that this was the first caress the dog had ever known in all his savage life.
Hervey looked on and scratched his beard thoughtfully, but he said nothing more. Mrs. Malling went back to the kitchen. Sarah Gurridge alone had anything to say.
“Poor creature,” she observed, in tones of deep pity. “I wonder how he lost his foot. Is he always fighting? A poor companion, I should say.”
Hervey laughed unpleasantly.
“Oh, he’s not so bad. He’s savage, and all that But he’s a good friend.”
“Ah, and a deadly enemy. I suppose he’s very fond of you. He lets you kick him,” she added significantly.
“I hardly know––and I must say I don’t much care––what his feelings are towards me. Yes, he lets 80 me kick him.” Then, after a pause, “But I think he really hates me.”
And Hervey turned abruptly and went back into the kitchen. He preferred the more pleasant atmosphere of his mother’s adulation to the serious reflections of Sarah Gurridge.
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