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She bit her lip, and looked ready to cry. "Well, it is hard," she said, in a low, emphatic voice, "that we can't please ourselves in a few trifles of this sort when one thinks why!" George took her hand, and kissed it affectionately. "Darling, only just for a little till I get out of this brute's clutches. There are such pretty, cheap things nowadays aren't there?"
There he is barking away, and it is probably only the moon, or some harmless tramp, or a footstep a mile away down the road, for the brute's power of hearing is phenomenal. Yet if he goes on like that I must pay some attention, or else there'll be an awful row with the Boss to-morrow morning if anything was stolen or any damage done.
I glanced round and found that the scoundrel had bolted. I had time, and only just time, to take a step backwards, and to club my rifle, when the brute was upon me. I got one fair blow at the side of its head, a blow that would have smashed the skull of any civilized beast into pieces, and which did fortunately break the brute's jaw; then in an instant he was upon me, and I was fighting for life.
But the arrow was in the brute's chest, up to the feather; it tumbled heels over head with a great thud of its back on the earth, gave a groan, made a struggle or two, and lay stretched out motionless. "I've killed it, Nycteris," cried Photogen. "It is a great red wolf." "Oh, thank you!" answered Nycteris feebly from behind the tree. "I was sure you would. I was not a bit afraid."
For what seemed an eternity the great brute stood with its forepaws upon the sill, glaring into the little room. Presently it tried the strength of the lattice with its great talons. The girl had almost ceased to breathe, when, to her relief, the head disappeared and she heard the brute's footsteps leaving the window.
The rifle barrel was thrust down the bear's throat after the stock had been torn away, and upon the steel still are shown the marks of the brute's teeth. The same teeth were knocked out by the flailing blows of the desperate pioneer, who finally escaped when Bruin tired of the fight. Then Hamblin discovered himself badly hurt, one hand, especially, chewed by the bear.
The assistant obeyed, returning hastily in a minute or two, and closing the door behind him. "Well, what's the matter?" demanded his master. "The brute's gone mad," said the assistant, whose face was white. "It's flying about upstairs like a wild thing. Mind it don't get in, it's as bad as a mad dog." "Oh, rubbish," said the Jew. "Cats are often like that."
He carried a lace white handkerchief at the end of his riding switch, and this was bad enough. But as he wheeled his bay thoroughbred, I saw that he had followed the déclassé Maubreuil's example and decorated the brute's tail with a Cross of the Legion of Honour. That brought my teeth together, and I stood my ground. "Vive le Roi!" "Vivent les Bourbons!" "À bas le sabot corse!"
It did Oliver Vyell good, riding in, to slash twice crosswise on the brute's bandaged face; to feel the whalebone bite and then, as he swung out of saddle, to ram fist and whip-butt together on the ugly mouth, driving in its fore-teeth. "Stop the horse, some one!" he commanded, as the Beadle reeled back. "She has fainted." He added, "The first man that interferes, I shoot." The crowd growled.
Nothing could have been more earnest than his communications, whatever they were; at times he put an arm about the brute's neck; at times he whispered in its ear; and in return it bowed and grunted assent, or growled and shook its head in refusal, always in the most knowing manner. In this style, to appearance, he was telling what he wanted done.
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