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Updated: May 11, 2025
And Netah, for a dog, was a devil. For that reason Le Beau had chosen him to fight the big fight. Le Beau looked down at him, and drew a deep breath of satisfaction. "OW! but you are looking fine, Netah," he exulted. "I can almost see running blood in those devil-eyes of yours; OUI red blood that smells and runs, as the blood of Durant's POOS shall run when you sink those teeth in its jugular.
So swiftly that his eyes could scarcely follow the movement, Miki had passed like a flash under the belly of Netah, and turning then at the end of his trap chain he was at The Killer's throat before Le Beau could have counted ten. They were down, and The Brute gripped the club in his hand and stared like one fascinated.
OUI; if you so much as let a whimper out of you, I will kill you dead." That same night, ten miles to the west, Miki slept under a windfall of logs and treetops not more than half a mile from Le Beau's trapline. In the early dawn, when Le Beau left his cabin, accompanied by Netah, The Killer, Miki came out from under his windfall after a night of troublous dreams.
His lips were drawn back a little, just a little; but he made no sound, and his eyes were as steady as two points of flame. Le Beau stared. He felt suddenly a new thrill, and it was not the thrill of his desire for vengeance. Never had he seen a lynx or a fox or a wolf in a trap like that. Never had he seen a dog with eyes like the eyes that were on Netah. For a moment he held his breath.
He heard the grinding crunch of jaws, and he knew they were the Wild Dog's jaws; he heard a snarl choking slowly into a wheezing sob of agony, and he knew that the sound came from The Eller. The blood rose into his face. The red fire in his eyes grew livid a blaze of exultation, of triumph. "TONNERRE DE DIEU! he is choking the life out of Netah!" he gasped. "NON, I have never seen a dog like that.
They maddened him for a time, and Le Beau's ugly soul was filled with joy as Miki launched himself again and again at the sapling bars, tearing at them with his teeth and frothing blood like a wolf gone mad. For twenty years Le Beau had trained fighting dogs, and this was his way. So he had done with Netah until The Killer was mastered, and at his call crept to him on his belly.
He was fighting it when Le Beau came out from behind a clump of spruce twenty yards away with The Killer at his heels. The Brute stopped. He was panting, and his eyes were aflame. Two hundred yards away he had heard the clinking of the trap-chain. "OW! he is there," he gasped, tightening his hold on The Killer's lead thong. "He is there, Netah, you Red Eye!
And now, in addition to the rabbits, he had the wild dog to contend with. His heart was fired by a vengeful anticipation as he hurried on through the glow of the early sun, with The Killer at his heels, led by a BABICHE thong. Miki was nosing about the first trap-house as Netah and Le Beau entered the edge of the swamp, three miles to the east.
In the forest the wolf-dog would have interested him to the exclusion of everything else, and he would have looked upon him as another Netah or a wild wolf. But in his present surroundings the idea of fighting was the last to possess him.
These two were his enemies instead of the thing on his foot the man-beast, and Netah, The Killer. He remembered as if it were yesterday. This was not the first time he had seen a man with a club in his hand. And Le Beau held a club. But he was not afraid. His steady eyes watched Netah.
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