The Southerner: A Romance of the Real Lincoln Part 12

The Boy's pride was hurt.

"I can make him bring one out," he said.

Tom shook his head:

"Not much. Less see ye?"

The Boy stepped down to the dog's side.

"Look out, ye fool, don't let yer foot slip in thar!" his father warned.

The Boy knelt beside the dog, patted his back and began to talk to him in low tense tones:

"Fetch 'im out, Bone! Go after 'm! Sick 'em, boy, sick 'em!"

Closer and closer the brave old fighter edged his way, only a low mad growl answering to the Boy's urging. His eyes were blazing now in the red rays of the rising sun like two b.a.l.l.s of fire. With a sudden savage plunge he hurled himself into the den and quick as a flash of lightning his short hairy neck gave a flirt, and a c.o.o.n as large as one of the hounds whizzed ten feet into the air, and, with his white teeth s.h.i.+ning, struck the ground, lighting squarely on his feet. A hound dashed for him and one slap from the long sharp claws sent him howling and bleeding into the canes.

But old Boney had watched him in the air, and, circling the pack that faced the c.o.o.n, with a quick leap had downed him. Then every dog was with him and the battle was on. Eight dogs to one c.o.o.n and yet so sharp were his claws, so keen the steel-like points of his teeth, he sometimes had four dogs rolling in agony beside the growling ma.s.s of fur and teeth and nails.

The fight had scarcely begun when one of the remaining c.o.o.ns leaped out of the den. Tom's watchful eye had seen him. He pulled three dogs from the first battle group and hurled them on the new fighter. He had scarcely started this struggle when the third sprang to the top of the earthen breastwork, surveyed the field and with sullen deliberation, trotted to the water's edge, jumped in and, placing two paws on a swaying limb, dared any dog to come.

Here was work for the veteran! Boney was the only dog in the pack who would dare accept that challenge. Tom choked him off the first c.o.o.n, pulled him to the bank and showed him his enemy in the water. He looked just a moment at the snarling, daring mouth and made the plunge.

The boy had followed the dog and watched with bated breath. He circled the c.o.o.n twice, swimming in swift graceful curves. But his enemy was too shrewd. A flank movement was impossible. The c.o.o.n's fierce mouth was squarely facing him at every turn and the dog plunged straight on his foe.

To his horror the Boy saw the fangs sink into his friend's head, four sets of sharp claws circle his neck, a tense grey ball of fur hanging its dead weight below. The water ran red for a moment as both slowly sank to the bottom.

Eyes wide with anguish he heard his father cry:

"By the Lord, he'll kill that dog sh.o.r.e--he's a goner!"

"No, he won't neither!" the Boy shouted, leaping into the water where he saw them go down.

Before his father could warn him of the danger his head disappeared in the deep still eddy.

"Look out for us, Dennis, with a pole I'm goin' ter dive fer 'em!"

In a moment they came to the surface, the man holding the Boy, the Boy grasping his dog, the c.o.o.n fastened to the dog's head.

"Well, don't that beat the devil!" Tom laughed, as he carried them to a little rocky island in the middle of the creek.

The Boy intent on saving his dog had held his breath and was not even strangled. The dog had buried his nose in the c.o.o.n's throat and was chewing and choking with savage determination.

Tom stood over them now on the little island with its smooth stone-paved battle arena ringed with the music of laughing waters. He threw both hands above his s.h.a.ggy head and yelled himself hoa.r.s.e--the wild cry of the hunter's soul in delirious joy.

"_Yaaaiih! Yaaaiiih!_"

A moment's pause, and then the low snarl and growl and clash of tooth and claw! Again the hunter's gnarled hands flew over his head.

"_Yaaaiih! Yaaaaiiih! Yaaiih! Yaaaaiiiihhh!!_"

On the sh.o.r.e Dennis stood first over one group of swirling, rolling, snarling brutes, and then over the other, yelling and cheering.

The c.o.o.n on the island suddenly broke his a.s.sailant's death-like grip, and, with a quick leap, reached the water. Boney was on him in a moment and down they went beneath the surface again.

The Boy sprang to the rescue.

His father brushed him roughly aside:

"Keep out! I'll git 'em!"

Three times the c.o.o.n made the dash for deep water and three times Tom carried both dog and c.o.o.n back to the little island yelling his battle cry anew.

The smooth stones began to show red. Fur and dog hair flew in little tufts and struck the ground, sometimes with the flat splash of red flesh.

The Boy frowned and his lips quivered. At last he could hold in no longer. Through chattering teeth he moaned:

"He'll kill Boney, Pa!"

"Let him alone!" was the sharp command. "I never see sich a dog in my life. He'll kill that c.o.o.n by hisself, I tell ye!"

Again his enemy broke Boney's grim hold on his throat, sprang back four feet and, to the dog's surprise, made no effort to reach the water.

Instead he stood straight and quivering on his hind legs and faced his enemy, his white needle-like fangs gleaming in two rows and his savage fore-claws opening and closing with deadly threat.

The old warrior, taken completely by surprise by this new stratagem of his foe, circled in a vain effort to reach the flank or rear. Each turn only brought them again face to face, and at last he plunged straight on the centre line of attack. With a quick side leap the c.o.o.n struck the dog's head a blow with his claw that split his ear for three inches as cleanly and evenly as if a surgeon's knife had been used.

With a low growl of rage and pain, Boney wheeled and repeated his a.s.sault with the same results for the other ear. He turned in silence and deliberately crept toward his foe. There would be no chance for a side blow. He wouldn't plunge or spring. He might get another b.l.o.o.d.y gash, but he wouldn't miss again.

This time he found the body, they closed and rolled over and over in close blood-stained grip. For the first time Tom's face showed doubts, and he called to Dennis:

"Choke off two dogs from that fust c.o.o.n an' throw 'em in here!"

They came in a moment and clinched with Boney's enemy. The charge of two new troopers drove the c.o.o.n to desperation. The sharp claws flew like lightning. The new dogs ran back into the water with howls of pain and scrambled up the bank to their old job.

Boney paid no attention either to the unexpected a.s.sault of his friends or their ign.o.ble desertion. Every ounce of his dog-manhood was up now.

It was a battle to the death and he had no wish to live if he couldn't whip any c.o.o.n that ever made a track in his path.

The Boy's pride was roused now and the fighting instinct that slumbers in every human soul flashed through his excited eyes. He drew near and watched with increasing excitement and joined with his father at last in shouts and cheers.

"Did ye ever see such a dog!" he cried through his tears.

"He beats creation!" was the admiring answer.

The Boy bent low over the squirming pair and his voice was in perfect tune with his dog's low growl:

"Eat him up, Bone! Eat him alive!"

"Don't touch 'em!" Tom warned. "Let 'im have a fair fight--ef he don't kill that c.o.o.n I'll eat 'im raw, hide an' hair!"