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Page 31
Jan, who knew naught of death-holds, and was at this moment blind to
every consideration in life save that of combat, would assuredly yield
the fatal opening within a very few seconds; and that being so, it was a
small matter to Grip that in the mean time the youngster should rob him
of a little fur and blood and skin. No orders, no suasion, could touch
Grip now; neither could any form of attack move his anger. He was about
to kill; and, for him, that fact filled the universe.
At last the moment arrived. When the breath was out of Jan's body after
a missed rush, he stumbled badly in wheeling, and almost choked as the
spume of blood and froth and fur flew from his aching jaws. At that
psychological moment Grip, balanced to the perfection of a hair-spring,
and calmly calculating, leaped upon him from the side, and brought the
youngster's four feet into the air at one time. That was the opening,
and, in the same second, Grip's jaws sprang apart to profit by it and to
inclose Jan's throat in a final and sufficing hold.
And then, as a medieval observer might have said, the heavens opened and
a whirling vision of gray-clad muscle and gleaming fangs descended from
the high hedge-top, landing fairly and squarely athwart Grip's back. For
a moment the sheep-dog sprawled, paralyzed by this inexplicable event.
In that moment his last chance was lost. The new arrival had whirled his
huge body clear and gripped the sheep-dog's neck in jaws longer and more
powerful than those of any other dog in Sussex. Grip weighed close upon
ninety pounds; but he was shaken and battered now from side to side,
very much as a rat is shaken by a terrier. And, finally, with one
tremendous lift of the greatest neck the hound world has known, Grip was
flung clear to the far side of the lane, at the very feet of his master,
who promptly grabbed him by the collar and, as though to complete Finn's
prescription, hammered him repeatedly upon the nose with his clenched
fist.
"I'll larn'ee to answer me--by cripes, I will!" quoth David.
By this time the sorely trounced Jan was on his feet and Finn had begun
to lick his son's streaming ears. From the inside of the high hedge came
hurrying footsteps; and in another moment the Master appeared at the
white gate, twenty paces lower down the lane. David Crumplin was offered
the hospitality of the scullery for the examination of his dog, but
preferred to get Grip away with him after an admission that--
"Your puppy there will do some killin' in his day, sir, if he lives to
see it. But as for this other fellow"--pointing to Finn--"he could down
any dog this side o' Gretna Green, an' you can say as I said so. I know
most of 'em."
That was how Jan learned his first big lesson, and the good of it never
left him, and often saved his life; just as surely as his father's great
speed and strength saved it on this morning, in the very breathless nick
of time when his throat had been bared to the knife that was between
Grip's killing jaws.
In the beginning of Jan's first fight Finn had been dreaming of a hunt
in the Australian bush. Once or twice, as David Crumplin cursed and
ranted in the lane, Finn's dark ears had twitched as though in
semi-consciousness of the trouble. Later, as Jan had snarlingly roared
in his fourth or fifth attack, his sire's brown eyes had opened wide and
he had lain a moment with ears pricked and head well up, at Betty's
feet. And then with a long, formidable growl he had leaped for the
porch. Half a dozen great bounds took him through the garden. A leap
which hardly broke his stride carried him across the iron fence into the
orchard, and a score of strides from there brought him to the
hedge-side. The hedge was six feet high here. In the lane, which lay
low, it was ten feet high. There was a gate twenty yards away. Finn
scorned this and went soaring through the bramble-ends at the top of the
hedge, and thence, a bolt of fire from the blue, to Grip's shoulders.
There was that in Finn's preliminary growl which told Betty serious
things were toward. She dared not try to walk; but she shouted to the
Master, and he very speedily was in the orchard upon Finn's trail.
A Fellow of the Royal Society, with a score of letters after his name
and a reputation in two hemispheres, stitched the worst of Jan's wounds
that morning, on the couch in the Master's study. Even Dr. Vaughan could
not replace the missing section of Jan's right ear; but, short of that,
he made a most masterly job of the repairs. And all the while wise, gray
old Finn sat erect on his haunches beside the writing-table, looking on
approvingly, and reflecting, no doubt, upon the prowess of the youngster
who had caused all this pother.
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