Batard
Batard was a devil. This was recognized throughout the Northland."Hell's Spawn" he was called by many men, but his master, BlackLeclere, chose for him the shameful name "Batard." Now BlackLeclere was also a devil, and the twain were well matched. Thereis a saying that when two devils come together, hell is to pay.This is to be expected, and this certainly was to be expected whenBatard and Black Leclere came together. The first time they met,Batard was a part-grown puppy, lean and hungry, with bitter eyes;and they met with snap and snarl, and wicked looks, for Leclere'supper lip had a wolfish way of lifting and showing the white, cruelteeth. And it lifted then, and his eyes glinted viciously, as hereached for Batard and dragged him out from the squirming litter.It was certain that they divined each other, for on the instantBatard had buried his puppy fangs in Leclere's hand, and Leclere,thumb and finger, was coolly choking his young life out of him."Sacredam," the Frenchman said softly, flirting the quick bloodfrom his bitten hand and gazing down on the little puppy chokingand gasping in the snow.Leclere turned to John Hamlin, storekeeper of the Sixty Mile Post."Dat fo' w'at Ah lak heem. 'Ow moch, eh, you, M'sieu'? 'Ow moch?Ah buy heem, now; Ah buy heem queek."And because he hated him with an exceeding bitter hate, Leclerebought Batard and gave him his shameful name. And for five yearsthe twain adventured across the Northland, from St. Michael's andthe Yukon delta to the head-reaches of the Pelly and even so far asthe Peace River, Athabasca, and the Great Slave. And they acquireda reputation for uncompromising wickedness, the like of which neverbefore attached itself to man and dog.Batard did not know his father--hence his name--but, as John Hamlinknew, his father was a great grey timber wolf. But the mother ofBatard, as he dimly remembered her, was snarling, bickering,obscene, husky, full-fronted and heavy-chested, with a malign eye,a cat-like grip on life, and a genius for trickery and evil. Therewas neither faith nor trust in her. Her treachery alone could berelied upon, and her wild-wood amours attested her generaldepravity. Much of evil and much of strength were there in these,Batard's progenitors, and, bone and flesh of their bone and flesh,he had inherited it all. And then came Black Leclere, to lay hisheavy hand on the bit of pulsating puppy life, to press and prodand mould till it became a big bristling beast, acute in knavery,overspilling with hate, sinister, malignant, diabolical. With aproper master Batard might have made an ordinary, fairly efficientsled-dog. He never got the chance: Leclere but confirmed him inhis congenital iniquity.The history of Batard and Leclere is a history of war--of fivecruel, relentless years, of which their first meeting is fitsummary. To begin with, it was Leclere's fault, for he hated withunderstanding and intelligence, while the long-legged, ungainlypuppy hated only blindly, instinctively, without reason or method.At first there were no refinements of cruelty (these were to comelater), but simple beatings and crude brutalities. In one of theseBatard had an ear injured. He never regained control of the rivenmuscles, and ever after the ear drooped limply down to keep keenthe memory of his tormentor. And he never forgot.His puppyhood was a period of foolish rebellion. He was alwaysworsted, but he fought back because it was his nature to fightback. And he was unconquerable. Yelping shrilly from the pain oflash and club, he none the less contrived always to throw in thedefiant snarl, the bitter vindictive menace of his soul whichfetched without fail more blows and beatings. But his was hismother's tenacious grip on life. Nothing could kill him. Heflourished under misfortune, grew fat with famine, and out of histerrible struggle for life developed a preternatural intelligence.His were the stealth and cunning of the husky, his mother, and thefierceness and valour of the wolf, his father.Possibly it was because of his father that he never wailed. Hispuppy yelps passed with his lanky legs, so that he became grim andtaciturn, quick to strike, slow to warn. He answered curse withsnarl, and blow with snap, grinning the while his implacablehatred; but never again, under the extremest agony, did Leclerebring from him the cry of fear nor of pain. This unconquerablenessbut fanned Leclere's wrath and stirred him to greater deviltries.Did Leclere give Batard half a fish and to his mates whole ones,Batard went forth to rob other dogs of their fish. Also he robbedcaches and expressed himself in a thousand rogueries, till hebecame a terror to all dogs and masters of dogs. Did Leclere beatBatard and fondle Babette--Babette who was not half the worker hewas--why, Batard threw her down in the snow and broke her hind legin his heavy jaws, so that Leclere was forced to shoot her.Likewise, in bloody battles, Batard mastered all his team-mates,set them the law of trail and forage, and made them live to the lawhe set.In five years he heard but one kind word, received but one softstroke of a hand, and then he did not know what manner of thingsthey were. He leaped like the untamed thing he was, and his jawswere together in a flash. It was the missionary at Sunrise, anewcomer in the country, who spoke the kind word and gave the softstroke of the hand. And for six months after, he wrote no lettershome to the States, and the surgeon at McQuestion travelled twohundred miles on the ice to save him from blood-poisoning.Men and dogs looked askance at Batard when he drifted into theircamps and posts. The men greeted him with feet threateninglylifted for the kick, the dogs with bristling manes and bared fangs.Once a man did kick Batard, and Batard, with quick wolf snap,closed his jaws like a steel trap on the man's calf and cruncheddown to the bone. Whereat the man was determined to have his life,only Black Leclere, with ominous eyes and naked hunting-knife,stepped in between. The killing of Batard--ah, SACREDAM, THAT wasa pleasure Leclere reserved for himself. Some day it would happen,or else--bah! who was to know? Anyway, the problem would besolved.For they had become problems to each other. The very breath eachdrew was a challenge and a menace to the other. Their hate boundthem together as love could never bind. Leclere was bent on thecoming of the day when Batard should wilt in spirit and cringe andwhimper at his feet. And Batard--Leclere knew what was in Batard'smind, and more than once had read it in Batard's eyes. And soclearly had he read, that when Batard was at his back, he made it apoint to glance often over his shoulder.Men marvelled when Leclere refused large money for the dog. "Someday you'll kill him and be out his price," said John Hamlin once,when Batard lay panting in the snow where Leclere had kicked him,and no one knew whether his ribs were broken, and no one dared lookto see."Dat," said Leclere, dryly, "dat is my biz'ness, M'sieu'."And the men marvelled that Batard did not run away. They did notunderstand. But Leclere understood. He was a man who lived muchin the open, beyond the sound of human tongue, and he had learnedthe voices of wind and storm, the sigh of night, the whisper ofdawn, the clash of day. In a dim way he could hear the greenthings growing, the running of the sap, the bursting of the bud.And he knew the subtle speech of the things that moved, of therabbit in the snare, the moody raven beating the air with hollowwing, the baldface shuffling under the moon, the wolf like a greyshadow gliding betwixt the twilight and the dark. And to himBatard spoke clear and direct. Full well he understood why Batarddid not run away, and he looked more often over his shoulder.When in anger, Batard was not nice to look upon, and more than oncehad he leapt for Leclere's throat, to be stretched quivering andsenseless in the snow, by the butt of the ever ready dogwhip. Andso Batard learned to bide his time. When he reached his fullstrength and prime of youth, he thought the time had come. He wasbroad-chested, powerfully muscled, of far more than ordinary size,and his neck from head to shoulders was a mass of bristling hair--to all appearances a full-blooded wolf. Leclere was lying asleepin his furs when Batard deemed the time to be ripe. He crept uponhim stealthily, head low to earth and lone ear laid back, with afeline softness of tread. Batard breathed gently, very gently, andnot till he was close at hand did he raise his head. He paused fora moment and looked at the bronzed bull throat, naked and knotty,and swelling to a deep steady pulse. The slaver dripped down hisfangs and slid off his tongue at the sight, and in that moment heremembered his drooping ear, his uncounted blows and prodigiouswrongs, and without a sound sprang on the sleeping man.Leclere awoke to the pang of the fangs in his throat, and, perfectanimal that he was, he awoke clear-headed and with fullcomprehension. He closed on Batard's windpipe with both his hands,and rolled out of his furs to get his weight uppermost. But thethousands of Batard's ancestors had clung at the throats ofunnumbered moose and caribou and dragged them down, and the wisdomof those ancestors was his. When Leclere's weight came on top ofhim, he drove his hind legs upwards and in, and clawed down chestand abdomen, ripping and tearing through skin and muscle. And whenhe felt the man's body wince above him and lift, he worried andshook at the man's throat. His team-mates closed around in asnarling circle, and Batard, with failing breath and fading sense,knew that their jaws were hungry for him. But that did not matter--it was the man, the man above him, and he ripped and clawed, andshook and worried, to the last ounce of his strength. But Leclerechoked him with both his hands, till Batard's chest heaved andwrithed for the air denied, and his eyes glazed and set, and hisjaws slowly loosened, and his tongue protruded black and swollen."Eh? Bon, you devil!" Leclere gurgled mouth and throat cloggedwith his own blood, as he shoved the dizzy dog from him.And then Leclere cursed the other dogs off as they fell uponBatard. They drew back into a wider circle, squatting alertly ontheir haunches and licking their chops, the hair on every neckbristling and erect.Batard recovered quickly, and at sound of Leclere's voice, totteredto his feet and swayed weakly back and forth."A-h-ah! You beeg devil!" Leclere spluttered. "Ah fix you; Ah fixyou plentee, by GAR!"Batard, the air biting into his exhausted lungs like wine, flashedfull into the man's face, his jaws missing and coming together witha metallic clip. They rolled over and over on the snow, Leclerestriking madly with his fists. Then they separated, face to face,and circled back and forth before each other. Leclere could havedrawn his knife. His rifle was at his feet. But the beast in himwas up and raging. He would do the thing with his hands--and histeeth. Batard sprang in, but Leclere knocked him over with a blowof the fist, fell upon him, and buried his teeth to the bone in thedog's shoulder.It was a primordial setting and a primordial scene, such as mighthave been in the savage youth of the world. An open space in adark forest, a ring of grinning wolf-dogs, and in the centre twobeasts, locked in combat, snapping and snarling raging madly aboutpanting, sobbing, cursing, straining, wild with passion, in a furyof murder, ripping and tearing and clawing in elementalbrutishness.But Leclere caught Batard behind the ear with a blow from his fist,knocking him over, and, for the instant, stunning him. ThenLeclere leaped upon him with his feet, and sprang up and down,striving to grind him into the earth. Both Batard's hind legs werebroken ere Leclere ceased that he might catch breath."A-a-ah! A-a-ah!" he screamed, incapable of speech, shaking hisfist, through sheer impotence of throat and larynx.But Batard was indomitable. He lay there in a helpless welter, hislip feebly lifting and writhing to the snarl he had not thestrength to utter. Leclere kicked him, and the tired jaws closedon the ankle, but could not break the skin.Then Leclere picked up the whip and proceeded almost to cut him topieces, at each stroke of the lash crying: "Dis taim Ah break you!Eh? By GAR! Ah break you!"In the end, exhausted, fainting from loss of blood, he crumpled upand fell by his victim, and when the wolf-dogs closed in to taketheir vengeance, with his last consciousness dragged his body ontop of Batard to shield him from their fangs.This occurred not far from Sunrise, and the missionary, opening thedoor to Leclere a few hours later, was surprised to note theabsence of Batard from the team. Nor did his surprise lessen whenLeclere threw back the robes from the sled, gathered Batard intohis arms and staggered across the threshold. It happened that thesurgeon of McQuestion, who was something of a gadabout, was up on agossip, and between them they proceeded to repair Leclere,"Merci, non," said he. "Do you fix firs' de dog. To die? NON.Eet is not good. Becos' heem Ah mus' yet break. Dat fo' w'at hemus' not die."The surgeon called it a marvel, the missionary a miracle, thatLeclere pulled through at all; and so weakened was he, that in thespring the fever got him, and he went on his back again. Batardhad been in even worse plight, but his grip on life prevailed, andthe bones of his hind legs knit, and his organs righted themselves,during the several weeks he lay strapped to the floor. And by thetime Leclere, finally convalescent, sallow and shaky, took the sunby the cabin door, Batard had reasserted his supremacy among hiskind, and brought not only his own team-mates but the missionary'sdogs into subjection.He moved never a muscle, nor twitched a hair, when, for the firsttime, Leclere tottered out on the missionary's arm, and sank downslowly and with infinite caution on the three-legged stool."BON!" he said. "BON! De good sun!" And he stretched out hiswasted hands and washed them in the warmth.Then his gaze fell on the dog, and the old light blazed back in hiseyes. He touched the missionary lightly on the arm. "Mon pere,dat is one beeg devil, dat Batard. You will bring me one pistol,so, dat Ah drink de sun in peace."And thenceforth for many days he sat in the sun before the cabindoor. He never dozed, and the pistol lay always across his knees.Batard had a way, the first thing each day, of looking for theweapon in its wonted place. At sight of it he would lift his lipfaintly in token that he understood, and Leclere would lift his ownlip in an answering grin. One day the missionary took note of thetrick."Bless me!" he said. "I really believe the brute comprehends."Leclere laughed softly. "Look you, mon pere. Dat w'at Ah nowspik, to dat does he lissen."As if in confirmation, Batard just perceptibly wriggled his loneear up to catch the sound."Ah say 'keel'."Batard growled deep down in his throat, the hair bristled along hisneck, and every muscle went tense and expectant."Ah lift de gun, so, like dat." And suiting action to word, hesighted the pistol at Batard. Batard, with a single leap,sideways, landed around the corner of the cabin out of sight."Bless me!" he repeated at intervals. Leclere grinned proudly."But why does he not run away?"The Frenchman's shoulders went up in the racial shrug that meansall things from total ignorance to infinite understanding."Then why do you not kill him?"Again the shoulders went up."Mon pere," he said after a pause, "de taim is not yet. He is onebeeg devil. Some taim Ah break heem, so an' so, all to leetlebits. Hey? some taim. BON!"A day came when Leclere gathered his dogs together and floated downin a bateau to Forty Mile, and on to the Porcupine, where he took acommission from the P. C. Company, and went exploring for thebetter part of a year. After that he poled up the Koyokuk todeserted Arctic City, and later came drifting back, from camp tocamp, along the Yukon. And during the long months Batard was welllessoned. He learned many tortures, and, notably, the torture ofhunger, the torture of thirst, the torture of fire, and, worst ofall, the torture of music.Like the rest of his kind, he did not enjoy music. It gave himexquisite anguish, racking him nerve by nerve, and ripping apartevery fibre of his being. It made him howl, long and wolf-life, aswhen the wolves bay the stars on frosty nights. He could not helphowling. It was his one weakness in the contest with Leclere, andit was his shame. Leclere, on the other hand, passionately lovedmusic--as passionately as he loved strong drink. And when his soulclamoured for expression, it usually uttered itself in one or theother of the two ways, and more usually in both ways. And when hehad drunk, his brain a-lilt with unsung song and the devil in himaroused and rampant, his soul found its supreme utterance intorturing Batard."Now we will haf a leetle museek," he would say. "Eh? W'at yout'ink, Batard?"It was only an old and battered harmonica, tenderly treasured andpatiently repaired; but it was the best that money could buy, andout of its silver reeds he drew weird vagrant airs that men hadnever heard before. Then Batard, dumb of throat, with teeth tightclenched, would back away, inch by inch, to the farthest cabincorner. And Leclere, playing, playing, a stout club tucked underhis arm, followed the animal up, inch by inch, step by step, tillthere was no further retreat.At first Batard would crowd himself into the smallest possiblespace, grovelling close to the floor; but as the music came nearerand nearer, he was forced to uprear, his back jammed into the logs,his fore legs fanning the air as though to beat off the ripplingwaves of sound. He still kept his teeth together, but severemuscular contractions attacked his body, strange twitchings andjerkings, till he was all a-quiver and writhing in silent torment.As he lost control, his jaws spasmodically wrenched apart, and deepthroaty vibrations issued forth, too low in the register of soundfor human ear to catch. And then, nostrils distended, eyesdilated, hair bristling in helpless rage, arose the long wolf howl.It came with a slurring rush upwards, swelling to a great heart-breaking burst of sound, and dying away in sadly cadenced woe--thenthe next rush upward, octave upon octave; the bursting heart; andthe infinite sorrow and misery, fainting, fading, falling, anddying slowly away.It was fit for hell. And Leclere, with fiendish ken, seemed todivine each particular nerve and heartstring, and with long wailsand tremblings and sobbing minors to make it yield up its lastshred of grief. It was frightful, and for twenty-four hours after,Batard was nervous and unstrung, starting at common sounds,tripping over his own shadow, but, withal, vicious and masterfulwith his team-mates. Nor did he show signs of a breaking spirit.Rather did he grow more grim and taciturn, biding his time with aninscrutable patience that began to puzzle and weigh upon Leclere.The dog would lie in the firelight, motionless, for hours, gazingstraight before him at Leclere, and hating him with his bittereyes.Often the man felt that he had bucked against the very essence oflife--the unconquerable essence that swept the hawk down out of thesky like a feathered thunderbolt, that drove the great grey gooseacross the zones, that hurled the spawning salmon through twothousand miles of boiling Yukon flood. At such times he feltimpelled to--express his own unconquerable essence; and with strongdrink, wild music, and Batard, he indulged in vast orgies, whereinhe pitted his puny strength in the face of things, and challengedall that was, and had been, and was yet to be."Dere is somet'ing dere," he affirmed, when the rhythmed vagariesof his mind touched the secret chords of Batard's being and broughtforth the long lugubrious howl. "Ah pool eet out wid bot' myhan's, so, an' so. Ha! ha! Eet is fonee! Eet is ver' fonee! Depriest chant, de womans pray, de mans swear, de leetle bird gopeep-peep, Batard, heem go yow-yow--an' eet is all de ver' samet'ing. Ha! ha!"Father Gautier, a worthy priest, one reproved him with instances ofconcrete perdition. He never reproved him again."Eet may be so, mon pere," he made answer. "An' Ah t'ink Ah gotroo hell a-snappin', lak de hemlock troo de fire. Eh, mon pere?"But all bad things come to an end as well as good, and so withBlack Leclere. On the summer low water, in a poling boat, he leftMcDougall for Sunrise. He left McDougall in company with TimothyBrown, and arrived at Sunrise by himself. Further, it was knownthat they had quarrelled just previous to pulling out; for theLizzie, a wheezy ten-ton stern-wheeler, twenty-four hours behind,beat Leclere in by three days. And when he did get in, it was witha clean-drilled bullet-hole through his shoulder muscle, and a taleof ambush and murder.A strike had been made at Sunrise, and things had changedconsiderably. With the infusion of several hundred gold-seekers, adeal of whisky, and half-a-dozen equipped gamblers, the missionaryhad seen the page of his years of labour with the Indians wipedclean. When the squaws became preoccupied with cooking beans andkeeping the fire going for the wifeless miners, and the bucks withswapping their warm furs for black bottles and broken time-pieces,he took to his bed, said "Bless me" several times, and departed tohis final accounting in a rough-hewn, oblong box. Whereupon thegamblers moved their roulette and faro tables into the missionhouse, and the click of chips and clink of glasses went up fromdawn till dark and to dawn again.Now Timothy Brown was well beloved among these adventurers of theNorth. The one thing against him was his quick temper and readyfist--a little thing, for which his kind heart and forgiving handmore than atoned. On the other hand, there was nothing to atonefor Black Leclere. He was "black," as more than one remembereddeed bore witness, while he was as well hated as the other wasbeloved. So the men of Sunrise put an antiseptic dressing on hisshoulder and haled him before Judge Lynch.It was a simple affair. He had quarrelled with Timothy Brown atMcDougall. With Timothy Brown he had left McDougall. WithoutTimothy Brown he had arrived at Sunrise. Considered in the lightof his evilness, the unanimous conclusion was that he had killedTimothy Brown. On the other hand, Leclere acknowledged theirfacts, but challenged their conclusion, and gave his ownexplanation. Twenty miles out of Sunrise he and Timothy Brown werepoling the boat along the rocky shore. From that shore two rifle-shots rang out. Timothy Brown pitched out of the boat and wentdown bubbling red, and that was the last of Timothy Brown. He,Leclere, pitched into the bottom of the boat with a stingingshoulder. He lay very quiet, peeping at the shore. After a timetwo Indians stuck up their heads and came out to the water's edge,carrying between them a birch-bark canoe. As they launched it,Leclere let fly. He potted one, who went over the side after themanner of Timothy Brown. The other dropped into the bottom of thecanoe, and then canoe and poling boat went down the stream in adrifting battle. After that they hung up on a split current, andthe canoe passed on one side of an island, the poling boat on theother. That was the last of the canoe, and he came on intoSunrise. Yes, from the way the Indian in the canoe jumped, he wassure he had potted him. That was all. This explanation was notdeemed adequate. They gave him ten hours' grace while the Lizziesteamed down to investigate. Ten hours later she came wheezingback to Sunrise. There had been nothing to investigate. Noevidence had been found to back up his statements. They told himto make his will, for he possessed a fifty-thousand dollar Sunriseclaim, and they were a law-abiding as well as a law-giving breed.Leclere shrugged his shoulders. "Bot one t'ing," he said; "aleetle, w'at you call, favour--a leetle favour, dat is eet. I gifmy feefty t'ousan' dollair to de church. I gif my husky dog,Batard, to de devil. De leetle favour? Firs' you hang heem, an'den you hang me. Eet is good, eh?"Good it was, they agreed, that Hell's Spawn should break trail forhis master across the last divide, and the court was adjourned downto the river bank, where a big spruce tree stood by itself.Slackwater Charley put a hangman's knot in the end of a hauling-line, and the noose was slipped over Leclere's head and pulledtight around his neck. His hands were tied behind his back, and hewas assisted to the top of a cracker box. Then the running end ofthe line was passed over an over-hanging branch, drawn taut, andmade fast. To kick the box out from under would leave him dancingon the air."Now for the dog," said Webster Shaw, sometime mining engineer."You'll have to rope him, Slackwater."Leclere grinned. Slackwater took a chew of tobacco, rove a runningnoose, and proceeded leisurely to coil a few turns in his hand. Hepaused once or twice to brush particularly offensive mosquitoesfrom off his face. Everybody was brushing mosquitoes, exceptLeclere, about whose head a small cloud was visible. Even Batard,lying full-stretched on the ground with his fore paws rubbed thepests away from eyes and mouth.But while Slackwater waited for Batard to lift his head, a faintcall came from the quiet air, and a man was seen waving his armsand running across the flat from Sunrise. It was the store-keeper."C-call 'er off, boys," he panted, as he came in among them."Little Sandy and Bernadotte's jes' got in," he explained withreturning breath. "Landed down below an' come up by the short cut.Got the Beaver with 'm. Picked 'm up in his canoe, stuck in a backchannel, with a couple of bullet-holes in 'm. Other buck was KlokKutz, the one that knocked spots out of his squaw and dusted.""Eh? W'at Ah say? Eh?" Leclere cried exultantly. "Dat de one fo'sure! Ah know. Ah spik true.""The thing to do is to teach these damned Siwashes a littlemanners," spoke Webster Shaw. "They're getting fat and sassy, andwe'll have to bring them down a peg. Round in all the bucks andstring up the Beaver for an object lesson. That's the programme.Come on and let's see what he's got to say for himself.""Heh, M'sieu!" Leclere called, as the crowd began to melt awaythrough the twilight in the direction of Sunrise. "Ah lak ver'moch to see de fon.""Oh, we'll turn you loose when we come back," Webster Shaw shoutedover his shoulder. "In the meantime meditate on your sins and theways of Providence. It will do you good, so be grateful."As is the way with men who are accustomed to great hazards, whosenerves are healthy and trained in patience, so it was with Leclerewho settled himself to the long wait--which is to say that hereconciled his mind to it. There was no settling of the body, forthe taut rope forced him to stand rigidly erect. The leastrelaxation of the leg muscles pressed the rough-fibred noose intohis neck, while the upright position caused him much pain in hiswounded shoulder. He projected his under lip and expelled hisbreath upwards along his face to blow the mosquitoes away from hiseyes. But the situation had its compensation. To be snatched fromthe maw of death was well worth a little bodily suffering, only itwas unfortunate that he should miss the hanging of the Beaver.And so he mused, till his eyes chanced to fall upon Batard, headbetween fore paws and stretched on the ground asleep. And theirLeclere ceased to muse. He studied the animal closely, striving tosense if the sleep were real or feigned. Batard's sides wereheaving regularly, but Leclere felt that the breath came and went ashade too quickly; also he felt that there was a vigilance oralertness to every hair that belied unshackling sleep. He wouldhave given his Sunrise claim to be assured that the dog was notawake, and once, when one of his joints cracked, he looked quicklyand guiltily at Batard to see if he roused. He did not rouse thenbut a few minutes later he got up slowly and lazily, stretched, andlooked carefully about him."Sacredam," said Leclere under his breath.Assured that no one was in sight or hearing, Batard sat down,curled his upper lip almost into a smile, looked up at Leclere, andlicked his chops."Ah see my feenish," the man said, and laughed sardonically aloud.Batard came nearer, the useless ear wabbling, the good ear cockedforward with devilish comprehension. He thrust his head on oneside quizzically, and advanced with mincing, playful steps. Herubbed his body gently against the box till it shook and shookagain. Leclere teetered carefully to maintain his equilibrium."Batard," he said calmly, "look out. Ah keel you."Batard snarled at the word and shook the box with greater force.Then he upreared, and with his fore paws threw his weight againstit higher up. Leclere kicked out with one foot, but the rope bitinto his neck and checked so abruptly as nearly to overbalance him."Hi, ya! Chook! Mush-on!" he screamed.Batard retreated, for twenty feet or so, with a fiendish levity inhis bearing that Leclere could not mistake. He remembered the dogoften breaking the scum of ice on the water hole by lifting up andthrowing his weight upon it; and remembering, he understood what henow had in mind. Batard faced about and paused. He showed hiswhite teeth in a grin, which Leclere answered; and then hurled hisbody through the air, in full charge, straight for the box.Fifteen minutes later, Slackwater Charley and Webster Shawreturning, caught a glimpse of a ghostly pendulum swinging back andforth in the dim light. As they hurriedly drew in closer, theymade out the man's inert body, and a live thing that clung to it,and shook and worried, and gave to it the swaying motion."Hi, ya! Chook! you Spawn of Hell!" yelled Webster Shaw.But Batard glared at him, and snarled threateningly, withoutloosing his jaws.Slackwater Charley got out his revolver, but his hand was shaking,as with a chill, and he fumbled."Here you take it," he said, passing the weapon over.Webster Shaw laughed shortly, drew a sight between the gleamingeyes, and pressed the trigger. Batard's body twitched with theshock, threshed the ground spasmodically for a moment, and wentsuddenly limp. But his teeth still held fast locked.
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