mangy, carrion-loving, yellow-fanged, howling brute. A most unlovely
and unloving beast. As you pass his village he will bounce out on you
with the fiercest bark and the most menacing snarl; but lo! if a
terrier the size of a teacup but boldly go at him, down goes his tail
like a pump-handle, he turns white with fear, and like the arrant
coward that he is, tumbles on his back and fairly screams for mercy. I
have often been amused to see a great hulking cowardly brute come out
like an avalanche at 'Pincher,' expecting to make one mouthful of him.
What a look of bewilderment he would put on, as my gallant little
'Pincher,' with a short, sharp, defiant bark would go boldly at him.
The huge yellow brute would stop dead short on all four legs, and as
the rest of my pack would come scampering round the corner, he would
find himself the centre of a ring of indomitable assailants.

How he curses his short-sighted temerity. With one long howl of utter
dismay and deadly fear, he manages to get away from the pack, leaving
my little doggies to come proudly round my horse with their mouths full
of fur, and each of their little tails as stiff as an iron ramrod.

That 'Pincher,' in some respects, was a very fiend incarnate. There was
no keeping him in. He was constantly getting into hot water himself,
and leading the pack into all sorts of mischief. He was as bold as
brass and as courageous as a lion. He stole food, worried sheep and
goats, and was never out of a scrape. I tried thrashing him, tying him
up, half starving him, but all to no purpose. He would be into every
hut in a village whenever he had the chance, overturning brass pots,
eating up rice and curries, and throwing the poor villager's household
into dismay and confusion. He would never leave a cat if he once saw
it. I've seen him scramble through the roofs of more than one hut, and
oust the cat from its fancied stronghold.