fer 'im to git tew rambunctious, er the fust thing he knows he
won't hev no insides in 'im."

I could see the big cat clinging high in the top boughs of a birch
and looking calmly down at us. The tree-top swayed, quivering, as
it held the great dun beast. My heart was like to smother me when
D'ri raised his rifle and took aim. The dog broke away at the
crack of it. The painter reeled and spat; then he came crashing
through the branches, striking right and left with his fore paws to
save himself. He hit the ground heavily, and the dog was on him.
The painter lay as if dead. Before I could get near, Rover began
shaking him by the neck. He came to suddenly, and struck the dog
with a front claw, dragging him down. A loud yelp followed the
blow. Quick as a flash D'ri had caught the painter by the tail and
one hind leg. With a quick surge of his great, slouching
shoulders, he flung him at arm's-length. The lithe body doubled on
a tree trunk, quivered, and sank down, as the dog came free. In a
jiffy I had run my sword through the cat's belly and made an end of
him.

"Knew 'f he got them hind hooks on thet air dog he 'd rake his ribs
right off," said D'ri, as he lifted his hat to scratch his head.
"Would n't 'a' left nothin' but the backbone,--nut a thing,--an'
thet would n't 'a' been a real fust-class one, nuther."

When D'ri was very positive, his words were well braced with
negatives.

We took the painter by the hind legs and dragged him through the
bushes to our camp. The dog had a great rip across his shoulder,