A few urgent bounds carried her to the mouth of the cave. Two more
steps, and the events of the last half-hour lay plain before her eyes.
Two of her puppies lay dead, and in the throat of one of them there
still were fastened the teeth of their slayer: a full-grown,
tawny-coated stoat. The blood-drinking stoat was of no greater length
than one of Desdemona's low-hanging ears, yet without the smallest
flicker of hesitation the terrible little beast wheeled about to attack
the bereaved mother of his quarry. With bared fangs--flecked now with
blood--the stoat crouched, breathing quite fearless defiance.

For the moment Desdemona gave no thought to the stoat, but lowered her
massive head to the inspection of the dead puppy which lay nearest. In
that moment the fearless stoat saw his chance. Brave though he was--and
no creature is more brave--the stoat did not court death; and so, like a
yellow snake, he slid out of the cave and down the steep slope beyond.
But, being fearless, he halted when he came to the remains of
Desdemona's rabbit. Fresh-killed meat was something he could not pass,
even though the investigation should cost him his life.

In the cave, a very few seconds showed Desdemona that two of her pups
were dead. A frantically hurried licking sufficed to assure her that the
remaining three were unhurt. And then, the fire of judgment in her
red-brown eyes, she swept out from the cave on the trail of her enemy.
In three bounds she reached the stoat, who was perfectly prepared now to
fight an elephant for possession of the half-rabbit he had found. The
tiny creature did, as a fact, draw blood, with one slashing bite, from
Desdemona's muzzle. And then he died (snarling defiance), his spine
smashed through in two places between the bloodhound's powerful jaws.

Without a moment's pause, after completing this act of vengeance,