and he hurled himself savagely against the bars. The man smiled
grimly, and brought a hatchet and a club.

"You ain't going to take him out now?" the driver asked.

"Sure," the man replied, driving the hatchet into the crate for a
pry.

There was an instantaneous scattering of the four men who had
carried it in, and from safe perches on top the wall they prepared
to watch the performance.

Buck rushed at the splintering wood, sinking his teeth into it,
surging and wrestling with it. Wherever the hatchet fell on the
outside, he was there on the inside, snarling and growling, as
furiously anxious to get out as the man in the red sweater was
calmly intent on getting him out.

"Now, you red-eyed devil," he said, when he had made an opening
sufficient for the passage of Buck's body. At the same time he
dropped the hatchet and shifted the club to his right hand.

And Buck was truly a red-eyed devil, as he drew himself together
for the spring, hair bristling, mouth foaming, a mad glitter in
his blood-shot eyes. Straight at the man he launched his one
hundred and forty pounds of fury, surcharged with the pent passion
of two days and nights. In mid air, just as his jaws were about
to close on the man, he received a shock that checked his body and
brought his teeth together with an agonizing clip. He whirled
over, fetching the ground on his back and side. He had never been