as stir, a set of white fangs met in his shoulder-flesh. And he
testified to his injury by an eldritch screech of pain and terror
that echoed far across the water.

His companion, rallying from the momentary shock, left Ferris and
charged at the prostrate thief's assailant. But Chum met him,
with a fierce eagerness, more than half way.

A true collie--thanks to his strain of wolf bloodfights as does
no other dog. What he lacks in stubborn determination he atones
for by swiftness and by his uncanny brain power.

A bulldog, for example, would have flown to his master's relief
quite as readily as did Chum. But a bulldog would have secured
the first convenient hold and would have hung on to that hold,
whether it were at his victim's throat or only on the slack of
his trousers--until someone should hammer him into senselessness.

Chum--collie-fashion--was everywhere at once, using his brain far
more than his flying jaws. Finding the grip in his foe's shoulder
did not prevent the man from twisting round to grapple him, the
collie shifted that grip with lightning speed, and with one of
his gleaming eyeteeth slashed his opponent's halfturned cheek
from eye to chin. Then he bored straight for the jugular.

It was at this crisis that he sensed, rather than saw, the other
man rushing at him. Chum left his fallen antagonist and whirled
about to face the new enemy. As he was still turning, he sprang
far to one side, in bare time to elude a swinging kick aimed at
his head.