and calls very faint, "Help, you!" he says. "Take him in the hind-
leg," he says. "He's murdering me," he says. And then the little Miss
Dorothy, who was crying, and calling to the kennel-men, catches at
the Red Elfberg's hind-legs to pull him off, and the brute, keeping
his front pats well in Jimmy's stomach, turns his big head and snaps
at her. So that was all I asked for, thank you. I went up under him.
It was really nothing. He stood so high that I had only to take off
about three feet from him and come in from the side, and my long,
"punishing jaw" as mother was always talking about, locked on his
woolly throat, and my back teeth met. I couldn't shake him, but I
shook myself, and every time I shook myself there was thirty pounds
of weight tore at his windpipes. I couldn't see nothing for his long
hair, but I heard Jimmy Jocks puffing and blowing on one side, and
munching the brute's leg with his old gums. Jimmy was an old sport
that day, was Jimmy, or, Woodstock Wizard III., as I should say. When
the Red Elfberg was out and down I had to run, or those kennel-men
would have had my life. They chased me right into the stables; and
from under the hay I watched the head-groom take down a carriage-whip
and order them to the right about. Luckily Master and the young
grooms were out, or that day there'd have been fighting for
everybody.

Well, it nearly did for me and the Master. "Mr. Wyndham, sir," comes
raging to the stables and said I'd half-killed his best prize-winner,
and had oughter be shot, and he gives the Master his notice. But Miss
Dorothy she follows him, and says it was his Red Elfberg what began
the fight, and that I'd saved Jimmy's life, and that old Jimmy Jocks
was worth more to her than all the St. Bernards in the Swiss
mountains--where-ever they be. And that I was her champion, anyway.
Then she cried over me most beautiful, and over Jimmy Jocks, too, who