Boney was on him in a moment
and down they went beneath the surface again.
The Boy sprang to the rescue.
His father brushed him roughly aside:
"Keep out! I'll git 'em!"
Three times the coon made the dash for deep water and three times Tom
carried both dog and coon back to the little island yelling his battle
cry anew.
The smooth stones began to show red. Fur and dog hair flew in little
tufts and struck the ground, sometimes with the flat splash of red
flesh.
The Boy frowned and his lips quivered. At last he could hold in no
longer. Through chattering teeth he moaned:
"He'll kill Boney, Pa!"
"Let him alone!" was the sharp command. "I never see sich a dog in my
life. He'll kill that coon by hisself, I tell ye!"
Again his enemy broke Boney's grim hold on his throat, sprang back four
feet and, to the dog's surprise, made no effort to reach the water.
Instead he stood straight and quivering on his hind legs and faced his
enemy, his white needle-like fangs gleaming in two rows and his savage
fore-claws opening and closing with deadly threat.
The old warrior, taken completely by surprise by this new stratagem of
his foe, circled in a vain effort to reach the flank or rear. Each turn
only brought them again face to face, and at last he plunged straight on
the centre line of attack.
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