His teeth were not bared. His hackles were not
bristling. This was no fight; but a jolly game. Lad's dark eyes
danced with fun.
Midway of his charge, he checked himself. Not through fear, but
from utter astonishment. For his new acquaintance had done a
right non-quadrupedal thing. Bruin had reared himself upon his
hind legs; and was standing there, like a man, confronting the
dog. He towered, thus, ever so high above Lad's head.
His short arms, with their saber-shaped claws, were outstretched
toward Lad, as if in humble supplication. But there was nothing
supplicating or even civil in the tiny red eyes that squinted
ferociously down at the collie. Small wonder that Laddie halted
his own galloping advance; and stood doubtful!
The Master, a minute earlier, had turned out of the blankets for
his painfully icy morning plunge in the lakelet. The fanfare of
barking, a quarter-mile below, changed his intent. A true dogman
knows his dog's bark,--and its every shade of meaning,--as well
as though it were human speech. From the manner wherewith Lad had
given tongue, the Master knew he had cornered or treed something
quite out of the common.
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