But
the dull teeth merely barked the leg's tough skin. And a
spasmodic jerk ripped it loose from the dog's hold.
Lad barely had time to spring aside, to dodge the wheeling sow.
He was panting heavily. His wounds were hurting and weakening
him. His wind was gone. His heart was doing queer things which
made him sick and dizzy. His strength was turning to water. His
courage alone blazed high and undimmed.
Not once did it occur to him to seek safety in flight. He must
have known the probable outcome. For Lad knew much. But the great
heart did not flinch at the prospect. Feebly, yet dauntlessly, he
came back to the hopeless battle. The Mistress was in danger. And
he alone could help.
No longer able to avoid the rushes, he met some of them with
pathetically useless jaws; going down under others and rising
with ever greater slowness and difficulty. The sow's ravening
teeth found a goal, more than once, in the burnished mahogany
coat which the Mistress brushed every day with such loving care.
The pronged hoofs had twice more cut him as he strove to roll
aside from their onslaught after one of his heavy tumbles.
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