There was no possibility that in his then condition Jan could withstand the shock of that furious impact. And he did not. Indeed, he spun through the air feet uppermost, and Bill, in his eyes a cold flame of elation, knew that when he did reach earth it would be to yield the throat-hold at which your fighting-dog always aims, and to die the death which he, Bill, had long pictured for the usurper of his office.
XXIX
THE FIGHT IN THE WOODS
The one thing for which Bill had made no allowance was the thing of which he could not possibly have any knowledge; the strength of Jan"s subconscious self which had now been wide awake for some time.
During the fraction of time which Jan"s body spent in mid-air this subconscious self of his worked several miracles simultaneously. It jagged the whole of Jan"s outer consciousness into the widest wakefulness. It explained to him the inner meaning of most things that had happened since Jean shot the moose. And acting through a muscular system which, always fine, had been made well-nigh perfect during the past six weeks, it succeeded in accomplishing the patently impossible and bringing Jan to earth again almost erect, certainly on his four feet and with spread jaws pointing toward Bill--instead of landing him on the broad of his back where Bill had quite properly and logically expected to see him.
Now began the fight between Bill and Jan, ex-leader and leader; the veteran northland dog, comparatively empty and exquisitely poised and prepared; and the new-comer from the outside world, terribly full, heavy, and unprepared. All, or nearly all, had fallen out as Bill had planned. Their distance from the camp was a safe one; Jan was grossly bloated and he, Bill, was in quite perfect fighting trim.
Only one thing was wrong: Jan ought, by all the calculations of his enemy, to be lying feet up with his throat exposed; and instead he was standing, and as it happened, on slightly raised ground, waiting with dripping jaws for Bill"s attack. Bill knew not fear. His brain was as brilliantly lighted, his furnace of hate as hot within him, as ever.
But--the new-wakened Jan"s snarl was certainly terrific, and his bulk, as he stood there with erect stern, bristling hackles, high-lifted lips, and legs planted like b.u.t.tresses--the bulk of him was immense.
"Come on!" his roaring snarl seemed to say. And fiery Bill, like a wrestler, pranced to and fro for an opening. Rage filled him to the throat, but never for an instant did it cloud his vision. Jan"s instinct kept him still, warning him that he was too heavy now for the lightning footwork of the wolves, that his sole chance lay in his strength, and that by the same token his strength must be conserved.
Whoof! Tsss!
Jan"s right ear hung in two separate flaps. Valiantly he strove to extort some penalty by thrust of ma.s.sive shoulder and clash of fangs.
But Bill to all seeming was twice his own length away in the same instant that he flashed in to the attack. Jan breathed hard in a defiant snarl.
Hup! Grrrr!
The ma.s.sive shoulder which had missed its thrust was cut clear into the bone, a groove four inches long, and in the selfsame fraction of a second the catlike Bill, from two lengths distant, darted his red tongue in and out at Jan in cold ribaldry.
A little show of temper now on Jan"s part had been a thing of priceless worth to Bill. Indeed, it was the ex-leader"s one desire, its provocation his sole objective for the moment. This it was that drew his pointed red tongue in and out like a flame, this the tuning-fork that gave his snarl its key; the note of insolent, jeering defiance.
"You hog! You"re bloated. Ungainly beast, I can bleed you when and where I will. Take that!" snarled Bill, as he flashed in again, tearing clean away a little section of soft-coated fine skin from the left side of Jan"s dewlap, where Desdemona"s blood in him left him but lightly covered.
(In the bloodhound the skin is very loose and fine in texture all about the head and flews and dewlap. In Jan it hardened quickly on the neck, where the mat of his dense coat thickened.)
Again and again, not fewer than a dozen times in all, Bill drank deep of sheer delight as he flashed in and out upon Jan, drawing blood every single time, reaching bone more than once or twice, and winning back to safety without the loss of so much as one hair.
Jan no longer snarled. He had no breath to waste. He was standing to his fearsome punishment like a bulldog now. And like a bulldog he seemed, in a heavy, dogged way, and almost to glory in the bitter thrusts he took.
Then Bill overstepped himself. Striving to win a second bite from the one rush, he got the full thrust of Jan"s b.l.o.o.d.y right shoulder so shrewdly directed that Bill went down under it as corn under a sickle.
So far so good for Jan; and by good rights that thrust should have given him his lead to victory. But the plain truth is Jan was too full of moose-meat. He plunged down and forward for the throat-hold--appreciably too late--and lost more than blood and fur from his flank as Bill wheeled into action again without any apparent loss of poise, though he had turned completely over on the snow.
Jan breathed like a bull as he resumed the defensive; and like a bull he lowered his head with a swaying motion as though to ease his labored breathing and drain his jaws of the spume that clogged them. He was bleeding now from more than a dozen wounds. The frost nipped those wounds stingingly. The hard trampled snow about his feet was flecked with blood and foam--his life-blood, his foam. Bill remained unscathed and to all seeming as coldly calculating as ever.
At this stage a backer of Jan (if any such reckless wight existed) might easily have booked a hundred to one against the big hound from an audience of experienced northland men, had any been there to see this wonderful fray. It seemed a breathless business enough, with never a moment for anything like reflection. But of a truth, as Jan swung his ma.s.sive head now in a gesture which added blazing coals to the fire of triumphant hate in Bill, his mind was busy with a mort of curious things. There were many differences between Jan and the average dog, and this ill.u.s.trated one of them. As he stood heavily swaying to Bill"s lightning attacks, he saw pictures in his busy mind through a mist of blood; pictures that made the whole business of this fight far more terrible for him than it would have been for most dogs.
The dominating picture Jan saw, and the one that kept forcing itself forward upon the screen of his imagination through and over all the others that came and went, was a picture of himself on his back in the trampled snow. Bill"s jaws were at his throat in this picture, and his blood ebbed out, an awful tide, flooding the snow with its crimson for as far as he could see. And then the picture moved and showed him the satisfied, triumphant Bill, walking proudly away to the camp to his regained leadership; and himself, Jan, stark, helpless, dead, in that forsaken clear patch in the woods with only the cold gleam of the aurora borealis to bear him company.
Another picture showed him the stripped framework of the moose and his own reckless feasting there with the rest of the pack, while Bill, pitilessly far-seeing Bill, watched them and abstained. Jan saw it all now and gulped upon his bitterness as he realized how cunningly it had all been planned, and just why it was that, while his enemy seemed made of steel springs actuated by electricity, he, Jan, was heavy and clumsy as an English house-dog.
So that was the way of this b.l.o.o.d.y business thought Jan as, swifter than a bullet, Bill registered another visit to his streaming right shoulder.
There was no trace left now of that queer stubborn sort of bulldog glory in the endurance of punishment which Jan had shown during the first half-dozen attacks. His stern was still erect, bladelike, his hackles almost as stiff as before. But the flame of his deep-hawed and now glazing eyes had died down to a dim red smolder; his hard breathing spared nothing for a snarl now, and his head and body movements were, if anything, a little slower than before.
And in and out among the vivid pictures in his mind of immediate local happenings came swiftly pa.s.sing little silhouettes of people and happenings farther away in point of time and distance. He saw d.i.c.k Vaughan, in scarlet tunic and yellow-striped breeches, sitting on a box with his, Jan"s, head between his knees, his hands fondling the long ears that now were so terribly torn and b.l.o.o.d.y. He saw the great, gray, lordly Finn pacing gravely beside the Master and Betty Murdoch on the Downs at Nuthill; himself trotting to and fro between Betty and the n.o.ble hound that sired him. He heard d.i.c.k Vaughan"s long, throbbing whistle, and then the old familiar call:
"Jan, boy! Ja--an!"
And as he heard this call he had never once failed to answer, some subtle force at work in Jan loosed the cord that had seemed to hold him fettered to the heavy aftermath of his greed that night. His heart swelled within him in answer to the sovereign"s call, till it seemed to send new blood, hot and compelling, racing through all his veins into the last least crevices of his remotest members. His ma.s.sive head ceased to sway. It was uplifted in the moment that a roaring baying cry escaped him; he knew not how or why. And that was the moment called psychological. For it was the instant of a new and different attack from Bill, this tremendous moment of Jan"s real awakening.
For some minutes now, while he flashed in and out, bleeding his prey in preparation for the final a.s.sault, Bill had noted with infinite cold joy that swaying motion of Jan"s great head. He knew it well for the gesture of the baited creature, and as the head swung lower the flames of Bill"s hate shot higher and ever higher; for this lower swaying, as he knew, was the signal of the end for which he had striven so cunningly and long.
At the moment that Jan heard d.i.c.k"s call, Bill drew up his muscles for administration of the final thrust. (The bull had bled sufficiently. Now for the steel in the nape.) Bill leaped, red froth flying from his bared fangs. As he leaped, Jan"s strange baying roar smote upon his senses with a chill foreboding. He knew nothing of the call that had loosed from its lethargy the essential Jan. But the roar spoke of doom and Bill flinched; wavered in his attack, as a horse will momentarily waver at a high leap. That peril might have pa.s.sed. But it was part of a double blunder. The leap had been wrongly conceived. It had come too soon. And now the leaper balked, conscious of error; conscious also, dimly, of some terrific change in Jan, heralded by his awe-inspiring cry.
Bill jarred down to earth, short of his mark, his feet ill placed, his world awry. And in that instant the big hound was upon him like a bolt from heaven: the strangest attack surely that ever dog faced, or so it must have seemed to stricken Bill, the northland fighter for the killing throat-hold, who never had seen the famous killing grip that was always used by Jan"s tall sire, Finn the wolfhound.
Jan came down upon Bill as though from the clouds. (He stood a full four inches higher than Bill.) His huge jaws, stretched to cracking-point, took Bill where the base of the skull meets the spinal cord. One jaw on either side that rope of life, they drove down; through the matted armor of Bill"s coat, through skin and flesh, and on to their ultimate destination, under the crushing pressure of a hundred and forty pounds of steel-like muscle, bone, and sinew, the invincible product of the trail-life developed upon a foundation of scientifically attained health and strength.
Bill, the fearless and unbeaten, now screamed aloud; not for mercy, but in mortal pain. His tense body squirmed, convulsed, under Jan"s great weight like a thing galvanized by electricity.
Jan"s jaws sank deeper.
Bill snapped at the b.l.o.o.d.y snow in his frenzy, actually breaking his own fangs.
Jan"s jaws sank deeper.
A long horrible shudder pa.s.sed through the squirming body of Bill. And Jan"s jaws sank a little deeper. Then with a dreadful sucking sound and a sharp gasp for breath, those jaws parted and were withdrawn; for Bill"s long fight and his life were ended now, and Jan was quite alone in that desolate place.
x.x.x
REAL LEADERSHIP
The thrifty Jean was far from pleased when, on the morning after his lucky moose-shot, he found that the sled-team was short of one dog. As it happened, Jake was the first to note the absence of Bill, the ex-leader; and while he looked this way and that for the missing dog, Jean, by a thought process which went a little farther, called Jan to him and proceeded to look over the big hound.
"You don"t need to look for no Beel," he said, grimly, to Jake. "Look thees Jan, here. By gar! that was some fight, now I"m telling you. See that, an" thees. Look that ear. See thees shoulder. By gar! that Beel he fight good an" hard. But when he fight Jan, tha"s the feenish--for Beel."
Jake and Jean together made the best job they could of patching up Jan"s wounds a little against the frost and the rub of trace and breast-band.
"Good dog, too, that blame Bill," mused Jake.
"Sure, he was good dog, very good dog; by gar! yes," agreed Jean. "But thees Jan, hee"s best of all dogs. No good for Beel to fight heem. Only he was too blame full o" moose-meat, he don" lose no blood to Beel, you bet. That why Beel he don" eat las" night. Seeck? No. He too cunning, that Beel." A long pause, while Jean spat out chewed tobacco and juice over one of Jan"s worst wounds, with a view to its antiseptic and healing properties. And then, on a grunting sigh: "Ah, well, I reckon that makes Jan"s price five hunderd. That blame Beel, he worth two hunderd any day."
So, by Jean"s simple commercial method, the big hound"s wounds and the previous night"s great fight were best summed up by reckoning that they added two hundred dollars to Jan"s market price. And, all things considered, he was very likely right; for there could be no sort of doubt about it, the episode had taught Jan lessons he never would forget; it had advanced his education hugely and added a big slice to the sum of his knowledge of the wild northland life. Therefore it had made him the more fit to survive in the north; and hence it must have added to his value.
Dogs may not do much talking one with another, as humans understand talk; but their methods of intercourse suffice them. Just as Jean saw no need to hunt for the missing Bill, once he had looked over Jan"s wounds, so every dog in the team knew perfectly well why Bill was not of their number that morning. They asked no questions; but they knew. The thing was indelibly recorded in their minds. Bill, who had mastered them, had disputed Jan"s mastery. And now Bill was no more. They would not forget.