Baree watched him as he picked up a stick close at his side--a bit offirewood. Pierrot had chased him, but this was the first time he hadbeen near enough to the man-monster to see the yellow glow inside his eyes.They were not like the eyes of the wonderful creature who had almostcaught him in the web of her hair, and who had crawled after him underthe rock. They were the eyes of a beast. They made him shrink and tryto draw his head back into the blanket as the stick was raised. At thesame time he snarled. His black fangs gleamed in the firelight. Hisears were flat. He wanted to sink his teeth in the yellow throat where hehad already drawn blood.

The stick fell. It fell again and again, and when McTaggart was done,Baree lay half stunned, his eyes partly closed by the blows, and hismouth bleeding.

"That's the way we take the devil out of a wild dog," snarledMcTaggart. "I guess you won't try the biting game again, eh, youthfulster?A thousand devils--but you went almost to the bone of this hand!"

He began washing the wound again. Baree's teeth had sunk deep, andthere was a troubled look in the factor's face. It sometimes was July--a badmonth for bites. From his kit he got a teeny flask of whisky and turneda bit of the raw liquor on the wound, cursing Baree as it burned intohis flesh.