“And then they are like two dogs, like two beasts,” Piccolomini was wont to tell in after-years over a glass of wine in his little hotel in Glen Ellen.  “The dog lets go the man’s leg and jumps for the man’s throat.  And the man, rolling over, is at the dog’s throat.  Both his hands—­so—­he fastens about the throat of this dog.  And the dog makes no sound.  He never makes sound, before or after.  After the two hands of the man stop his breath he can not make sound.  But he is not that kind of a dog.  He will not make sound anyway.  And the horse stands and looks on, and the horse coughs.  It is very strange all that I see.

“And the man is mad.  Only a madman will do what I see him do.  I see the man show his teeth like any dog, and bite the dog on the paw, on the nose, on the body.  And when he bites the dog on the nose, the dog bites him on the check.  And the man and the dog fight like hell, and the dog gets his hind legs up like a cat.  And like a cat he tears the man’s shirt away from his chest, and tears the skin of the chest with his claws till it is all red with bleeding.  And the man yow-yowls, and makes noises like a wild mountain lion.  And always he chokes the dog.  It is a hell of a fight.

“And the dog is Mister Kennan’s dog, a fine man, and I have worked for him two years.  So I will not stand there and see Mister Kennan’s dog all killed to pieces by the man who fights like a mountain lion.  I run down the hill, but I am excited and forget my axe.  I run down the hill, maybe from this door to that door, twenty feet or maybe thirty feet.  And it is nearly all finished for the dog.  His tongue is a long ways out, and his eyes like covered with cobwebs; but still he scratches the man’s chest with his hind-feet and the man yow-yowls like a hen of the mountains.

“What can I do?  I have forgotten the axe.  The man will kill the dog.  I look for a big rock.  There are no rocks.  I look for a club.  I cannot find a club.  And the man is killing the dog.  I tell you what I do.  I am no fool.  I kick the man.  My shoes are very heavy—­not like shoes I wear now.  They are the shoes of the wood-chopper, very thick on the sole with hard leather, with many iron nails.  I kick the man on the side of the face, on the neck, right under the ear.  I kick once.  It is a good kick.  It is enough.  I know the place—­right under the ear.

“And the man lets go of the dog.  He shuts his eyes, and opens his mouth, and lies very still.  And the dog begins once more to breathe.  And with the breath comes the life, and right away he wants to kill the man.  But I say ‘No,’ though I am very much afraid of the dog.  And the man begins to become alive.  He opens his eyes and he looks at me like a mountain lion.  And his mouth makes a noise like a mountain lion.  And I am afraid of him like I am afraid of the dog.  What am I to do?  I have forgotten the axe.  I tell you what I do.  I kick the man once again