The hare was lying on her back, weakly kicking out the last of her life with her hindlegs, and a stocky, short-nosed, evil, leering, side-striped jackal was standing over her. He had done the deed.  And our black-back knew that side-stripe, had met him before.  The two families lived only a few hundred yards apart, and it was Mrs. Side-stripe who was responsible for our friend’s wife’s crippled condition at that moment.  This was a typical side-striper, one of the creeping, hunting-by-surprise-and-pounce sort, and it may be that he had never run down any prey worth speaking about in his life.  In a way, he was the very opposite from our black-back, who was mostly legs, and a bit of a sportsman, and, I believe, really delighted in a good ringing hunt.  Wherefore there was not much cause for surprise at the bitter blood-feud that had gradually grown up between them, till now things had come pretty well to a head.

The other beast folded back his lean upper-lip till his teeth glistened, and grinned at him—­a menacing grin.  I don’t know if he guessed that it was, by all the laws of the chase, the black-back’s hare, but he knew that he had pounced upon her as she passed—­pounced like a cat, as was his way, what time he was profiting by his enemy’s absence to keep that enemy’s lame wife indoors, and from hunting even for insects or fruit, by prowling round her lair, and threatening her with growls.  Perhaps he had designs upon her puppies.  Perhaps his wife had.  And perhaps Mrs. Mesomelas knew that.  It is difficult to tell.

There was a sort of a blackish-tawny line drawn to the side-stripe—­whose other and learned name was Adustus—­and back.  It scarcely seemed possible that the black-backed little chap had moved, but he had—­leaped in and out again, chopping wickedly with a sword-like gleam of fangs as he did so.  The other pivoted, quick as thought, and counter-slashed, and, before you could wink, Mesomelas was in and away, in and out, once, twice, and again.  One bite sent a little flick of the other’s brown fur a-flying; one missed, one got home, and the side-stripe’s ugly snarling changed to a yap to say so.

Twice the two beasts whirled round and round, like roulette-balls, the black-back always on the outside, always doing the attacking, dancing as if on air, light as a gnat.  Once he got right in, and the foe sprang at his throat.  He was not there when the enemy’s teeth closed, but his fangs were, and fang closed on fang, and the resulting tussle was not pretty to behold.

Mesomelas cleared himself from that scrunch with very red lips, but never stopped his whirling, light-cavalry form of attack.  He was trying to tease the other into dashing after him, and giving up the advantage which his foe had in size and strength, but it was no good; and finally Adustus suddenly scurried into cover, redder than he had been, and our black-back, too, had to bolt for his hole, as an aardwolf, clumsy, hyena-like, and cowardly, but strong enough for them, scenting blood, came up to investigate.