big dog threshed madly and swung and twisted, howling with increasing pain and terror and increasing weakness, while Jack’s face was as peaceful as though he were a puppy once more and hanging to his mother’s neck instead of her breast, asleep.  By and by, Whizzer ceased to shake and began to pant; and, thereupon, Jack took his turn at shaking, gently at first, but with maddening regularity and without at all loosening his hold.  The big dog was too weak to resist soon and, when Jack began to jerk savagely, Whizzer began to gasp.

“You take yo’ dawg off,” called Daws, sharply.

Chad never moved.

“Will you say ’nough for him?” he asked, quietly; and the tall one of the silent three laughed.

“Call him off, I tell ye,” repeated Daws, savagely; but again Chad never moved, and Daws started for a club.  Chad’s new friend came forward.

“Hol’on, now, hol’on,” he said, easily.  “None o’ that, I reckon.”

Daws stopped with an oath.  “Whut you got to do with this, Tom Turner?”

“You started this fight,” said Tom.

“I don’t keer ef I did—­take him off,” Daws answered, savagely.

“Will you say ’nough fer him?” said Chad again, and again Tall Tom chuckled.  The little brother clinched his fists and turned white with fear for Whizzer and fury for Chad, while Daws looked at the tall Turner, shook his head from side to side, like a balking steer, and dropped his eyes.

“Y-e-s,” he said, sullenly.

“Say it, then,” said Chad, and this time Tall Tom roared aloud, and even his two silent brothers laughed.  Again Daws, with a furious oath, started for the dogs with his club, but Chad’s ally stepped between.

“You say ’nough, Daws Dillon,” he said, and Daws looked into the quiet half-smiling face and at the stalwart two grinning behind.

“Takin’ up agin yo’ neighbors fer a wood-colt’ airye?”

“I’m a-takin’ up fer what’s right and fair.  How do you know he’s a wood-colt—­an’ suppose he is?  You say ’nough now, or—­”

Again Daws looked at the dogs.  Jack had taken a fresh grip and was shaking savagely and steadily.  Whizzer’s tongue was out—­once his throat rattled.

“Nough!” growled Daws, angrily, and the word was hardly jerked from his lips before Chad was on his feet and prying Jack’s jaws apart.  “He ain’t much hurt,” he said, looking at the bloody hold which Jack had clamped on his enemy’s throat, “but he’d a-killed him though, he al’ays does.  Thar ain’t no chance fer no dog, when Jack gits that hold.”

Then he raised his eyes and looked into the quivering face of the owner of the dog—­the little fellow—­who, with the bellow of a yearling bull, sprang at him.  Again Chad’s lips took a straight red line and being on one knee was an advantage, for, as he sprang up, he got both underholds and there was a mighty tussle, the spectators yelling with frantic delight.