Miki’s four feet were tied so firmly to the pieces of sapling that he could not move.  A cord about his neck was fastened to one of the crossbars, and over his jaws Le Beau had improvised a muzzle of unbreakable babiche thong.  He had done all this before Miki regained consciousness after the clubbing.  The woman stared, and there was a sudden catch in her breath after the little cry that had fallen from her lips.  Many times she had seen Jacques club his dogs, but never had she seen one clubbed like this.  Miki’s head and shoulders were a mass of frozen blood.  And then she saw his eyes.  They were looking straight up at her.  She turned, fearing that Jacques might see what was in her face.

Le Beau dragged his burden straight into the cabin, and then stood back and rubbed his hands as he looked at Miki on the floor.  Nanette saw that he was in a strangely good humour, and waited.

“By the Blessed Saints, but you should have seen him kill Netah—­ almost,” he exulted.  “Oui; he had him down by the throat quicker than you could flash your eye, and twice he was within an inch of my life when I fought him with the club.  Dieu!  I say, what will happen to Durant’s dog when they meet at Post Fort 0’ God?  I will make a side wager that he kills him before the second-hand of Le FACTEUR’S watch, goes round twice.  He is splendid!  Watch him, Nanette, while I go make a corral for him alone.  If I put him in with the pack he will kill them all.”

Miki’s eyes followed him as he disappeared through the cabin door.  Then he looked swiftly back to Nanette.  She had drawn nearer.  Her eyes were shining as she bent over him.  A snarl rose in Miki’s throat, and died there.  For the first time he was looking upon woman.  He sensed, all at once, a difference as vast as the world itself.  In his bruised and broken body his heart stood still.  Nanette spoke to him.  Never in his life had he heard a voice like hers—­soft and gentle, with a breaking sob in it; and then—­ miracle of miracles—­she had dropped on her knees and her hands were at his head!

In that instant his spirit leapt back through the generations—­ back beyond his father, and his father’s father; back to that far day when the blood in the veins of his race was “just dog,” and he romped with children, and listened to the call of woman, and worshipped at the shrine of humankind.  And now the woman had run quickly to the stove, and was back again with a dish of warm water and a soft cloth, and was bathing his head, talking to him all the time in that gentle, half-sobbing voice of pity and of love.  He closed his eyes—­no longer afraid.  A great sigh heaved out of his body.  He wanted to put out his tongue and lick the slim white hands that were bringing him peace and comfort.  And then the strangest thing of all happened.  In the crib the baby sat up and began to prattle.  It was a new note to Miki, a new song of Life’s spring-tide to him, but it thrilled him as nothing else in all the world had ever thrilled him before.  He opened his eyes wide—­and whined.