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208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
183
VII
At
last
after
three
long
years
of
fight
he
stood
before
them
alone,
confronting
twoscore
Dogs,
and
men
with
guns
to
back
them--but
facing
them
just
as
resolutely
as
I
saw
him
that
day
in
the
wintry
woods.
The
same
old
curl
was
on
his
lips--the
hard-knit
flanks
heaved
just
a
little,
but
his
green
and
yellow
eye
glowed
steadily.
The
Dogs
closed
in,
led
not
by
the
huge
Huskies
from
the
woods--they
evidently
knew
too
much
for
that--but
by
a
Bulldog
from
the
town;
there
was
scuffling
of
many
feet;
a
low
rumbling
for
a
time
replaced
the
yapping
of
the
pack;
a
flashing
of
those
red
and
grizzled
jaws,
a
momentary
hurl
back
of
the
onset,
and
again
he
stood
alone
and
braced,
the
grim
and
grand
old
bandit
that
he
was.
Three
times
they
tried
and
suffered.
Their
boldest
were
lying
about
him.
The
first
to
go
down
was
the
Bulldog.
Learning
wisdom
now,
the
Dogs
held
back,
less
sure;
but
his
square-built
chest
showed
never
a
sign
of
weakness
yet,
and
after
waiting
impatiently
he
advanced
a
few
steps,
and
thus,
alas!
gave
to
the
gunners
their
long-expected
chance.
Three
rifles
rang,
and
in
the
snow
Garou
went
down
at
last,
his
life
of
combat
done.
He
had
made
his
choice.
His
days
were
short
and
crammed
with
quick
events.
His
tale
of
many
peaceful
years
was
spent
in
three
of
daily
brunt.
He
picked
his
trail,
a
new
trail,
high
and
short.
He
chose
to
drink
his
cup
at
a
single
gulp,
and
break
the
glass-but
he
left
a
deathless
name.
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