e whip, and sink its teeth in
the rider's leg. He saw the dog, with its weight, as it fell back to
earth, drag the man half out of the saddle. He saw the man, in an effort
to recover his balance, put his own weight on the bridle-reins. And he
saw the horse, half-rearing, half-tottering and stumbling, overthrow the
last shred of the man's balance so that he followed the dog to the
ground.

"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 v