very act
of closing on his companion's throat.

He had no time to assist Drake to his feet, for the other two brutes
were in the very act of springing as he turned away from the dead dog
and cocked his weapon for a second shot. Strangely enough, this couple
entirely ignored Drake, and confined their attentions to Frobisher, who
only saved himself by making a rapid leap backward, and so avoiding
their first charge. Baulked in their spring, they seemed, like almost
all other savage animals, dazed for a moment, as though they could not
understand why they had missed their prey; and that momentary hesitation
gave Frobisher an opportunity to pull the trigger of his revolver, while
Drake, who had caught sight of his own weapon, half-buried in the sand a
few yards away, executed a quick roll in that direction, and in a second
had the revolver in his hand. Frobisher's bullet struck the creature he
aimed at in the upper part of the near fore leg, and, the heavy missile
shattering the bone like a pipe stem, the brute collapsed upon the
ground with a deep, raucous howl of pain.

At the same moment Drake raised his revolver and fired as he sat; and
this time his aim was excellent, the bullet striking the hound Frobisher
had just lamed full in the spine, severing the backbone and killing the
creature instantly. The other dog, apparently cowed by the death of its
mates, stood motionless, in a crouching attitude, glaring at each man in
turn, and seemingly undecided which to attack first; and its hesitation
or cowardice was fatal. The two men fired almost together, one bullet
drilling a hole in its skull, and the other smashing in at one side of
its body and out at the other. It did not live long enough to raise
even a whimper, but dropped dead where it stood, a pool of blood
immediately welling out from beneath the carcass.

"By Jove, Drake!" exclaimed Frobisher, "that shot of yours finished him
off in fine style. But what in the world are you using in that pistol?"
he went on, as he turned the body over and curiously examined a great
hole in the brute's side. "I've seen wounds like this in a man who has
been hit with a piece of `pot-leg' or a handful of nails, but never with
an ordinary bullet."

Drake winked. "That", he remarked, "is a little device of my own. I
have often noticed that it is a very difficult matter to bring down a
man, especially a fanatical savage, with an ordinary bullet; it goes in
at one side and