under
its breath, in a low growl.

The polecat said nothing, perhaps because he had nothing to say.

The beast was an otter, and an old one. Also, it appeared to be
suffering from a "grouch."

The polecat felt uncomfortable. He was eyeing the other's throat, and
marking just the place where he meant to take hold, if things came to
the worst; but he knew all the time that the otter, although its eyes
had never been removed for a fraction of a second off his face, was
really watching the egg. The otter was a female; probably she had
young to feed; the presence of the duckling darkly hinted at it. If
so, so much the worse for the polecat.

Then the otter put down her duckling, and growled again; but the
polecat might have been carved in unbarked oak for all the sign of life
that he gave. Then--she sailed in.

It was really very neatly and prettily done, for, as an exponent of
lithesome agility, the otter is--when the pine-marten is not
by--certainly quite It. The polecat seemed to side-twist double,
making some sort of lightning-play with his long neck and body as she
came, and--he got his hold. Yes, he got his hold all right. The only
thing was to stay there; for, as he was a polecat and a member of the
great, the famous, weasel tribe, part of his fighting creed was to
_stay there_.

When, however, hounds fail to puncture an otter's hide, any beast might
be pardoned for losing its grip; but he did not. Between the tame
hounds' fangs and his smaller wild ones was some difference--about the
difference between our teeth and a savage's, multiplied once or twice;
and the old she-otter, who had felt hounds' teeth in her life, realized
the difference. Also, it hurt, and the polecat did not lose his hold.

Then, maddened, wild with rage, the rage of one who expects a walk-over
and receives a bad jolt instead, that old she-otter really got to work.
She recoiled like a coiled snake, and the polecat felt fire in one loin.

It looked like the contortions of one big, furry beast twisted with
cramp, by the moonlight. You could not possibly separate the
combatants, or tell that there were two. But the polecat only fought
because he dared not expose his flank with the foe facing him. Now,
however, as they both rolled he--

Hi! It was done in an instant. At a moment when the roll brought him
on top, and when the otter was shifting her own hold for another, and
more deadly, which might have "put him to sleep" for