ng out to cut
him off on every side. There was no need. He never thought to move. Long
odds 'twould be--crushingly heavy; yet he loved them for it, and was
trembling already with the glory of the coming fight.

They were up to him now; the sheep-dogs walking round him on their toes,
stiff and short like cats on coals; their hacks a little humped; heads
averted; yet eying him askance.

And he remained stock-still nor looked at them. His great chin was
cocked, and his muzzle wrinkled in a dreadful grin. As he stood there,
shivering a little, his eyes rolling back, his breath grating in his
throat to set every bristle on end, he looked a devil indeed.

The Venus ranged alongside him. No preliminary stage for her; she never
walked where she could stand, or stood where she could lie. But stand
she must now, breathing hard through her nose, never taking her eyes off
that pad she had marked for her own. Close beside her were crop-eared
Grip and Grapple, looking up at the line above them where hairy neck and
shoulder joined. Behind was big Rasper, and close to him Lassie. Of the
others, each had marked his place, each taken up his post.

Last of all, old Shep took his stand full in front of his enemy, their
shoulders almost rubbing, head past head.

So the two stood a moment, as though they were whispering; each
diabolical, each rolling back his eyes to watch the other. While from
the little mob there rose a snarling, bubbling snore, like some giant
wheezing in his sleep.

Then like lightning each struck. Rearing high, they wrestled with
striving paws and the expression of fiends incarnate. Down they went,
Shep underneath, and the great dog with a dozen of these wolves of hell
upon him. Rasper, devilish, was riding on his back; the Venus--well for
him!--had struck and missed; but Grip and Grapple had their hold; and
the others, like leaping demoniacs, were plunging into the whirlpool
vortex of the fight.

And there, where a fortnight before he had fought and lost the battle of
the Cup, Red Wull now battled for his life.

Long odds! But what cared he? The long-drawn agony of the night was
drowned in that glorious delirium. The hate of years came bubbling
forth. In that supreme moment he would avenge his wrongs. And he went in
to fight, revelling like a giant in the red lust of killing.

Long odds! Never before had he faced such a galaxy of foes. His one
chance lay in quickness: to prevent the swarming crew getting thei