creature's ears, lying flat against the savage head.
Hugh's head, shoulders and one arm were clear of the water: a few inches distant gleamed the white fangs of the puma. The fight for the life of the lamb was at close quarters at last. And Broken Fang had all the advantage. He was above and had room in plenty to strike; he had only to tap down with his paw or lash out with his deadly fangs. Hugh, on the other hand, had braced himself against the log and had only one arm free.
It came to Hugh that he might give up his attempt to save the lamb, slip back into the water, and be carried down out of the reach of the rending fangs. But even before the thought went fully home he had taken the opposite course. Perhaps it was because he was the shepherd—for the moment at least forgetting and ignoring all things but his guardianship of the sheep—and Broken Fang was an ancient enemy. Perhaps he instinctively realized that if he turned even for an instant those terrible talons would lash down at him. His instincts came sure and true, and he knew he must make no sudden motions. He began to pull himself upward toward the great cat.
He knew one single moment of blighting terror when he thought that the cougar was going to stand its ground. The animal crouched, his lips drew in a snarl, he raised one foot with ex-
