Their aggressiveness was gone, and
they had the appearance of whipped curs.
A fifth came in out of the night. He was limping, and dragging a torn
foreleg. The head and throat of one of the others was red with blood. They
all lay flat on their bellies, as if expecting condemnation.
"We have failed," their attitude said; "we are beaten, and this is all of
us that are left."
Mutely Bruce and Langdon stared at them. They listened--waited. No other
came. And then they looked at each other.
"Two more of them gone," said Langdon.
Bruce turned to a pile of panniers and canvases and pulled out the
dog-leashes. Up in his tree Muskwa was all atremble. Within a few yards of
him he saw again the white-fanged horde that had chased Thor and had
driven him into the rock-crevice. Of the men he was no longer greatly
afraid. They had attempted him no harm, and he had ceased to quake and
snarl when one of them passed near. But the dogs were monsters. They had
given battle to Thor. They must have beaten him, for Thor had run away.
The tree to which Muskwa was fastened was not much more than a sapling, and
he lay in the saddle of a crotch five feet from the ground when Metoosin
led one of the dogs past him. The Airedale saw him and made a sudden spring
that tore the leash from the Indian's hand.
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