With eight furry legs scratching and tearing furiously, and the two fighters rolling and twisting and contorting themselves like a pair of windmills gone mad, it was almost impossible for Miki to tell who was getting the worst of it--Neewa or Pete; at least he was in doubt for a matter of three or four minutes.
Then he recognized Neewa's voice.

It was very faint, but for all that it was an unmistakable bawl of pain.
Smothered under Pete's heavier body Neewa began to realize, at the end of those three or four minutes, that he had tackled more than was good for him.

It was altogether Pete's size and not his fighting qualities, for Neewa had him outpointed there.

But he fought on, hoping for some good turn of luck, until at last Pete got him just where he wanted him and began raking him up and down his sides until in another three minutes he would have been half skinned if Miki hadn't judged the moment ripe for intervention.

Even then Neewa was taking his punishment without a howl.
In another instant Miki had Pete by the ear.