A born fighter, he was now obsessed with but one idea, namely, to destroy this smaller and faster opponent who was hurting him so outrageously.

As far as the beach comber was concerned: it was a murder-battle now, with no question of mercy asked or given.
The collie had been viewing this astounding scene in eager interest.

Never before, in his short life, had he seen two humans fight.

And, even now, he was not at all certain that it was a fight and not some intensely thrilling game.

Thus had he watched two boys wrestle and box, in his own puppyhood.
And, for venturing to jump into that jolly fracas, he had been scolded and sent back to his kennel.
Yet, there was something about this clash, between the giant who had mistreated him and the softer-voiced man who had rescued him, which spoke of mad excitement, and which stirred the collie's own excitable temperament to the very depths.
Dancingly, he pattered around the fighters, tulip ears cocked, deep-set eyes aglow, his fanfare of barks echoing far back through the silent woods.
The beach comber, rallying from the dual jaw-bombardment, bored back at his foe, taking the heaviest and most scientific punishment, in a raging attempt to gather Brice once more into the trap of his terrible arms.