He had probably been thinking it over, and come to the conclusion that they were getting too bumptious.
Darting up through the water, he had snapped savagely at the careless player's throat.
"But the latter--it was the female, and spry, I can tell you--had felt that darting terror even before she had time to see it, and twisted aside like an eel.

So instead of catching her by the throat, as he had so amiably intended, the mink only got her leg, up close by the shoulder.

It was a deep and merciless grip; but instead of squealing--which she could not have done anyhow, being already under water--the Little Furry One just sank her sharp white teeth into the back of her enemy's neck, and held on for dear life.

It was _exactly_ the right thing to do, though she did not know it.

For she had got her grip so high up on the mink's neck that he could not twist his head around far enough to catch her by the throat.