His one red eye looked steadily up at David.
For the fourth time David spoke; "You poor, God-forsaken brute!" There was friendliness, compassion, wonderment in his voice, and he held down a hand that he had drawn from one of the thick mittens.

Another moment and he would have bent over, but a cry stopped him so sharply and suddenly that he jumped back.
Thoreau stood within ten feet of him, horrified.

He clutched a rifle in one hand.
"Back--back, m'sieu!" he cried sharply.

"For the love of God, jump back." He swung his rifle into the crook of his arm.

David did not move, and from Thoreau he looked down coolly at the dog.