If the dog had been other than his own loved chum, the Master might have stood there and watched its outcome.

But he was enough of a woodsman to know there could, in all probability, be but one end to such a fight.
Lad weighed eighty pounds,--an unusually heavy weight for a collie that carries no loose fat,--and he was the most compactly powerful dog of his size the Master had ever seen.

Also, when he chose to exert it, Lad had the swiftness of a wildcat and the battling prowess of a tiger.
Yet all this would scarce carry him to victory, or even to a draw, against a black bear several times heavier than himself and with the ability to rend with his claws as well as with his teeth.

Once let Lad's foot slip, in charge or in elusive retreat,--once let him misjudge time or distance--and he must be crushed to a pulp or ripped to ribbons.
Wherefore, the Master brought his rifle to his shoulder.

His finger curled about the trigger.