But this
was the Allan cat. He had often seen the girls carry it about in their
arms; and while it seemed a strange perversion to caress a kitten when
there were puppies about, or even babies, still the peculiarities of
your Master's Family must be respected. Even, if necessary, to the
extreme limit of defending their pet cats.
Then, too, there was something that had appealed to him in the plucky
stand of the terrified little creature. Eyes dilated with fear, every
hair on end, sputtering and spitting, she had unsheathed her tiny claws
and was prepared to make a brave fight for her life. The chances were
hopelessly against her--the dogs did not intend to let her run--and
Dubby felt that it was butchery, not sport.
Also, if Texas was hurt, the girls would be sad, and cry, and not play
for a long time. He knew, because that happened when their terrier Tige
was run over. And so, with one bound, he jumped upon the instigator of
the trouble, and caught him by the shoulder with his still strong, sharp
teeth. The other dogs wheeled in surprise; and in an instant there was a
battle as bloody as it was short and decisive. Dubby was a marvelous
tactician--the others only novices, and in a very brief period there
were three well-minced malamutes who limped disconsolately in different
directions; leaving a conquering hero on the field, with the spoils of
war--a ruffled gray kitten in a shivering state of uncertainty as to
her ultimate fate, but too weak to make any further defense.
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