Short Stories
death was well worth a little bodily suffering, only it was unfor-
tunate that he should miss the hanging of the Beaver.
And so he mused, till his eyes chanced to fall upon Batard,
head between fore paws and stretched on the ground asleep.
And their Leclere ceased to muse. He studied the animal closely,
striving to sense if the sleep were real or feigned. Batard's sides
were heaving regularly, but Leclere felt that the breath came and
went a shade too quickly; also he felt that there was a vigilance
or alertness to every hair that belied unshackling sleep. He
would have given his Sunrise claim to be assured that the dog
was not awake, and once, when one of his joints cracked, he
looked quickly and guiltily at Batard to see if he roused. He did
not rouse then but a few minutes later he got up slowly and lazi-
ly, stretched, and looked carefully about him.
"Sacredam," said Leclere under his breath.
Assured that no one was in sight or hearing, Batard sat
down, curled his upper lip almost into a smile, looked up at
Leclere, and licked his chops.
"Ah see my feenish," the man said, and laughed sardonically
aloud.
Batard came nearer, the useless ear wabbling, the good ear
cocked forward with devilish comprehension. He thrust his
head on one side quizzically, and advanced with mincing, play-
ful steps. He rubbed his body gently against the box till it shook
and shook again. Leclere teetered carefully to maintain his equi-
librium.
"Batard," he said calmly, "look out. Ah keel you."
Batard snarled at the word and shook the box with greater
force. Then he upreared, and with his fore paws threw his wei-
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