With a fierce snarl the otter took hold of the back of my ankle,
its teeth penetrating the skin and tearing it over. I had sense to
bend down and grasp the animal with my hands and rapidly snap its
backbone, finishing my work by dashing a heavy stone upon its head.
Forgetting my own hurt, I then turned to look after my dog.
Selta was lying upon the wet stone, the blood trickling from her
throbbing neck. I knelt down beside my faithful companion, and took
the injured foot in my hand. The dog had strength only to raise her
head in recognition, with a mournful look in her pleading eyes.
"My poor doggie!" I moaned, utterly cast down; and my falling tears
were mingled with Selta's blood. The dog was dead.
Chapter XVII. How The Golden Rule Was Kept.
My first thought on leaving the scene of this combat was to let the
dead otter lie where it had fallen; but I remembered that young
Thora Kinlay had once in my hearing expressed a wish to have an
otter's skin, of which to make a pair of gloves, and I determined
to make use of the animal I had killed. But I could not carry both
the otter and my poor Selta, whom I had already determined to lay
to rest in the sea, and my only course was to strip the otter of
its skin then and there. This I did with help of my pocketknife,
and in spite of the heavy rain that poured in streams down my back.
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