Then up came his head. Out went his
forefeet. Over spun the canoe. There was as big a commotion as if a
whale was there.
"I managed to keep behind the brute so as to dodge his kicks; and
gripping the axe in one hand, I dug the other into his long hair. He was
mad scared. He started to swim for the opposite shore, which was about
half a mile distant, with me in tow, snorting like a locomotive. As his
feet touched ground near the bank, I jumped upon his back. With one blow
of the axe I split his spine. Perhaps you'll think that was awful cruel,
but it wasn't done for the glory of killing."
"And what became of the head? Did you sell it?" asked Dol, who was, as
usual, the first to break a breathless silence.
There was no reply. Herb feigned not to hear.
"Did you get two hundred dollars for the head?" questioned the impetuous
youngster again, in a higher key, his curiosity swelling.
"I didn't. It was stole."
The answer was a growl, like the growl of a hurt animal whose sore has
been touched. The tone of it was so different from the woodsman's
generally strong, happy-go-lucky manner of speech, that Dol blenched as
if he had been struck.
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