For the fourth time David spoke;

“You poor, God-forsaken brute!”

There was friendliness, compassion, wonderment in his voice, and he held down a hand that he had drawn from one of the thick mittens.  Another moment and he would have bent over, but a cry stopped him so sharply and suddenly that he jumped back.

Thoreau stood within ten feet of him, horrified.  He clutched a rifle in one hand.

“Back—­back, m’sieu!” he cried sharply.  “For the love of God, jump back.”

He swung his rifle into the crook of his arm.  David did not move, and from Thoreau he looked down coolly at the dog.  Baree was a changed beast.  His one eye was fastened upon the fox breeder.  His bared, bleeding lips revealed inch-long fangs between which there came now a low and menacing snarl.  The tawny crest along his spine was like a brush; from a puzzled toleration of David his posture and look had changed into deadly hatred for Thoreau, and fear of him.  For a moment after his first warning the Frenchman’s voice seemed to stick in his throat as he saw what he believed to be David’s fatal disregard of his peril.  He did not speak to him again.  His eyes were on the dog.  Slowly he raised his rifle; David heard the click of the hammer—­and Baree heard it.  There was something in the sharp, metallic thrill of it that stirred his brute instinct.  His lips fell over his fangs, he whined, and then, on his belly, he dragged himself slowly toward David!

It was a miracle that Thoreau the Frenchman looked upon then.  He would have staked his very soul—­wagered his hopes of paradise against a babiche thread—­that what he saw could never have happened between Baree and man.  In utter amazement he lowered his gun.  David, looking down, was smiling into that one, wide-open, bloodshot eye of Baree’s, his hand reaching out.  Foot by foot Baree slunk to him on his belly, and when at last he was at David’s feet he faced Thoreau again, his terrible teeth snarling, a low, rumbling growl in his throat.  David reached down and touched him, even as he heard the fox breeder make an incoherent sound in his beard.  At the caress of his hand a great shudder passed through Baree’s body, as if he had been stung.  That touch was the connecting link through which passed the electrifying thrill of a man’s soul reaching out to a brute instinct.

Baree had found a man friend!

When David stepped away from him to Thoreau’s side as much of the Frenchman’s face as was not hidden under his beard was of a curious ashen pallor.  He seemed to make a struggle before he could get his voice.

And then:  “M’sieu, I tell you it is incredible!  I cannot believe what I have seen.  It was a miracle!”

He shuddered.  David was looking at him, a bit puzzled.  He could not quite comprehend the fear that had possessed him.  Thoreau saw this, and pointing to Baree—­a gesture that brought a snarl from the beast—­he said: