The two great creatures rolled in a struggle, which I knew must be fatal to Watch, but thought he could engage Tom's attention until I got my hatchet.

I ran back for it, took the dinner-horn and blew a blast that would bring one man, and I did not want a thousand.

Then I ran back to the scene of conflict, horn in one hand, hatchet in the other, and lo! no conflict was there.

No Tom! no dog! nothing but the torn and bloody ground.

Horror of horrors, there was a broken chain! Tom loose! Tom free! Now some one would be murdered.
I turned to look, and there on a log not a rod from me, he stood with head erect and tail drooping, his white throat, jaws and broken chain dripping with blood, and with my first thankfulness that he had not escaped, came admiration for the splendid sight: the bold, sweeping curves and graceful motion as he turned his head to listen.