No puppy claws were they, but the stout claws of a mature dog that were stiffened by a backing of hard muscles.

And they ripped naked chest and abdomen full length again and again until the whole front of the man was streaming red.

Harley Kennan did not dare chance a shot, so closely were the combatants locked.

Instead, stepping in close; he smashed down the butt of his automatic upon the side of the man's head.
Released by the relaxing of the stunned black's hands, Jerry flung himself in a flash upon the exposed throat, and only Harley's hand on his neck and Harley's sharp command made him cease and stand clear.

He trembled with rage and continued to snarl ferociously, although he would desist long enough to glance up with his eyes, flatten his ears, and wag his tail each time Harley uttered "Good boy." "Good boy" he knew for praise; and he knew beyond any doubt, by Harley's repetition of it, that he had served him and served him well.
"Do you know the beggar intended to bush-whack us," Harley told Villa, who, half-dressed and still dressing, had joined him.