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 occasion to search if they started close to our feet, and the largest and fiercest "old man" forester did not seem to be too heavy weight for her. When he stood at bay she would fly in at the throat, instead of looking out for a side chance. In consequence she was awfully cut up many times when a more cunning dog would have escaped scatheless.

One afternoon Joe and I had taken a longer round than usual on foot, and were returning by the beach, when we heard Violet's bark a long way in front. We knew then that she had "stuck up" or brought to bay a large forester. If middle-sized she would have killed him; in that case running mute. So it was an "old man" large enough to stand and fight.

"We'd better get on, sir," said Joe; "the poor slut'll be cut to ribbons. She's a plucky little fool, and don't know how to save herself."

On we went, both running our best. We were in decent wind, but it was a couple of miles before we reached "hound and quarry." Some time had elapsed, and the fight had been many times renewed. When we got up the grassy spot was trampled all around, and in more than one place were deep red stains. Both animals were dreadfully exhausted. The great marsupial—the height of a tall man when he raised himself on his haunches—was covered with blood from the throat and breast, his haunches were deeply pierced by the dog's sharp fangs, but his terrible claws had inflicted some frightful gashes down Violet's chest and flanks. As she feebly circled round him, barking hoarsely, she staggered with weakness; but her