The word had scarcely left his lips, when releasing the leg hold, the dusty devil had the other by the throat. That was Choc's old trick; a fatal one for next minute the Arab was dead. Then the dusty one sat down by the corpse and laughed, with tongue hanging out and head wagging to the panting of the body. Blood was flowing from him in three places, but he did not even bother to lick the wounds. He was "celebrating." Then as the crowd dispersed he got up stiffly, snuffed the corpse, shook himself, snuffed his wounds, and went off to a shady corner to apply first dressings and laze on his side, and think the battle over. Jacques approached him, only to be received by a growl. The same old attitude of mind towards strangers after battle that Jacques knew so well. Jacques nodded at the dog, then, taking his companion by the arm, he walked off. He was elated. He had seen Choc's offspring, and as he walked he poured out his mind. Told all the old story we know and then finished up: "Well it's good to know the dog came through it, and had heart enough to have a son, maybe that's a grandson, I don't know, but it's Choc's right enough, son or grandson. Oh, if I know anything of Choc, he'll have filled Oran with his pups--but it's good to know he had a bit of pleasure in life and heart to take it. Let us have a drink on it." They went into a café. "Yes, I feel just, as you may say, 'sif I'd found a child I'd lost, and it's a good omen. You mark me, we'll beat the Boches just like that, we'll get the leg hold and then the throat. I know. The old dog has come to tell me." And maybe he had. THE END