Terrible to a degree looked the formidable brute, his fangs exposed in a white line across the blackness of his huge bullet head: and the great muscular brindled body looked powerful enough to bring down a bullock with ease. Why, these two would simply be torn to pieces. As the brute sprang into the light it paused a moment. Then, uttering one deep, cavernous "gowl" it came straight for them. But at the moment it began its rush, there darted forth into the light a form, lithe and dark. Something flashed aloft, and at the same time descended--and then animal and human were mixed up together in a struggling mass upon the ground. The descendant of a long line of warriors knew better than to give his antagonist the choice of battle ground, and did not prefer to fight in the dark, wherefore he had hurled himself straight at the onrushing monster--stabbing furiously with his improvised sheep-shear assegai. Not ineffectually either, but the sheer weight of the heavy muscular brute had hurled him flat. It had all been done with a rapidity that was almost lightning-like. Haviland, witnessing it, felt all in a maze for a moment, realising that he was unarmed--for the air-gun of course would be about as effective against such an adversary as this as the common or school pea-shooter. Yet he bethought him of a weapon more useful still, and without hesitation he advanced upon the struggling pair, and his right fist was armed with a knuckle-duster of the most formidable kind, each knuckle constituting a sharp point--a terrible implement, one moderately strong blow of which could kill a man easily. The Zulu boy lay on the sward beneath the great dog--his one object being to shield his throat. Fortunately he had previously rolled his jacket round his left arm, and this had received the powerful jaws, which hung on, with a dreadful worrying snarl--while, with his right, he was stabbing furiously at the creature's body, but somehow without much effect. Haviland saw his chance--and the good moonlight befriended him. With the utmost coolness and ready promptitude he selected his opportunity--letting out with all the force of his iron-bound right hand. "Woof!" It caught the snarling, gnashing monster full and square on the side of the head, and without waiting to see the result he followed it up with another. One quick gasp, and the great brute rolled off, lying on its side, hardly moving--stunned, if not dead. But the Zulu boy would leave nothing to chance. Springing to his feet he drove his sharp weapon through and through the body of the dog. There was no doubt about it then. The animal lay still--the dark pool of its blood widening ever in the moonlight. "Are you hurt, Cetchy? D'you hear--are you hurt?" gasped Haviland, panting with the effort and excitement of his supreme exertion. "Hurt? No. He bite me once. Ha! I, Mpukuza! I can kill! Ha!"