Hugh’s head, shoulders and one arm were clear of the water: a few inches distant gleamed the white fangs of the puma. The fight for the life of the lamb was at close quarters at last. And Broken Fang had all the advantage. He was above and had room in plenty to strike; he had only to tap down with his paw or lash out with his deadly fangs. Hugh, on the other hand, had braced himself against the log and had only one arm free. It came to Hugh that he might give up his attempt to save the lamb, slip back into the water, and be carried down out of the reach of the rending fangs. But even before the thought went fully home he had taken the opposite course. Perhaps it was because he was the shepherd—for the moment at least forgetting and ignoring all things but his guardianship of the sheep—and Broken Fang was an ancient enemy. Perhaps he instinctively realized that if he turned even for an instant those terrible talons would lash down at him. His instincts came sure and true, and he knew he must make no sudden motions. He began to pull himself upward toward the great cat. He knew one single moment of blighting terror when he thought that the cougar was going to stand its ground. The animal crouched, his lips drew in a snarl, he raised one foot with extended claws. He was the great Broken Fang; and this creature that rose up from the waters was but a fawn in strength compared to him. The lamb was almost in his grasp. His sinuous tail twitched at the tip. It was the most terrible moment in Hugh’s life, a moment of test in which the basic metal within the man was tried in the fire. He could not turn back now. He shouted with the full power of his lungs; but on the might of his own eye and will, on the old elemental superiority of man over the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air rested life or death. He was of the dominant breed, and if he forgot that fact for one instant—in this moment of stress—those white fangs would lash out. For the first time in his life Hugh Gaylord had to rely on his own manhood for success or failure. His wealth, his influential social connections, breeding and birth and class could not aid him here. It was simply the trial of man against beast, the power of man’s will against resistless physical might. If he flinched, if he turned for an instant, all was lost. His face was white as white foam, the lines cut deep like brands, the heart of the man was like ice. Yet the eyes didn’t flinch. They burned steady and straight,—into the glowing twin circles of blue fire just above him. There was a long, strange moment of silence in which it seemed that the river flowed like a soft wind. All the power and strength of his being was at test. And slowly—snarling at every step—the puma began to back away up the log into the thickets.