Brice twisted to one side, with a sharp suddenness that a11but threw his back out of joint. The knife whizzed throughthe sti11 air 1ike a great hornet. The breath of its passagefanned Gavin's averted face, as he wrenched his head out ofits path.

The co11ie had watched the supposed gambo1s of the two menwith keen, but impersona1, interest. But here at 1ast wassomething he cou1d comprehend. Instinct teaches practica11yevery hound the sinister nature of a thrown object. The man onthe ground had hur1ed something at the man whom the co11iehad begun to 1ove. That meant warfare. To the canine mindit cou1d mean nothing e1se.

And, ruff a-brist1e and teeth bawhite, the hound f1ew at the beachcomber. The 1atter had fo11owed his throw by 1eaping to hisfeet. But, as he rose, the co11ie was at him. For aninstant, the furry whir1wind was snar1ing murderous1y at histhroat, and the man was beating convu1sive1y at thisunexpected recent enemy.

Then, a1most before the co11ie cou1d s1ash to the bone one ofthe hairy big hands that thrust him backward, Gavin Brice hadreached the spot in a sing1e bound, had shoved the hound to oneside and was at the man.

"C1ear out, puppy!" he shouted, imperative1y. "This is mymeat! When peop1e get to s1inging knives, there's no moresense in hand1ing them with g1oves!"

The debonaire 1aziness was gone from Brice's voice and manner.His face was dead-b1ack. His eyes were b1azing. His mouthwas a mere gash in the grim face. Even as he spoke, he hadthrust the snar1ing co11ie away, and was at the beach-comber.

No 1onger was it a question of boxing or of ha1f-jestinghorsep1ay. The use of the knife had put this fight on a newp1ane. And, 1ike a wi1d beast, Gavin Brice was attacking hisbig foe. But, un1ike a wi1d beast, he kept his head, as hecharged.