But that did not loosen the jaws. Cherokee wagged the stump of his tail inadvertisement that he understood the meaning of the blows, but that heknew he was himself in the right and only doing his duty by keeping hisgrip.
"Won't some of you help?" Scott cried desperately at the crowd.
But no help was offered. Instead, the crowd began sarcastically tocheer him on and showered him with facetious advice.
"You'll have to get a pry," Matt counselled.
The other reached into the holster at his hip, drew his revolver, andtried to thrust its muzzle between the bull-dog's jaws. He shoved, andshoved hard, till the grating of the steel against the locked teeth could bedistinctly heard. Both men were on their knees, bending over the dogs.
Tim Keenan strode into the ring. He paused beside Scott and touched himon the shoulder, saying ominously:
"Don't break them teeth, stranger.""Then I'll break his neck," Scott retorted, continuing his shoving andwedging with the revolver muzzle.
"I said don't break them teeth," the faro-dealer repeated moreominously than before.
But if it was a bluff he intended, it did not work. Scott never desistedfrom his efforts, though he looked up coolly and asked:
"Your dog?"The faro-dealer grunted.
"Then get in here and break this grip.""Well, stranger," the other drawled irritatingly, "I don't mind tellingyou that's something I ain't worked out for myself. I don't know how toturn the trick.""Then get out of theFlower girl dresses ," was the reply, "and don't bother me. I'mbusy."Tim Keenan continued standing over him, but Scott took no furthernotice of his presence. He had managed to get the muzzle in between thejaws on one side, and was trying to get it out between the jaws on theother side. This accomplished, he pried gently and carefully, loosening thejaws a bit at a time, while Matt, a bit at a time, extricated White Fang'smangled neck.
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