The muscles in her small legs knotted and quivered.
She was trying hard to pull the devil cat’s fangs from the throat of Old Dan.
In the rays of a bright Ozark moon, I could see clearly. For an instant I saw the broad back of the big cat.
I saw the knotty bulge of steel-bound muscle, the piston-like jerk of the deadly hind claws,
trying for the downward stroke that could disembowel a dog.
Raising the ax high over my head, I brought it down with all the strength in my body.
My aim was true. Behind the shoulders, in the broad muscular back, the heavy blade sank with a sickening sound.
The keen edge cleaved through the tough skin. It seemed to hiss as it sliced its way through bone and gristle.
I left the ax where it was, sunk to the eye in the back of the devil cat.
He loosened his hold on the throat of Old Dan. With a scream of pain, he reared up on his hind legs and started pawing the air.
Little Ann dangled from his neck, still holding on.
Her eyes were shut tight and her small feet were digging and clawing at the body.
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