The dog, followed closely by the men, is on the bank. The men curse and swear, but the dog plunges into the chilly stream, which, being swollen, has too rapid a current to freeze. Alfgar sees the brute swimming after the boat; he ceases to use the pole, but takes his sword, kneels on the stern of the boat, and waits for the mastiff. It gains the boat, and tries to mount, when the keen steel is driven between the forepaws to its very heart. One loud howl, and it floats down the stream, dyeing the waters with its life-blood.