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diff --git a/38777-h/38777-h.htm b/38777-h/38777-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..56430f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/38777-h/38777-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12817 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lad: A Dog, by Albert Payson Terhune.</title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/frontis.jpg" /> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + + .td-chnum {width: 4em;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} +.lowercase { text-transform:lowercase; } + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:smaller; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; } + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lad: A Dog, by Albert Payson Terhune + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Lad: A Dog + +Author: Albert Payson Terhune + +Release Date: February 6, 2012 [EBook #38777] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAD: A DOG *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Paul Clark and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="transnote"> +<p> +Transcriber's Note: +</p> + +<p> +Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as +possible, including inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation. Some +corrections of spelling and punctuation have been made. They are +listed at the end of the text. +</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="392" height="600" alt="" /> +</div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p> +<h1><a name="LAD_A_DOG" id="LAD_A_DOG"></a>LAD: A DOG</h1> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/frontis_full.jpg"> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="467" height="600" alt="" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">(<i>From a photograph by Lacy Van Wagenen</i>)</span> +</div> +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p> +<h2>LAD: A DOG</h2> +<p class="center">BY<br /> +ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE<br /> +<br /> +NEW YORK<br /> +E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY<br /> +681 FIFTH AVENUE<br /> +</p> +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"> +Copyright 1919<br /> +By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY<br /> +<br /> +<i>All Rights Reserved</i><br /> +</p> +<table summary="Printings"> +<tr><td><i>First Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>April, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Second Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>June, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Third Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>July, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Fourth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Fifth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Sixth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Seventh Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Eighth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Ninth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Tenth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Eleventh Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Twelfth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Thirteenth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Fourteenth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Fifteenth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Sixteenth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Seventeenth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Eighteenth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>August, 1921</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Nineteenth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>March, 1922</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Twentieth Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>August, 1922</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Twenty-first Printing,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>Sept., 1922</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><i>Twenty-second Pr'ting,</i></td> +<td class="right"><i>Feb., 1923</i></td></tr> +</table> +<p class="center"> +<br /> +<i>Printed in the United States of America</i> +</p> +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap lowercase">MY BOOK IS DEDICATED</span><br /> +<span class="smcap lowercase">TO THE MEMORY OF</span><br /> +<br /> +Lad<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap lowercase">THOROUGHBRED IN BODY AND SOUL</span><br /> +</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> +<table width="50%" summary="Contents"> +<tr> +<td class="td-chnum right smcap lowercase">CHAPTER</td> +<td /> +<td class="right smcap lowercase">PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="right">I.</td> +<td class="smcap">His Mate</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="right">II.</td> +<td class="smcap">"Quiet!"</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="right">III.</td> +<td class="smcap">A Miracle of Two</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="right">IV.</td> +<td class="smcap">His Little Son</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="right">V.</td> +<td class="smcap">For a Bit of Ribbon</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="right">VI.</td> +<td class="smcap">Lost!</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="right">VII.</td> +<td class="smcap">The Throwback</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="right">VIII.</td> +<td class="smcap">The Gold Hat</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="right">IX.</td> +<td class="smcap">Speaking of Utility</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="right">X.</td> +<td class="smcap">The Killer</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="right">XI.</td> +<td class="smcap">Wolf</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="right">XII.</td> +<td class="smcap">In the Day of Battle</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_321">321</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="smcap">Afterword</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_347">347</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="LAD_A_DOG2" id="LAD_A_DOG2"></a>LAD: A DOG</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I<br /> +HIS MATE</h2> + + +<p>Lady was as much a part of Lad's everyday +happiness as the sunshine itself. She +seemed to him quite as perfect, and as +gloriously indispensable. He could no more have +imagined a Ladyless life than a sunless life. It +had never occurred to him to suspect that Lady +could be any less devoted than he—until Knave +came to The Place.</p> + +<p>Lad was an eighty-pound collie, thoroughbred in +spirit as well as in blood. He had the benign dignity +that was a heritage from endless generations +of high-strain ancestors. He had, too, the gay +courage of a d'Artagnan, and an uncanny wisdom. +Also—who could doubt it, after a look into his +mournful brown eyes—he had a Soul.</p> + +<p>His shaggy coat, set off by the snowy ruff and +chest, was like orange-flecked mahogany. His ab<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>surdly +tiny forepaws—in which he took inordinate +pride—were silver white.</p> + +<p>Three years earlier, when Lad was in his first +prime (before the mighty chest and shoulders had +filled out and the tawny coat had waxed so shaggy), +Lady had been brought to The Place. She had +been brought in the Master's overcoat pocket, rolled +up into a fuzzy gold-gray ball of softness no bigger +than a half-grown kitten.</p> + +<p>The Master had fished the month-old puppy out +of the cavern of his pocket and set her down, +asprawl and shivering and squealing, on the veranda +floor. Lad had walked cautiously across the +veranda, sniffed inquiry at the blinking pigmy who +gallantly essayed to growl defiance up at the huge +welcomer—and from that first moment he had +taken her under his protection.</p> + +<p>First it had been the natural impulse of the +thoroughbred—brute or human—to guard the helpless. +Then, as the shapeless yellow baby grew into +a slenderly graceful collie, his guardianship changed +to stark adoration. He was Lady's life slave.</p> + +<p>And she bullied him unmercifully—bossed the +gentle giant in a shameful manner, crowding him +from the warmest spot by the fire, brazenly yet +daintily snatching from between his jaws the +choicest bone of their joint dinner, hectoring her +dignified victim into lawn-romps in hot weather +when he would far rather have drowsed under the +lakeside trees.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her vagaries, her teasing, her occasional little +flurries of temper, were borne by Lad not meekly, +but joyously. All she did was, in his eyes, perfect. +And Lady graciously allowed herself to be idolized, +for she was marvelously human in some ways. +Lad, a thoroughbred descended from a hundred +generations of thoroughbreds, was less human and +more disinterested.</p> + +<p>Life at The Place was wondrous pleasant for +both the dogs. There were thick woods to roam +in, side by side; there were squirrels to chase and +rabbits to trail. (Yes, and if the squirrels had +played fair and had not resorted to unsportsmanly +tactics by climbing trees when close pressed, there +would doubtless have been squirrels to catch as well +as to chase. As for the rabbits, they were easier +to overtake. And Lady got the lion's share of all +such morsels.)</p> + +<p>There was the ice-cool lake to plunge into for +a swim or a wallow, after a run in the dust and +July heat. There was a deliciously comfortable old +rug in front of the living-room's open fire whereon +to lie, shoulder to shoulder, on the nights when +the wind screamed through bare trees and the snow +scratched hungrily at the panes.</p> + +<p>Best of all, to them both, there were the Master +and the Mistress; especially the Mistress.</p> + +<p>Any man with money to make the purchase may +become a dog's <i>owner</i>. But no man—spend he +ever so much coin and food and tact in the effort<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>—may +become a dog's <i>Master</i> without the consent of +the dog. Do you get the difference? And he +whom a dog once unreservedly accepts as Master +is forever that dog's God.</p> + +<p>To both Lad and Lady, from the first, the man +who bought them was not the mere owner but the +absolute Master. To them he was the unquestioned +lord of life and death, the hearer and answerer, +the Eternal Law; his the voice that must be obeyed, +whatever the command.</p> + +<p>From earliest puppyhood, both Lad and Lady +had been brought up within the Law. As far back +as they could remember, they had known and obeyed +The Place's simple code.</p> + +<p>For example: All animals of the woods might +lawfully be chased; but the Mistress' prize chickens +and the other little folk of The Place must be +ignored no matter how hungry or how playful +a collie might chance to be. A human, walking +openly or riding down the drive into The Place +by daylight, must not be barked at except by way +of friendly announcement. But anyone entering +the grounds from other ingress than the drive, or +anyone walking furtively or with a tramp slouch, +must be attacked at sight.</p> + +<p>Also, the interior of the house was sacrosanct. +It was a place for perfect behavior. No rug must +be scratched, nothing gnawed or played with. In +fact, Lady's one whipping had followed a puppy-frolic +effort of hers to "worry" the huge stuffed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +bald eagle that stood on a papier-maché stump in +the Master's study, just off the big living-room +where the fireplace was.</p> + +<p>That eagle, shot by himself as it raided the flock +of prize chickens, was the delight of the Master's +heart. And at Lady's attempt on it, he had taught +her a lesson that made her cringe for weeks thereafter +at bare sight of the dog-whip. To this day, +she would never walk past the eagle without making +the widest possible detour around it.</p> + +<p>But that punishment had been suffered while she +was still in the idiotic days of puppyhood. After +she was grown, Lady would no more have thought +of tampering with the eagle or with anything else +in the house than it would occur to a human to +stand on his head in church.</p> + +<p>Then, early one spring, came Knave—a showy, +magnificent collie; red-gold of coat save for a black +"saddle," and with alert topaz eyes.</p> + +<p>Knave did not belong to the Master, but to a +man who, going to Europe for a month, asked him +to care for the dog in his absence. The Master, +glad to have so beautiful an ornament to The Place, +had willingly consented. He was rewarded when, +on the train from town, an admiring crowd of commuters +flocked to the baggage-car to stare at the +splendid-looking collie.</p> + +<p>The only dissenting note in the praise-chorus was +the grouchy old baggage-man's.</p> + +<p>"Maybe he's a thoroughbred, like you say,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +drawled the old fellow to the Master, "but I +never yet saw a yellow-eyed, prick-eared dog I'd +give hell-room to."</p> + +<p>Knave showed his scorn for such silly criticism +by a cavernous yawn.</p> + +<p>"Thoroughbred?" grunted the baggage-man. +"With them streaks of pinkish-yeller on the roof +of his mouth? Ever see a thoroughbred that didn't +have a black mouth-roof?"</p> + +<p>But the old man's slighting words were ignored +with disdain by the crowd of volunteer dog-experts +in the baggage-car. In time the Master alighted +at his station, with Knave straining joyously at the +leash. As the Master reached The Place and +turned into the drive, both Lad and Lady, at sound +of his far-off footsteps, came tearing around the +side of the house to greet him.</p> + +<p>On simultaneous sight and scent of the strange +dog frisking along at his side, the two collies paused +in their madly joyous onrush. Up went their ruffs. +Down went their heads.</p> + +<p>Lady flashed forward to do battle with the +stranger who was monopolizing so much of the +Master's attention. Knave, not at all averse to +battle (especially with a smaller dog), braced himself +and then moved forward, stiff-legged, fangs +bare.</p> + +<p>But of a sudden his head went up; his stiff-poised +brush broke into swift wagging; his lips +curled down. He had recognized that his prospec<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>tive +foe was not of his own sex. (And nowhere, +except among humans, does a full-grown male ill-treat +or even defend himself against the female +of his species.)</p> + +<p>Lady, noting the stranger's sudden friendliness, +paused irresolute in her charge. And at that instant +Lad darted past her. Full at Knave's throat +he launched himself.</p> + +<p>The Master rasped out:</p> + +<p>"Down, Lad! <i>Down!</i>"</p> + +<p>Almost in midair the collie arrested his onset—coming +to earth bristling, furious and yet with no +thought but to obey. Knave, seeing his foe was +not going to fight, turned once more toward Lady.</p> + +<p>"Lad," ordered the Master, pointing toward +Knave and speaking with quiet intentness, "let him +alone. Understand? Let him <i>alone</i>."</p> + +<p>And Lad understood—even as years of training +and centuries of ancestry had taught him to understand +every spoken wish of the Master's. He +must give up his impulse to make war on this +intruder whom at sight he hated. It was the Law; +and from the Law there was no appeal.</p> + +<p>With yearningly helpless rage he looked on while +the newcomer was installed on The Place. With +a wondering sorrow he found himself forced to +share the Master's and Mistress' caresses with this +interloper. With growing pain he submitted to +Knave's gay attentions to Lady, and to Lady's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +evident relish of the guest's companionship. Gone +were the peaceful old days of utter contentment.</p> + +<p>Lady had always regarded Lad as her own +special property—to tease and to boss and to despoil +of choice food-bits. But her attitude toward +Knave was far different. She coquetted, human-fashion, +with the gold-and-black dog—at one moment +affecting to scorn him, at another meeting +his advances with a delighted friendliness.</p> + +<p>She never presumed to boss him as she had +always bossed Lad. He fascinated her. Without +seeming to follow him about, she was forever at +his heels. Lad, cut to the heart at her sudden indifference +toward his loyal self, tried in every way +his simple soul could devise to win back her interest. +He essayed clumsily to romp with her as +the lithely graceful Knave romped, to drive rabbits +for her on their woodland rambles, to thrust himself, +in a dozen gentle ways, upon her attention.</p> + +<p>But it was no use. Lady scarcely noticed him. +When his overtures of friendship chanced to annoy +her, she rewarded them with a snap or with an +impatient growl. And ever she turned to the all-conquering +Knave in a keenness of attraction that +was all but hypnotic.</p> + +<p>As his divinity's total loss of interest in himself +grew too apparent to be doubted, Lad's big heart +broke. Being only a dog and a Grail-knight in +thought, he did not realize that Knave's newness +and his difference from anything she had known,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +formed a large part of Lady's desire for the visitor's +favor; nor did he understand that such interest +must wane when the novelty should wear off.</p> + +<p>All Lad knew was that he loved her, and that for +the sake of a flashy stranger she was snubbing him.</p> + +<p>As the Law forbade him to avenge himself in +true dog-fashion by fighting for his Lady's love, +Lad sadly withdrew from the unequal contest, too +proud to compete for a fickle sweetheart. No +longer did he try to join in the others' lawn-romps, +but lay at a distance, his splendid head between his +snowy little forepaws, his brown eyes sick with +sorrow, watching their gambols.</p> + +<p>Nor did he thrust his undesired presence on them +during their woodland rambles. He took to moping, +solitary, infinitely miserable. Perhaps there is +on earth something unhappier than a bitterly aggrieved +dog. But no one has ever discovered that +elusive something.</p> + +<p>Knave from the first had shown and felt for +Lad a scornful indifference. Not understanding +the Law, he had set down the older collie's refusal to +fight as a sign of exemplary, if timorous prudence, +and he looked down upon him accordingly. One +day Knave came home from the morning run +through the forest without Lady. Neither the +Master's calls nor the ear-ripping blasts of his dog-whistle +could bring her back to The Place. +Whereat Lad arose heavily from his favorite rest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>ing-place +under the living-room piano and cantered +off to the woods. Nor did he return.</p> + +<p>Several hours later the Master went to the woods +to investigate, followed by the rollicking Knave. At +the forest edge the Master shouted. A far-off +bark from Lad answered. And the Master made +his way through shoulder-deep underbrush in the +direction of the sound.</p> + +<p>In a clearing he found Lady, her left forepaw +caught in the steel jaws of a fox-trap. Lad was +standing protectingly above her, stooping now and +then to lick her cruelly pinched foot or to whine +consolation to her; then snarling in fierce hate at +a score of crows that flapped hopefully in the tree-tops +above the victim.</p> + +<p>The Master set Lady free, and Knave frisked +forward right joyously to greet his released inamorata. +But Lady was in no condition to play—then +nor for many a day thereafter. Her forefoot +was so lacerated and swollen that she was +fain to hobble awkwardly on three legs for the +next fortnight.</p> + +<p>It was on one pantingly hot August morning, a +little later, that Lady limped into the house in +search of a cool spot where she might lie and lick +her throbbing forefoot. Lad was lying, as usual, +under the piano in the living-room. His tail +thumped shy welcome on the hardwood floor as +she passed, but she would not stay or so much as +notice him.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<p>On she limped, into the Master's study, where +an open window sent a faint breeze through the +house. Giving the stuffed eagle a wide berth, Lady +hobbled to the window and made as though to lie +down just beneath it. As she did so, two things +happened: she leaned too much weight on the sore +foot, and the pressure wrung from her an involuntary +yelp of pain; at the same moment a crosscurrent +of air from the other side of the house +swept through the living-room and blew shut the +door of the adjoining study. Lady was a prisoner.</p> + +<p>Ordinarily this would have caused her no ill-ease, +for the open window was only thirty inches above +the floor, and the drop to the veranda outside was +a bare three feet. It would have been the simplest +matter in the world for her to jump out, had she +wearied of her chance captivity.</p> + +<p>But to undertake the jump with the prospect of +landing her full weight and impetus on a forepaw +that was horribly sensitive to the lightest touch—this +was an exploit beyond the sufferer's will-power. +So Lady resigned herself to imprisonment. She +curled herself up on the floor as far as possible +from the eagle, moaned softly and lay still.</p> + +<p>At sound of her first yelp, Lad had run forward, +whining eager sympathy. But the closed door +blocked his way. He crouched, wretched and +anxious, before it, helpless to go to his loved one's +assistance.</p> + +<p>Knave, too, loping back from a solitary prowl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +of the woods, seeking Lady, heard the yelp. His +prick-ears located the sound at once. Along the +veranda he trotted, to the open study window. +With a bound he had cleared the sill and alighted +inside the room.</p> + +<p>It chanced to be his first visit to the study. The +door was usually kept shut, that drafts might not +blow the Master's desk-papers about. And Knave +felt, at best, little interest in exploring the interior +of houses. He was an outdoor dog, by choice.</p> + +<p>He advanced now toward Lady, his tail a-wag, +his head on one side, with his most irresistible air. +Then, as he came forward into the room, he saw +the eagle. He halted in wonder at sight of the +enormous white-crested bird with its six-foot sweep +of pinion. It was a wholly novel spectacle to +Knave; and he greeted it with a gruff bark, half +of fear, half of bravado. Quickly, however, his +sense of smell told him this wide-winged apparition +was no living thing. And ashamed of his momentary +cowardice, he went over to investigate it.</p> + +<p>As he went, Knave cast over his shoulder a look +of invitation to Lady to join him in his inspection. +She understood the invitation, but memory of that +puppyhood beating made her recoil from accepting +it. Knave saw her shrink back, and he realized +with a thrill that she was actually afraid of this +lifeless thing which could harm no one. With due +pride in showing off his own heroism before her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +and with the scamp-dog's innate craving to destroy, +he sprang growling upon the eagle.</p> + +<p>Down tumbled the papier-maché stump. Down +crashed the huge stuffed bird with it; Knave's white +teeth buried deep in the soft feathers of its breast.</p> + +<p>Lady, horror-struck at this sacrilege, whimpered +in terror. But her plaint served only to increase +Knave's zest for destruction.</p> + +<p>He hurled the bird to the floor, pinned it down +with his feet and at one jerk tore the right wing +from the body. Coughing out the mouthful of +dusty pinions, he dug his teeth into the eagle's +throat. Again bracing himself with his forelegs +on the carcass, he gave a sharp tug. Head and +neck came away in his mouth. And then before +he could drop the mouthful and return to the work +of demolition, he heard the Master's step.</p> + +<p>All at once, now, Knave proved he was less +ignorant of the Law—or, at least, of its penalties—than +might have been supposed from his act of +vandalism. In sudden panic he bolted for the +window, the silvery head of the eagle still, unheeded, +between his jaws. With a vaulting spring, he shot +out through the open casement, in his reckless +eagerness to escape, knocking against Lady's injured +leg as he passed.</p> + +<p>He did not pause at Lady's scream of pain, nor +did he stop until he reached the chicken-house. +Crawling under this, he deposited the incriminating +eagle-head in the dark recess. Finding no pursuer,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +he emerged and jogged innocently back toward the +veranda.</p> + +<p>The Master, entering the house and walking +across the living-room toward the stairs, heard +Lady's cry. He looked around for her, recognizing +from the sound that she must be in distress. +His eye fell on Lad, crouching tense and eager in +front of the shut study door.</p> + +<p>The Master opened the door and went into the +study.</p> + +<p>At the first step inside the room he stopped, +aghast. There lay the chewed and battered fragments +of his beloved eagle. And there, in one +corner, frightened, with guilt writ plain all over +her, cowered Lady. Men have been "legally" done +to death on far lighter evidence than encompassed +her.</p> + +<p>The Master was thunderstruck. For more than +two years Lady had had the free run of the house. +And this was her first sin—at that, a sin unworthy +any well-bred dog that has graduated from puppyhood +and from milk-teeth. He would not have +believed it. He <i>could</i> not have believed it. Yet +here was the hideous evidence, scattered all over +the floor.</p> + +<p>The door was shut, but the window stood wide. +Through the window, doubtless, she had gotten into +the room. And he had surprised her at her vandal-work +before she could escape by the same opening.</p> + +<p>The Master was a just man—as humans go; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +this was a crime the most maudlin dog-spoiler could +not have condoned. The eagle, moreover, had been +the pride of his heart—as perhaps I have said. +Without a word, he walked to the wall and took +down a braided dog-whip, dust-covered from long +disuse.</p> + +<p>Lady knew what was coming. Being a thoroughbred, +she did not try to run, nor did she roll for +mercy. She cowered, moveless, nose to floor, +awaiting her doom.</p> + +<p>Back swished the lash. Down it came, whistling +as a man whistles whose teeth are broken. Across +Lady's slender flanks it smote, with the full force +of a strong driving-arm. Lady quivered all over. +But she made no sound. She who would whimper +at a chance touch to her sore foot, was mute under +human punishment.</p> + +<p>But Lad was not mute. As the Master's arm +swung back for a second blow, he heard, just behind, +a low, throaty growl that held all the menace +of ten thousand wordy threats.</p> + +<p>He wheeled about. Lad was close at his heels, +fangs bared, eyes red, head lowered, tawny body +taut in every sinew.</p> + +<p>The Master blinked at him, incredulous. Here +was something infinitely more unbelievable than +Lady's supposed destruction of the eagle. The Impossible +had come to pass.</p> + +<p>For, know well, a dog does not growl at its +Master. At its owner, perhaps; at its Master,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +never. As soon would a devout priest blaspheme +his deity.</p> + +<p>Nor does a dog approach anything or anybody, +growling and with lowered head, unless intent on +battle. Have no fear when a dog barks or even +growls at you, so long as his head is erect. But +when he growls and lowers his head—then look +out. It means but one thing.</p> + +<p>The Master had been the Master—the sublime, +blindly revered and worshiped Master—for all the +blameless years of Lad's life. And now, growling, +head down, the dog was threatening him.</p> + +<p>It was the supreme misery, the crowning hell, +of Lad's career. For the first time, two overpowering +loves fought with each other in his Galahad +soul. And the love for poor, unjustly blamed, Lady +hurled down the superlove for the Master.</p> + +<p>In baring teeth upon his lord, the collie well +knew what he was incurring. But he did not flinch. +Understanding that swift death might well be his +portion, he stood his ground.</p> + +<p>(Is there greater love? Humans—sighing +swains, vow-laden suitors—can any of <i>you</i> match +it? I think not. Not even the much-lauded +Antonys. They throw away only the mere world +of earthly credit, for love.)</p> + +<p>The Master's jaw set. He was well-nigh as +unhappy as the dog. For he grasped the situation, +and he was man enough to honor Lad's proffered +sacrifice. Yet it must be punished, and punished in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>stantly—as +any dog-master will testify. Let a dog +once growl or show his teeth in menace at his +Master, and if the rebellion be not put down in +drastic fashion, the Master ceases forever to be +Master and degenerates to mere owner. His mysterious +power over his dog is gone for all time.</p> + +<p>Turning his back on Lady, the Master whirled +his dog-whip in air. Lad saw the lash coming +down. He did not flinch. He did not cower. The +growl ceased. The orange-tawny collie stood erect. +Down came the braided whiplash on Lad's shoulders—again +over his loins, and yet again and again.</p> + +<p>Without moving—head up, dark tender eyes unwinking—the +hero-dog took the scourging. When +it was over, he waited only to see the Master throw +the dog-whip fiercely into a corner of the study. +Then, knowing Lady was safe, Lad walked majestically +back to his "cave" under the piano, and +with a long, quivering sigh he lay down.</p> + +<p>His spirit was sick and crushed within him. For +the first time in his thoroughbred life he had been +struck. For he was one of those not wholly rare +dogs to whom a sharp word of reproof is more +effective than a beating—to whom a blow is not a +pain, but a damning and overwhelming ignominy. +Had a human, other than the Master, presumed to +strike him, the assailant must have fought for life.</p> + +<p>Through the numbness of Lad's grief, bit by bit, +began to smolder and glow a deathless hate for +Knave, the cause of Lady's humiliation. Lad had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +known what passed behind that closed study door +as well as though he had seen. For ears and scent +serve a true collie quite as usefully as do mere +eyes.</p> + +<p>The Master was little happier than was his favorite +dog. For he loved Lad as he would have +loved a human son. Though Lad did not realize it, +the Master had "let off" Lady from the rest of her +beating, in order not to increase her champion's +grief. He simply ordered her out of the study.</p> + +<p>And as she limped away, the Master tried to rekindle +his own indignation and deaden his sense of +remorse by gathering together the strewn fragments +of the eagle. It occurred to him that though +the bird was destroyed, he might yet have its fierce-eyed +silvery head mounted on a board, as a minor +trophy.</p> + +<p>But he could not find the head.</p> + +<p>Search the study as he would, he could not find +it. He remembered distinctly that Lady had been +panting as she slunk out of the room. And dogs +that are carrying things in their mouths cannot pant. +She had not taken the head away with her. The +absence of the head only deepened the whole annoying +domestic mystery. He gave up trying to solve +any of the puzzle—from Lady's incredible vandalism +to this newest turn of the affair.</p> + +<p>Not until two days later could Lad bring himself +to risk a meeting with Lady, the cause and +the witness of his beating. Then, yearning for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +sight of her and for even her grudged recognition +of his presence, after his forty-eight hours of isolation, +he sallied forth from the house in search +of her.</p> + +<p>He traced her to the cool shade of a lilac clump +near the outbuildings. There, having with one +paw dug a little pit in the cool earth, she was +curled up asleep under the bushes. Stretched out +beside her was Knave.</p> + +<p>Lad's spine bristled at sight of his foe. But ignoring +him, he moved over to Lady and touched her +nose with his own in timid caress. She opened one +eye, blinked drowsily and went to sleep again.</p> + +<p>But Lad's coming had awakened Knave. Much +refreshed by his nap, he woke in playful mood. +He tried to induce Lady to romp with him, but +she preferred to doze. So, casting about in his +shallow mind for something to play with, Knave +chanced to remember the prize he had hidden beneath +the chicken-house.</p> + +<p>Away he ambled, returning presently with the +eagle's head between his teeth. As he ran, he +tossed it aloft, catching it as it fell—a pretty trick +he had long since learned with a tennis-ball.</p> + +<p>Lad, who had lain down as near to sleepily scornful +Lady as he dared, looked up and saw him approach. +He saw, too, with what Knave was playing; +and as he saw, he went quite mad. Here +was the thing that had caused Lady's interrupted +punishment and his own black disgrace. Knave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +was exploiting it with manifest and brazen delight.</p> + +<p>For the second time in his life—and for the +second time in three days—Lad broke the law. He +forgot, in a trice, the command "Let him alone!" +And noiseless, terrible, he flew at the gamboling +Knave.</p> + +<p>Knave was aware of the attack, barely in time to +drop the eagle's head and spring forward to meet +his antagonist. He was three years Lad's junior +and was perhaps five pounds heavier. Moreover, +constant exercise had kept him in steel-and-whale-bone +condition; while lonely brooding at home had +begun of late to soften Lad's tough sinews.</p> + +<p>Knave was mildly surprised that the dog he had +looked on as a dullard and a poltroon should have +developed a flash of spirit. But he was not at all +unwilling to wage a combat whose victory must +make him shine with redoubled glory in Lady's +eyes.</p> + +<p>Like two furry whirlwinds the collies spun forward +toward each other. They met, upreared and +snarled, slashing wolf-like for the throat, clawing +madly to retain balance. Then down they went, +rolling in a right unloving embrace, snapping, tearing, +growling.</p> + +<p>Lad drove straight for the throat. A half-handful +of Knave's golden ruff came away in his jaws. +For except at the exact center, a collie's throat is +protected by a tangle of hair as effective against assault +as were Andrew Jackson's cotton-bale breast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>works +at New Orleans. And Lad had missed the +exact center.</p> + +<p>Over and over they rolled. They regained their +footing and reared again. Lad's saber-shaped tusk +ripped a furrow in Knave's satiny forehead; and +Knave's half deflected slash in return set bleeding +the big vein at the top of Lad's left ear.</p> + +<p>Lady was wide awake long before this. Standing +immovable, yet wildly excited—after the age-old +fashion of the female brute for whom males +battle and who knows she is to be the winner's +prize—she watched every turn of the fight.</p> + +<p>Up once more, the dogs clashed, chest to chest. +Knave, with an instinctive throwback to his wolf +forebears of five hundred years earlier, dived for +Lad's forelegs with the hope of breaking one of +them between his foaming jaws.</p> + +<p>He missed the hold by a fraction of an inch. +The skin alone was torn. And down over the little +white forepaw—one of the forepaws that Lad was +wont to lick for an hour a day to keep them snowy—ran +a trickle of blood.</p> + +<p>That miss was a costly error for Knave. For +Lad's teeth sought and found his left shoulder, and +sank deep therein. Knave twisted and wheeled +with lightning speed and with all his strength. +Yet had not his gold-hued ruff choked Lad and +pressed stranglingly against his nostrils, all the +heavier dog's struggles would not have set him free.</p> + +<p>As it was, Lad, gasping for breath enough to fill<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +his lungs, relaxed his grip ever so slightly. And +in that fraction of a second Knave tore free, leaving +a mouthful of hair and skin in his enemy's jaws.</p> + +<p>In the same wrench that liberated him—and as +the relieved tension sent Lad stumbling forward—Knave +instinctively saw his chance and took it. +Again heredity came to his aid, for he tried a +manœuver known only to wolves and to collies. +Flashing above his stumbling foe's head, Knave +seized Lad from behind, just below the base of +the skull. And holding him thus helpless, he proceeded +to grit and grind his tight-clenched teeth in +the slow, relentless motion that must soon or late +eat down to and sever the spinal cord.</p> + +<p>Lad, even as he thrashed frantically about, felt +there was no escape. He was well-nigh as powerless +against a strong opponent in this position as is +a puppy that is held up by the scruff of the neck.</p> + +<p>Without a sound, but still struggling as best he +might, he awaited his fate. No longer was he +growling or snarling.</p> + +<p>His patient, bloodshot eyes sought wistfully for +Lady. And they did not find her.</p> + +<p>For even as they sought her, a novel element +entered into the battle. Lady, hitherto awaiting +with true feminine meekness the outcome of the +scrimmage, saw her old flame's terrible plight, under +the grinding jaws. And, proving herself false to +all canons of ancestry—moved by some impulse +she did not try to resist—she jumped forward.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +Forgetting the pain in her swollen foot, she nipped +Knave sharply in the hind leg. Then, as if abashed +by her unfeminine behavior, she drew back, in +shame.</p> + +<p>But the work was done.</p> + +<p>Through the red war lust Knave dimly realized +that he was attacked from behind—perhaps that his +new opponent stood an excellent chance of gaining +upon him such a death-hold as he himself now held.</p> + +<p>He loosed his grip and whizzed about, frothing +and snapping, to face the danger. Before Knave +had half completed his lightning whirl, Lad had him +by the side of the throat.</p> + +<p>It was no death-grip, this. Yet it was not only +acutely painful, but it held its victim quite as powerless +as he had just now held Lad. Bearing down +with all his weight and setting his white little front +teeth and his yellowing tusks firmly in their hold, +Lad gradually shoved Knave's head sideways to +the ground and held it there.</p> + +<p>The result on Knave's activities was much the +same as is obtained by sitting on the head of a kicking +horse that has fallen. Unable to wrench +loose, helpless to counter, in keen agony from the +pinching of the tender throat-skin beneath the +masses of ruff, Knave lost his nerve. And he forthwith +justified those yellowish streaks in his mouth-roof +whereof the baggage-man had spoken.</p> + +<p>He made the air vibrate with his abject howls of +pain and fear. He was caught. He could not get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +away. Lad was hurting him horribly. Wherefore +he ki-yi-ed as might any gutter cur whose tail is +stepped upon.</p> + +<p>Presently, beyond the fight haze, Lad saw a +shadow in front of him—a shadow that resolved +itself in the settling dust, as the Master. And Lad +came to himself.</p> + +<p>He loosed his hold on Knave's throat, and stood +up, groggily. Knave, still yelping, tucked his tail +between his legs and fled for his life—out of The +Place, out of your story.</p> + +<p>Slowly, stumblingly, but without a waver of hesitation, +Lad went up to the Master. He was gasping +for breath, and he was weak from fearful exertion +and from loss of blood. Up to the Master he +went—straight up to him.</p> + +<p>And not until he was a scant two yards away +did he see that the Master held something in his +hand—that abominable, mischief-making eagle's +head, which he had just picked up! Probably the +dog-whip was in the other hand. It did not matter +much. Lad was ready for this final degradation. +He would not try to dodge it, he the double breaker +of laws.</p> + +<p>Then—the Master was kneeling beside him. The +kind hand was caressing the dog's dizzy head, the +dear voice—a queer break in it—was saying remorsefully:</p> + +<p>"Oh Lad! Laddie! I'm so sorry. So sorry!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +You're—you're more of a man than I am, old +friend. I'll make it up to you, somehow!"</p> + +<p>And now besides the loved hand, there was another +touch, even more precious—a warmly caressing +little pink tongue that licked his bleeding +foreleg.</p> + +<p>Lady—timidly, adoringly—was trying to stanch +her hero's wounds.</p> + +<p>"Lady, I apologize to you too," went on the foolish +Master. "I'm sorry, girl."</p> + +<p>Lady was too busy soothing the hurts of her +newly discovered mate to understand. But Lad +understood. Lad always understood.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br /> +"QUIET"</h2> + + +<p>To Lad the real world was bounded by The +Place. Outside, there were a certain number +of miles of land and there were an uncertain +number of people. But the miles were +uninspiring, except for a cross-country tramp with +the Master. And the people were foolish and +strange folk who either stared at him—which +always annoyed Lad—or else tried to pat him; +which he hated. But The Place was—The Place.</p> + +<p>Always, he had lived on The Place. He felt he +owned it. It was assuredly his to enjoy, to guard, +to patrol from high road to lake. It was his world.</p> + +<p>The denizens of every world must have at least +one deity to worship. Lad had one: the Master. +Indeed, he had two: the Master and the Mistress. +And because the dog was strong of soul and chivalric, +withal, and because the Mistress was altogether +lovable, Lad placed her altar even above the +Master's. Which was wholly as it should have +been.</p> + +<p>There were other people at The Place—people +to whom a dog must be courteous, as becomes a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +thoroughbred, and whose caresses he must accept. +Very often, there were guests, too. And from +puppyhood, Lad had been taught the sacredness of +the Guest Law. Civilly, he would endure the pettings +of these visiting outlanders. Gravely, he +would shake hands with them, on request. He +would even permit them to paw him or haul him +about, if they were of the obnoxious, dog-mauling +breed. But the moment politeness would permit, +he always withdrew, very quietly, from their reach +and, if possible, from their sight as well.</p> + +<p>Of all the dogs on The Place, big Lad alone +had free run of the house, by day and by night.</p> + +<p>He slept in a "cave" under the piano. He even +had access to the sacred dining-room, at mealtimes—where +always he lay to the left of the Master's +chair.</p> + +<p>With the Master, he would willingly unbend for +a romp at any or all times. At the Mistress' behest +he would play with all the silly abandon of a +puppy; rolling on the ground at her feet, making +as though to seize and crush one of her little +shoes in his mighty jaws; wriggling and waving his +legs in air when she buried her hand in the masses +of his chest-ruff; and otherwise comporting himself +with complete loss of dignity.</p> + +<p>But to all except these two, he was calmly unapproachable. +From his earliest days he had never +forgotten he was an aristocrat among inferiors. +And, calmly aloof, he moved among his subjects.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then, all at once, into the sweet routine of the +House of Peace, came Horror.</p> + +<p>It began on a blustery, sour October day. The +Mistress had crossed the lake to the village, in her +canoe, with Lad curled up in a furry heap in the +prow. On the return trip, about fifty yards from +shore, the canoe struck sharply and obliquely +against a half-submerged log that a Fall freshet +had swept down from the river above the lake. +At the same moment a flaw of wind caught the +canoe's quarter. And, after the manner of such +eccentric craft, the canvas shell proceeded to turn +turtle.</p> + +<p>Into the ice-chill waters splashed its two occupants. +Lad bobbed to the top, and glanced around +at the Mistress to learn if this were a new practical +joke. But, instantly, he saw it was no joke at all, +so far as she was concerned.</p> + +<p>Swathed and cramped by the folds of her heavy +outing skirt, the Mistress was making no progress +shoreward. And the dog flung himself through the +water toward her with a rush that left his shoulders +and half his back above the surface. In a second he +had reached her and had caught her sweater-shoulder +in his teeth.</p> + +<p>She had the presence of mind to lie out straight, +as though she were floating, and to fill her lungs +with a swift intake of breath. The dog's burden +was thus made infinitely lighter than if she had +struggled or had lain in a posture less easy for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +towing. Yet he made scant headway, until she +wound one hand in his mane, and, still lying +motionless and stiff, bade him loose his hold on her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>In this way, by sustained effort that wrenched +every giant muscle in the collie's body, they came at +last to land.</p> + +<p>Vastly rejoiced was Lad, and inordinately proud +of himself. And the plaudits of the Master and the +Mistress were music to him. Indefinably, he understood +he had done a very wonderful thing and that +everybody on The Place was talking about him, +and that all were trying to pet him at once.</p> + +<p>This promiscuous handling he began to find unwelcome. +And he retired at last to his "cave" +under the piano to escape from it. Matters soon +quieted down; and the incident seemed at an end.</p> + +<p>Instead, it had just begun.</p> + +<p>For, within an hour, the Mistress—who, for +days had been half-sick with a cold—was stricken +with a chill, and by night she was in the first stages +of pneumonia.</p> + +<p>Then over The Place descended Gloom. A gloom +Lad could not understand until he went upstairs +at dinner-time to escort the Mistress, as usual, to +the dining-room. But to his light scratch at her +door there was no reply. He scratched again and +presently Master came out of the room and ordered +him down-stairs again.</p> + +<p>Then from the Master's voice and look, Lad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +understood that something was terribly amiss. Also, +as she did not appear at dinner and as he was for +the first time in his life forbidden to go into her +room, he knew the Mistress was the victim of +whatever mishap had befallen.</p> + +<p>A strange man, with a black bag, came to the +house early in the evening; and he and the Master +were closeted for an interminable time in the +Mistress' room. Lad had crept dejectedly upstairs +behind them; and sought to crowd into the +room at their heels. The Master ordered him back +and shut the door in his face.</p> + +<p>Lad lay down on the threshold, his nose to the +crack at the bottom of the door, and waited. He +heard the murmur of speech.</p> + +<p>Once he caught the Mistress' voice—changed +and muffled and with a puzzling new note in it—but +undeniably the Mistress'. And his tail +thumped hopefully on the hall floor. But no one +came to let him in. And, after the mandate to +keep out, he dared not scratch for admittance.</p> + +<p>The doctor almost stumbled across the couchant +body of the dog as he left the room with the +Master. Being a dog-owner himself, the doctor +understood and his narrow escape from a fall +over the living obstacle did not irritate him. But +it reminded him of something.</p> + +<p>"Those other dogs of yours outside there," he +said to the Master, as they went down the stairs, +"raised a fearful racket when my car came down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +the drive, just now. Better send them all away +somewhere till she is better. The house must be +kept perfectly quiet."</p> + +<p>The Master looked back, up the stairway; at its +top, pressed close against the Mistress' door, +crouched Lad. Something in the dog's heartbroken +attitude touched him.</p> + +<p>"I'll send them over to the boarding-kennels in +the morning," he answered. "All except Lad. He +and I are going to see this through, together. He'll +be quiet, if I tell him to."</p> + +<p>All through the endless night, while the October +wind howled and yelled around the house, Lad lay +outside the sick-room door, his nose between his +absurdly small white paws, his sorrowful eyes wide +open, his ears alert for the faintest sound from the +room beyond.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, when the wind screamed its loudest, +Lad would lift his head—his ruff a-bristle, his teeth +glinting from under his upcurled lip. And he would +growl a throaty menace. It was as though he heard, +in the tempest's racket, the strife of evil gale-spirits +to burst in through the rattling windows and attack +the stricken Mistress. Perhaps—well, perhaps +there are things visible and audible to dogs; to +which humans were deaf and blind. Or perhaps +they are not.</p> + +<p>Lad was there when day broke and when the +Master, heavy-eyed from sleeplessness, came out. +He was there when the other dogs were herded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +into the car and carried away to the boarding-kennels.</p> + +<p>Lad was there when the car came back from the +station, bringing to The Place an angular, wooden-faced +woman with yellow hair and a yellower suitcase—a +horrible woman who vaguely smelt of disinfectants +and of rigid Efficiency, and who presently +approached the sick-room, clad and capped in +stiff white. Lad hated her.</p> + +<p>He was there when the doctor came for his +morning visit to the invalid. And again he tried +to edge his own way into the room, only to be +rebuffed once more.</p> + +<p>"This is the third time I've nearly broken my +neck over that miserable dog," chidingly announced +the nurse, later in the day, as she came out of the +room and chanced to meet the Master on the landing. +"Do please drive him away. <i>I've</i> tried to do +it, but he only snarls at me. And in a dangerous +case like this——"</p> + +<p>"Leave him alone," briefly ordered the Master.</p> + +<p>But when the nurse, sniffing, passed on, he called +Lad over to him. Reluctantly, the dog quitted the +door and obeyed the summons.</p> + +<p>"Quiet!" ordered the Master, speaking very +slowly and distinctly. "You must keep quiet. +<i>Quiet!</i> Understand?"</p> + +<p>Lad understood. Lad always understood. He +must not bark. He must move silently. He must +make no unnecessary sound. But, at least, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +Master had not forbidden him to snarl softly and +loathingly at that detestable white-clad woman +every time she stepped over him.</p> + +<p>So there was one grain of comfort.</p> + +<p>Gently, the Master called him downstairs and +across the living-room, and put him out of the +house. For, after all, a shaggy eighty-pound dog +is an inconvenience stretched across a sick-room +doorsill.</p> + +<p>Three minutes later, Lad had made his way +through an open window into the cellar and thence +upstairs; and was stretched out, head between paws, +at the threshold of the Mistress' room.</p> + +<p>On his thrice-a-day visits, the doctor was forced +to step over him, and was man enough to forbear +to curse. Twenty times a day, the nurse stumbled +over his massive, inert body, and fumed in impotent +rage. The Master, too, came back and +forth from the sick-room, with now and then a +kindly word for the suffering collie, and again and +again put him out of the house.</p> + +<p>But always Lad managed, by hook or crook, to +be back on guard within a minute or two. And +never once did the door of the Mistress' room +open that he did not make a strenuous attempt to +enter.</p> + +<p>Servants, nurse, doctor, and Master repeatedly +forgot he was there, and stubbed their toes across +his body. Sometimes their feet drove agonizingly +into his tender flesh. But never a whimper or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +growl did the pain wring from him. "<i>Quiet!</i>" had +been the command, and he was obeying.</p> + +<p>And so it went on, through the awful days and +the infinitely worse nights. Except when he was +ordered away by the Master, Lad would not stir +from his place at the door. And not even the +Master's authority could keep him away from it +for five minutes a day.</p> + +<p>The dog ate nothing, drank practically nothing, +took no exercise; moved not one inch, of his own +will, from the doorway. In vain did the glories +of Autumn woods call to him. The rabbits would +be thick, out yonder in the forest, just now. So +would the squirrels—against which Lad had long +since sworn a blood-feud (and one of which it +had ever been his futile life ambition to catch).</p> + +<p>For him, these things no longer existed. Nothing +existed; except his mortal hatred of the unseen +Something in that forbidden room—the Something +that was seeking to take the Mistress away with It. +He yearned unspeakably to be in that room to +guard her from her nameless Peril. And they +would not let him in—these humans.</p> + +<p>Wherefore he lay there, crushing his body close +against the door and—waiting.</p> + +<p>And, inside the room, Death and the Napoleonic +man with the black bag fought their "no-quarter" +duel for the life of the still, little white figure in +the great white bed.</p> + +<p>One night, the doctor did not go home at all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +Toward dawn the Master lurched out of the room +and sat down for a moment on the stairs, his face +in his hands. Then and then only, during all that +time of watching, did Lad leave the doorsill of his +own accord.</p> + +<p>Shaky with famine and weariness, he got to his +feet, moaning softly, and crept over to the Master; +he lay down beside him, his huge head athwart the +man's knees; his muzzle reaching timidly toward +the tight-clenched hands.</p> + +<p>Presently the Master went back into the sickroom. +And Lad was left alone in the darkness—to +wonder and to listen and to wait. With a tired +sigh he returned to the door and once more took +up his heartsick vigil.</p> + +<p>Then—on a golden morning, days later, the +doctor came and went with the look of a Conqueror. +Even the wooden-faced nurse forgot to +grunt in disgust when she stumbled across the dog's +body. She almost smiled. And presently the +Master came out through the doorway. He stopped +at sight of Lad, and turned back into the room. +Lad could hear him speak. And he heard a dear, +<i>dear</i> voice make answer; very weakly, but no longer +in that muffled and foreign tone which had so +frightened him. Then came a sentence the dog +could understand.</p> + +<p>"Come in, old friend," said the Master, opening +the door and standing aside for Lad to enter.</p> + +<p>At a bound, the collie was in the room. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +lay the Mistress. She was very thin, very white, +very feeble. But she was there. The dread Something +had lost the battle.</p> + +<p>Lad wanted to break forth into a peal of ecstatic +barking that would have deafened every one in the +room. The Master read the wish and interposed,</p> + +<p>"<i>Quiet!</i>"</p> + +<p>Lad heard. He controlled the yearning. But +it cost him a world of will-power to do it. As +sedately as he could force himself to move, he +crossed to the bed.</p> + +<p>The Mistress was smiling at him. One hand +was stretched weakly forth to stroke him. And +she was saying almost in a whisper, "Lad! +Laddie!"</p> + +<p>That was all. But her hand was petting him +in the dear way he loved so well. And the Master +was telling her all over again how the dog had +watched outside her door. Lad listened—not to +the man's praise, but to the woman's caressing +whisper—and he quivered from head to tail. He +fought furiously with himself once again, to choke +back the rapturous barking that clamored for utterance. +He knew this was no time for noise. +Even without the word of warning, he would have +known it. For the Mistress was whispering. Even +the Master was speaking scarce louder.</p> + +<p>But one thing Lad realized: the black danger was +past. The Mistress was alive! And the whole house +was smiling. That was enough. And the yearn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>ing +to show, in noise, his own wild relief, was all +but irresistible. Then the Master said:</p> + +<p>"Run on, Lad. You can come back by-and-by."</p> + +<p>And the dog gravely made his way out of the +room and out of the house.</p> + +<p>The minute he was out-of-doors, he proceeded +to go crazy. Nothing but sheer mania could excuse +his actions during the rest of that day. They were +unworthy of a mongrel puppy. And never before +in all his blameless, stately life had Lad so grossly +misbehaved as he now proceeded to do. The +Mistress was alive. The Horror was past. Reaction +set in with a rush. As I have said, Lad went +crazy.</p> + +<p>Peter Grimm, the Mistress's cynical and temperamental +gray cat, was picking its dainty way across +the lawn as Lad emerged from the house.</p> + +<p>Ordinarily, Lad regarded Peter Grimm with a +cold tolerance. But now, he dashed at the cat with +a semblance of stark wrath. Like a furry whirlwind +he bore down upon the amazed feline. The +cat, in dire offense, scratched his nose with a quite +unnecessary virulence and fled up a tree, spitting +and yowling, tail fluffed out as thick as a man's +wrist.</p> + +<p>Seeing that Peter Grimm had resorted to unsportsmanly +tactics by scrambling whither he could +not follow, Lad remembered the need for silence +and forbore to bark threats at his escaped victim.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +Instead, he galloped to the rear of the house where +stood the dairy.</p> + +<p>The dairy door was on the latch. With his head +Lad butted it open and ran into the stone-floored +room. A line of full milk-pans were ranged side +by side on a shelf. Rising on his hind-legs and +bracing his forepaws on the shelf, Lad seized edges +of the deep pans, one after another, between his +teeth, and, with a succession of sharp jerks brought +them one and all clattering to the floor.</p> + +<p>Scampering out of the dairy, ankle deep in a +river of spilt milk, and paying no heed to the cries +of the scandalized cook, he charged forth in the +open again. His eye fell on a red cow, tethered +by a long chain in a pasture-patch beyond the +stables.</p> + +<p>She was an old acquaintance of his, this cow. +She had been on The Place since before he was +born. Yet, to-day Lad's spear knew no brother. +He tore across the lawn and past the stables, +straight at the astonished bovine. In terror, the +cow threw up her tail and sought to lumber away +at top speed. Being controlled by her tether she +could run only in a wide circle. And around and +around this circle Lad drove the bellowing brute +as fast as he could make her run, until the gardener +came panting to her relief.</p> + +<p>But neither the gardener nor any other living +creature could stay Lad's rampage that day. He +fled merrily up to the Lodge at the gate, burst into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +its kitchen and through to the refrigerator. There, +in a pan, he found a raw leg of mutton. Seizing +this twelve-pound morsel in his teeth and dodging +the indignant housewife, he careered out into the +highway with his prize, dug a hole in the roadside +ditch and was gleefully preparing to bury the +mutton therein, when its outraged owner rescued it.</p> + +<p>A farmer was jogging along the road behind a +half-dozing horse. A painful nip on the rear hind-leg +turned the nag's drowsy jog into a really industrious +effort at a runaway. Already, Lad had +sprung clear of the front wheel. As the wagon +bumped past him, he leaped upward; deftly caught +a hanging corner of the lap-robe and hauled it +free of the seat.</p> + +<p>Robe in mouth, he capered off into a field; playfully +keeping just out of the reach of the pursuing +agrarian; and at last he deposited the stolen treasure +in the heart of a bramble-patch a full half-mile +from the road.</p> + +<p>Lad made his way back to The Place by a wide +detour that brought him through the grounds of +a neighbor of the Master's.</p> + +<p>This neighbor owned a dog—a mean-eyed, rangy +and mangy pest of a brute that Lad would ordinarily +have scorned to notice. But, most decidedly, he +noticed the dog now. He routed it out of its kennel +and bestowed upon it a thrashing that brought its +possessor's entire family shrieking to the scene of +conflict.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>Courteously refusing to carry the matter further, +in face of a half-dozen shouting humans, Lad +cantered homeward.</p> + +<p>From the clothes-line, on the drying-ground at +The Place, fluttered a large white object. It was +palpably a nurse's uniform—palpably <i>the</i> nurse's +uniform. And Lad greeted its presence there with +a grin of pure bliss.</p> + +<p>In less than two seconds the uniform was off +the line, with three huge rents marring its stiff +surface. In less than thirty seconds, it was reposing +in the rich black mud on the verge of the +lake, and Lad was rolling playfully on it.</p> + +<p>Then he chanced to remember his long-neglected +enemies, the squirrels, and his equally-neglected +prey, the rabbits. And he loped off to the forest +to wage gay warfare upon them. He was gloriously, +idiotically, criminally happy. And, for the +time, he was a fool.</p> + +<p>All day long, complaints came pouring in to the +Master. Lad had destroyed the whole "set" of +cream. Lad had chased the red cow till it would be +a miracle if she didn't fall sick of it. Lad had scared +poor dear little Peter Grimm so badly that the cat +seemed likely to spend all the rest of its nine lives +squalling in the tree-top and crossly refusing to +come down.</p> + +<p>Lad had spoiled a Sunday leg of mutton, up at +the Lodge. Lad had made a perfectly respectable +horse run madly away for nearly twenty-five feet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +and had given the horse's owner a blasphemous +half-mile run over a plowed field after a cherished +and ravished lap-robe. Lad had well-nigh killed +a neighbor's particularly killable dog. Lad had +wantonly destroyed the nurse's very newest and +most expensive uniform. All day it was Lad—Lad—Lad!</p> + +<p>Lad, it seemed, was a storm-center, whence +radiated complaints that ran the whole gamut from +tears to lurid profanity; and, to each and every +complainant, the Master made the same answer:</p> + +<p>"Leave him alone. We're just out of hell—Lad +and I! He's doing the things I'd do myself, if I +had the nerve."</p> + +<p>Which, of course, was a manifestly asinine way +for a grown man to talk.</p> + +<p>Long after dusk, Lad pattered meekly home, +very tired and quite sane. His spell of imbecility +had worn itself out. He was once more his calmly +dignified self, though not a little ashamed of his +babyish pranks, and mildly wondering how he had +come to behave so.</p> + +<p>Still, he could not grieve over what he had done. +He could not grieve over anything just yet. The +Mistress was alive! And while the craziness had +passed, the happiness had not. Tired, drowsily at +peace with all the world, he curled up under the +piano and went to sleep.</p> + +<p>He slept so soundly that the locking of the house +for the night did not rouse him. But something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +else did. Something that occurred long after everyone +on The Place was sound asleep. Lad was +joyously pursuing, through the forest aisles of +dreamland, a whole army of squirrels that had not +sense enough to climb trees—when in a moment, +he was wide awake and on guard. Far off, very +far off, he heard a man walking.</p> + +<p>Now, to a trained dog there is as much difference +in the sound of human footfalls as, to humans, +there is a difference in the aspect of human faces. +A belated countryman walking along the highway, +a furlong distant, would not have awakened Lad +from sleep. Also, he knew and could classify, at +any distance, the footsteps of everyone who lived +on The Place. But the steps that had brought him +wide awake and on the alert to-night, did not belong +to one of The Place's people; nor were they +the steps of anybody who had a right to be on the +premises.</p> + +<p>Someone had climbed the fence, at a distance +from the drive, and was crossing the grounds, obliquely, +toward the house. It was a man, and he +was still nearly two hundred yards away. Moreover, +he was walking stealthily; and pausing every +now and then as if to reconnoiter.</p> + +<p>No human, at that distance, could have heard the +steps. No dog could have helped hearing them. +Had the other dogs been at home instead of at +the boarding-kennels, The Place would by this time +have been re-echoing with barks. Both scent and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +sound would have given them ample warning of the +stranger's presence.</p> + +<p>To Lad, on the lower floor of the house, where +every window was shut, the aid of scent was denied. +Yet his sense of hearing was enough. Plainly, he +heard the softly advancing steps—heard and read +them. He read them for an intruder's—read them +for the steps of a man who was afraid to be heard +or seen, and who was employing all the caution in +his power.</p> + +<p>A booming, trumpeting bark of warning sprang +into Lad's throat—and died there. The sharp +command "<i>Quiet!</i>" was still in force. Even in his +madness, that day, he had uttered no sound. He +strangled back the tumultuous bark and listened +in silence. He had risen to his feet and had come +out from under the piano. In the middle of the +living-room he stood, head lowered, ears pricked. +His ruff was abristle. A ridge of hair rose +grotesquely from the shaggy mass of coat along +his spine. His lips had slipped back from his teeth. +And so he stood and waited.</p> + +<p>The shuffling, soft steps were nearer now. Down +through the trees they came, and then onto the +springy grass of the lawn. Now they crunched +lightly on the gravel of the drive. Lad moved forward +a little and again stood at attention.</p> + +<p>The man was climbing to the veranda. The vines +rustled ever so slightly as he brushed past them. +His footfall sounded lightly on the veranda itself.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>Next there was a faint clicking noise at the old-fashioned +lock of one of the bay windows. Presently, +by half inches, the window began to rise. +Before it had risen an inch, Lad knew the trespasser +was a negro. Also that it was no one with +whose scent he was familiar.</p> + +<p>Another pause, followed by the very faintest +scratching, as the negro ran a knife-blade along +the crack of the inner wooden blinds in search +of the catch.</p> + +<p>The blinds parted slowly. Over the window-sill +the man threw a leg. Then he stepped down, noiselessly +into the room.</p> + +<p>He stood there a second, evidently listening.</p> + +<p>And, before he could stir or breathe, something +in the darkness hurled itself upon him.</p> + +<p>Without so much as a growl of warning, eighty +pounds of muscular, hairy energy smote the negro +full in the chest. A set of hot-breathing jaws +flashed for his jugular vein, missed it by a half-inch, +and the graze left a red-hot searing pain along +the negro's throat. In the merest fraction of a +moment, the murderously snapping jaws sank into +the thief's shoulder. It is collie custom to fight +with a running accompaniment of snarling growls. +But Lad did not give voice. In total silence he +made his onslaught. In silence, he sought and +gained his hold.</p> + +<p>The negro was less considerate of the Mistress' +comfort. With a screech that would have waked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +every mummy in Egypt, he reeled back, under that +first unseen impact, lost his balance and crashed to +the hardwood floor, overturning a table and a lamp +in his fall. Certain that a devil had attacked him +there in the black darkness, the man gave forth yell +after yell of mortal terror. Frantically, he strove +to push away his assailant and his clammy hand +encountered a mass of fur.</p> + +<p>The negro had heard that all the dogs on The +Place had been sent away because of the Mistress' +illness. Hence his attempt at burglary. Hence +also, his panic fear when Lad had sprung on him.</p> + +<p>But with the feel of the thick warm fur, the +man's superstitious terror died. He knew he had +roused the house; but there was still time to escape +if he could rid himself of this silent, terrible +creature. He staggered to his feet. And, with the +knife he still clutched, he smote viciously at his +assailant.</p> + +<p>Because Lad was a collie, Lad was not killed +then and there. A bulldog or a bull-terrier, attacking +a man, seeks for some convenient hold. Having +secured that hold—be it good or bad—he locks +his jaws and hangs on. You can well-nigh cut his +head from his body before he will let go. Thus, +he is at the mercy of any armed man who can keep +cool long enough to kill him.</p> + +<p>But a collie has a strain of wolf in his queer +brain. He seeks a hold, it is true. But at an instant's +notice, he is ready to shift that hold for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +better. He may bite or slash a dozen times in as +many seconds and in as many parts of the body. +He is everywhere at once—he is nowhere in particular. +He is not a pleasant opponent.</p> + +<p>Lad did not wait for the negro's knife to find +his heart. As the man lunged, the dog transferred +his profitless shoulderhold to a grip on the stabbing +arm. The knife blade plowed an ugly furrow along +his side. And the dog's curved eye-tooth slashed +the negro's arm from elbow to wrist, clean through +to the bone.</p> + +<p>The knife clattered to the floor. The negro +wheeled and made a leap for the open window; he +had not cleared half the space when Lad bounded +for the back of his neck. The dog's upper set of +teeth raked the man's hard skull, carrying away +a handful of wool and flesh; and his weight threw +the thief forward on hands and knees again. Twisting, +the man found the dog's furry throat; and with +both hands sought to strangle him; at the same +time backing out through the window. But it is +not easy to strangle a collie. The piles of tumbled +ruff-hair form a protection no other breed of dog +can boast. Scarcely had the hands found their grip +when one of them was crushed between the dog's +vise-like jaws.</p> + +<p>The negro flung off his enemy and turned to +clear the veranda at a single jump. But before +he had half made the turn, Lad was at his throat +again, and the two crashed through the vines to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>gether +and down onto the driveway below. The +entire combat had not lasted for more than thirty +seconds.</p> + +<p>The Master, pistol and flashlight in hand, ran +down to find the living-room amuck with blood +and with smashed furniture, and one of the windows +open. He flashed the electric ray through +the window. On the ground below, stunned by +striking against a stone jardinière in his fall, the +negro sprawled senseless upon his back. Above him +was Lad, his searching teeth at last having found +their coveted throat-hold. Steadily, the great dog +was grinding his way through toward the jugular.</p> + +<p>There was a deal of noise and excitement and +light after that. The negro was trussed up and +the local constable was summoned by telephone. +Everybody seemed to be doing much loud talking.</p> + +<p>Lad took advantage of the turmoil to slip back +into the house and to his "cave" under the piano; +where he proceeded to lick solicitously the flesh +wound on his left side.</p> + +<p>He was very tired; and he was very unhappy and +he was very much worried. In spite of all his own +precautions as to silence, the negro had made a +most ungodly lot of noise. The commandment +"<i>Quiet!</i>" had been fractured past repair. And, +somehow, Lad felt blame for it all. It was really +his fault—and he realized it now—that the man +had made such a racket. Would the Master punish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +him? Perhaps. Humans have such odd ideas of +Justice. He——</p> + +<p>Then it was that the Master found him; and +called him forth from his place of refuge. Head +adroop, tail low, Lad crept out to meet his scolding. +He looked very much like a puppy caught tearing +a new rug.</p> + +<p>But suddenly, the Master and everyone else in +the room was patting him and telling him how +splendid he was. And the Master had found the +deep scratch on his side and was dressing it, and +stopping every minute or so, to praise him again. +And then, as a crowning reward, he was taken +upstairs for the Mistress to stroke and make +much of.</p> + +<p>When at last he was sent downstairs again, Lad +did not return to his piano-lair. Instead, he went +out-of-doors and away from The Place. And, +when he thought he was far enough from the house, +he solemnly sat down and began to bark.</p> + +<p>It was good—<i>passing</i> good—to be able to make +a noise again. He had never before known how +needful to canine happiness a bark really is. He +had long and pressing arrears of barks in his system. +And thunderously he proceeded to divest +himself of them for nearly half an hour.</p> + +<p>Then, feeling much, <i>much</i> better, he ambled +homeward, to take up normal life again after a +whole fortnight of martyrdom.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br /> +A MIRACLE OF TWO</h2> + + +<p>The connecting points between the inner and +outer Lad were a pair of the wisest and +darkest and most sorrowful eyes in all +dogdom—eyes that gave the lie to folk who say +no dog has a soul. There are such dogs once in +a human generation.</p> + +<p>Lad had but one tyrant in all the world. That +was his dainty gold-and-white collie-mate, Lady; +Lady, whose affections he had won in fair life-and-death +battle with a younger and stronger dog; +Lady, who bullied him unmercifully and teased +him and did fearful things to his stately dignity; +and to whom he allowed liberties that would have +brought any other aggressor painfully near to +death.</p> + +<p>Lady was high-strung and capricious; a collie de +luxe. Lad and she were as oddly contrasted a +couple, in body and mind, as one could find in a +day's journey through their North Jersey hinterland. +To The Place (at intervals far too few between +to suit Lad), came human guests; people, +for the most part, who did not understand dogs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +and who either drew away in causeless fear from +them or else insisted on patting or hauling them +about.</p> + +<p>Lad detested guests. He met their advances with +cold courtesy, and, as soon as possible, got himself +out of their way. He knew the Law far too well +to snap or to growl at a guest. But the Law did +not compel him to stay within patting distance of +one.</p> + +<p>The careless caress of the Mistress or the Master—especially +of the Mistress—was a delight to him. +He would sport like an overgrown puppy with +either of these deities; throwing dignity to the +four winds. But to them alone did he unbend—to +them and to his adored tyrant, Lady.</p> + +<p>To The Place, of a cold spring morning, came +a guest; or two guests. Lad at first was not certain +which. The visible guest was a woman. And, +in her arms she carried a long bundle that might +have been anything at all.</p> + +<p>Long as was the bundle, it was ridiculously light. +Or, rather, pathetically light. For its folds contained +a child, five years old; a child that ought to +have weighed more than forty pounds and weighed +barely twenty. A child with a wizened little old +face, and with a skeleton body which was powerless +from the waist down.</p> + +<p>Six months earlier, the Baby had been as vigorous +and jolly as a collie pup. Until an invisible +Something prowled through the land, laying Its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +finger-tips on thousands of such jolly and vigorous +youngsters, as frost's fingers are laid on autumn +flowers—and with the same hideous effect.</p> + +<p>This particular Baby had not died of the plague, +as had so many of her fellows. At least, her brain +and the upper half of her body had not died.</p> + +<p>Her mother had been counseled to try mountain +air for the hopeless little invalid. She had written +to her distant relative, the Mistress, asking leave +to spend a month at The Place.</p> + +<p>Lad viewed the arrival of the adult guest with +no interest and with less pleasure. He stood, +aloof, at one side of the veranda, as the newcomer +alighted from the car.</p> + +<p>But, when the Master took the long bundle from +her arms and carried it up the steps, Lad waxed +curious. Not only because the Master handled his +burden so carefully, but because the collie's uncanny +scent-power told him all at once that it was human.</p> + +<p>Lad had never seen a human carried in this +manner. It did not make sense to him. And he +stepped, hesitantly, forward to investigate.</p> + +<p>The Master laid the bundle tenderly on the +veranda hammock-swing, and loosed the blanket-folds +that swathed it. Lad came over to him, and +looked down into the pitiful little face.</p> + +<p>There had been no baby at The Place for many +a year. Lad had seldom seen one at such close +quarters. But now the sight did something queer +to his heart—the big heart that ever went out to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +weak and defenseless, the heart that made a playfully +snapping puppy or a cranky little lapdog as +safe from his terrible jaws as was Lady herself.</p> + +<p>He sniffed in friendly fashion at the child's +pathetically upturned face. Into the dull baby-eyes, +at sight of him, came a look of pleased interest—the +first that had crossed their blankness for many +a long day. Two feeble little hands reached out +and buried themselves lovingly in the mass of soft +ruff that circled Lad's neck.</p> + +<p>The dog quivered all over, from nose to brush, +with joy at the touch. He laid his great head down +beside the drawn cheek, and positively reveled in +the pain the tugging fingers were inflicting on his +sensitive throat.</p> + +<p>In one instant, Lad had widened his narrow and +hard-established circle of Loved Ones, to include +this half-dead wisp of humanity.</p> + +<p>The child's mother came up the steps in the +Master's wake. At sight of the huge dog, she +halted in quick alarm.</p> + +<p>"Look out!" she shrilled. "He may attack her! +Oh, <i>do</i> drive him away!"</p> + +<p>"Who? Lad," queried the Mistress. "Why, Lad +wouldn't harm a hair of her head if his life depended +on it! See, he adores her already. I +never knew him to take to a stranger before. And +she looks brighter and happier, too, than she has +looked in months. Don't make her cry by sending +him away from her."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But," insisted the woman, "dogs are full of +germs. I've read so. He might give her some +terrible——"</p> + +<p>"Lad is just as clean and as germless as I am," +declared the Mistress, with some warmth. "There +isn't a day he doesn't swim in the lake, and there +isn't a day I don't brush him. He's——"</p> + +<p>"He's a collie, though," protested the guest, +looking on in uneasy distaste, while Baby secured +a tighter and more painful grip on the delighted +dog's ruff. "And I've always heard collies are +awfully treacherous. Don't you find them so?"</p> + +<p>"If we did," put in the Master, who had heard +that same asinine question until it sickened him, "if +we found collies were treacherous, we wouldn't +keep them. A collie is either the best dog or the +worst dog on earth. Lad is the best. We don't +keep the other kind. I'll call him away, though, +if it bothers you to have him so close to Baby. +Come, Lad!"</p> + +<p>Reluctantly, the dog turned to obey the Law; +glancing back, as he went, at the adorable new idol +he had acquired; then crossing obediently to where +the Master stood.</p> + +<p>The Baby's face puckered unhappily. Her pipestem +arms went out toward the collie. In a tired +little voice she called after him:</p> + +<p>"Dog! <i>Doggie!</i> Come back here, right away! +I love you, Dog!"</p> + +<p>Lad, vibrating with eagerness, glanced up at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +Master for leave to answer the call. The Master, +in turn, looked inquiringly at his nervous guest. +Lad translated the look. And, instantly, he felt +an unreasoning hate for the fussy woman.</p> + +<p>The guest walked over to her weakly gesticulating +daughter and explained:</p> + +<p>"Dogs aren't nice pets for sick little girls, dear. +They're rough; and besides, they bite. I'll find +Dolly for you as soon as I unpack:"</p> + +<p>"Don't want Dolly," fretted the child. "Want +the dog! He isn't rough. He won't bite. Doggie! +I love you! Come <i>here!</i>"</p> + +<p>Lad looked up longingly at the Master, his +plumed tail a-wag, his ears up, his eyes dancing. +One hand of the Master's stirred toward the hammock +in a motion so imperceptible that none but a +sharply watchful dog could have observed it.</p> + +<p>Lad waited for no second bidding. Quietly, unobtrusively, +he crossed behind the guest, and stood +beside his idol. The Baby fairly squealed with +rapture, and drew his silken head down to her face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well!" surrendered the guest, sulkily. "If +she won't be happy any other way, let him go to +her. I suppose it's safe, if you people say so. And +it's the first thing she's been interested in, since——<i>No</i>, +darling," she broke off, sternly. "You shall +<i>not</i> kiss him! I draw the line at that. Here! Let +Mamma rub your lips with her handkerchief."</p> + +<p>"Dogs aren't made to be kissed," said the Master, +sharing, however, Lad's disgust at the lip-scrubbing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +process. "But she'll come to less harm from kissing +the head of a clean dog than from kissing the +mouths of most humans. I'm glad she likes Lad. +And I'm still gladder that he likes her. It's almost +the first time he ever went to an outsider of his +own accord."</p> + +<p>That was how Lad's idolatry began. And that, +too, was how a miserably sick child found a new +interest in life.</p> + +<p>Every day, from morning to dusk, Lad was with +the Baby. Forsaking his immemorial "cave" +under the music-room piano, he lay all night outside +the door of her bedroom. In preference even +to a romp through the forest with Lady, he would +pace majestically alongside the invalid's wheelchair +as it was trundled along the walks or up and +down the veranda.</p> + +<p>Forsaking his post on the floor at the left of the +Master's seat, at meals—a place that had been his +alone since puppyhood—he lay always behind the +Baby's table couch. This to the vast discomfort of +the maid who had to step over him in circumnavigating +the board, and to the open annoyance of +the child's mother.</p> + +<p>Baby, as the days went on, lost none of her +first pleasure in her shaggy playmate. To her, the +dog was a ceaseless novelty. She loved to twist and +braid the great white ruff on his chest, to toy +with his sensitive ears, to make him "speak" or +shake hands or lie down or stand up at her bidding.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +She loved to play a myriad of intricate games with +him—games ranging from <i>Beauty and the Beast</i>, +to <i>Fairy Princess and Dragon</i>.</p> + +<p>Whether as <i>Beast</i> (to her <i>Beauty</i>) or in the more +complex and exacting rôle of <i>Dragon</i>, Lad entered +wholesouledly into every such game. Of course, +he always played his part wrong. Equally, of +course, Baby always lost her temper at his stupidity, +and pummeled him, by way of chastisement, with +her nerveless fists—a punishment Lad accepted with +a grin of idiotic bliss.</p> + +<p>Whether because of the keenly bracing mountain +air or because of her outdoor days with a chum +who awoke her dormant interest in life, Baby was +growing stronger and less like a sallow ghostling. +And, in the relief of noting this steady improvement, +her mother continued to tolerate Lad's chumship +with the child, although she had never lost her +own first unreasoning fear of the big dog.</p> + +<p>Two or three things happened to revive this +foolish dread. One of them occurred about a week +after the invalid's arrival at The Place.</p> + +<p>Lady, being no fonder of guests than was Lad, +had given the veranda and the house itself a wide +berth. But one day, as Baby lay in the hammock +(trying in a wordy irritation to teach Lad the +alphabet), and as the guest sat with her back to +them, writing letters, Lady trotted around the +corner of the porch.</p> + +<p>At sight of the hammock's queer occupant, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +paused, and stood blinking inquisitively. Baby +spied the graceful gold-and-white creature. Pushing +Lad to one side, she called, imperiously:</p> + +<p>"Come here, new Doggie. You pretty, <i>pretty</i> +Doggie!"</p> + +<p>Lady, her vanity thus appealed to, strolled mincingly +forward. Just within arm's reach, she halted +again. Baby thrust out one hand, and seized her +by the ruff to draw her into petting-distance.</p> + +<p>The sudden tug on Lady's fur was as nothing to +the haulings and maulings in which Lad so meekly +reveled. But Lad and Lady were by no means +alike, as I think I have said. Boundless patience +and a chivalrous love for the Weak, were not numbered +among Lady's erratic virtues. She liked +liberties as little as did Lad; and she had a far +more drastic way of resenting them.</p> + +<p>At the first pinch of her sensitive skin there was +an instant flash of gleaming teeth, accompanied by +a nasty growl and a lightning-quick forward lunge +of the dainty gold-white head. As the wolf +slashes at a foe—and as no animals but wolf and +collie know how to—Lady slashed murderously at +the thin little arm that sought to pull her along.</p> + +<p>And Lad, in the same breath, hurled his great +bulk between his mate and his idol. It was a move +unbelievably swift for so large a dog. And it +served its turn.</p> + +<p>The eye-tooth slash that would have cut the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +girl's arm to the bone, sent a red furrow athwart +Lad's massive shoulder.</p> + +<p>Before Lady could snap again, or, indeed, could +get over her surprise at her mate's intervention, Lad +was shouldering her off the edge of the veranda +steps. Very gently he did this, and with no show +of teeth. But he did it with much firmness.</p> + +<p>In angry amazement at such rudeness on the part +of her usually subservient mate, Lady snarled +ferociously, and bit at him.</p> + +<p>Just then, the child's mother, roused from her +letter-writing by the turmoil, came rushing to her +endangered offspring's rescue.</p> + +<p>"He growled at Baby," she reported hysterically, +as the noise brought the Master out of his study +and to the veranda on the run. "He <i>growled</i> at +her, and then he and that other horrid brute got to +fighting, and——"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," interposed the Master, calling both +dogs to him, "but Man is the only animal to maltreat +the female of his kind. No male dog would +fight with Lady. Much less would Lad—Hello!" +he broke off. "Look at his shoulder, though! That +was meant for Baby. Instead of scolding Lad, you +may thank him for saving her from an ugly slash. +I'll keep Lady chained up, after this."</p> + +<p>"But——"</p> + +<p>"But, with Lad beside her, Baby is in just about +as much danger as she would be with a guard of +forty U. S. Regulars," went on the Master. "Take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +my word for it. Come along, Lady. It's the +kennel for you for the next few weeks, old girl. +Lad, when I get back, I'll wash that shoulder for +you."</p> + +<p>With a sigh, Lad went over to the hammock and +lay down, heavily. For the first time since Baby's +advent at The Place, he was unhappy—very, <i>very</i> +unhappy. He had had to jostle and fend off Lady, +whom he worshipped. And he knew it would be +many a long day before his sensitively temperamental +mate would forgive or forget. Meantime, +so far as Lady was concerned, he was in Coventry.</p> + +<p>And just because he had saved from injury a +Baby who had meant no harm and who could not +help herself! Life, all at once, seemed dismayingly +complex to Lad's simple soul.</p> + +<p>He whimpered a little, under his breath; and +lifted his head toward Baby's dangling hand for a +caress that might help make things easier. But +Baby had been bitterly chagrined at Lady's reception +of her friendly advances. Lady could not be +punished for this. But Lad could.</p> + +<p>She slapped the lovingly upthrust muzzle with +all her feeble force. For once, Lad was not amused +by the castigation. He sighed, a second time; and +curled up on the floor beside the hammock, in a +right miserable heap; his head between his tiny +forepaws, his great sorrowful eyes abrim with +bewildered grief.</p> + +<p>Spring drowsed into early summer. And, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +the passing days, Baby continued to look less and +less like an atrophied mummy, and more like a thin, +but normal, child of five. She ate and slept, as +she had not done for many a month.</p> + +<p>The lower half of her body was still dead. But +there was a faint glow of pink in the flat cheeks, +and the eyes were alive once more. The hands +that pulled at Lad, in impulsive friendliness or in +punishment, were stronger, too. Their fur-tugs +hurt worse than at first. But the hurt always gave +Lad that same twinge of pleasure—a twinge that +helped to ease his heart's ache over the defection +of Lady.</p> + +<p>On a hot morning in early June, when the Mistress +and the Master had driven over to the village +for the mail, the child's mother wheeled the invalid +chair to a tree-roofed nook down by the lake—a +spot whose deep shade and lush long grass promised +more coolness than did the veranda.</p> + +<p>It was just the spot a city-dweller would have +chosen for a nap—and just the spot through which +no countryman would have cared to venture, at that +dry season, without wearing high boots.</p> + +<p>Here, not three days earlier, the Master had +killed a copperhead snake. Here, every summer, +during the late June mowing, The Place's scythe-wielders +moved with glum caution. And seldom +did their progress go unmarked by the scythe-severed +body of at least one snake.</p> + +<p>The Place, for the most part, lay on hillside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +and plateau, free from poisonous snakes of all +kinds, and usually free from mosquitoes as well. +The lawn, close-shaven, sloped down to the lake. +To one side of it, in a narrow stretch of bottom-land, +a row of weeping willows pierced the loose +stone lake-wall.</p> + +<p>Here, the ground was seldom bone-dry. Here, +the grass grew rankest. Here, also, driven to +water by the drought, abode eft, lizard and an occasional +snake, finding coolness and moisture in the +long grass, and a thousand hiding places amid the +stone-crannies or the lake-wall.</p> + +<p>If either the Mistress or the Master had been at +home on this morning, the guest would have been +warned against taking Baby there at all. She +would have been doubly warned against the folly +which she now proceeded to commit—of lifting +the child from the wheel-chair, and placing her on +a spread rug in the grass, with her back to the low +wall.</p> + +<p>The rug, on its mattress of lush grasses, was soft. +The lake breeze stirred the lower boughs of the +willows. The air was pleasantly cool here, and +had lost the dead hotness that brooded over the +higher ground.</p> + +<p>The guest was well pleased with her choice of +a resting place. Lad was not.</p> + +<p>The big dog had been growingly uneasy from +the time the wheel-chair approached the lake-wall. +Twice he put himself in front of it; only to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +ordered aside. Once the wheels hit his ribs with +jarring impact. As Baby was laid upon her grassy +bed, Lad barked loudly and pulled at one end of +the rug with his teeth.</p> + +<p>The guest shook her parasol at him and ordered +him back to the house. Lad obeyed no orders, save +those of his two deities. Instead of slinking away, +he sat down beside the child; so close to her that +his ruff pressed against her shoulder. He did not +lie down as usual, but sat—tulip ears erect, dark +eyes cloudy with trouble; head turning slowly from +side to side, nostrils pulsing.</p> + +<p>To a human, there was nothing to see or hear or +smell—other than the cool beauty of the nook, the +soughing of the breeze in the willows, the soft fragrance +of a June morning. To a dog, there were +faint rustling sounds that were not made by the +breeze. There were equally faint and elusive scents +that the human nose could not register. Notably, +a subtle odor as of crushed cucumbers. (If ever +you have killed a pit-viper, you know that smell.)</p> + +<p>The dog was worried. He was uneasy. His uneasiness +would not let him sit still. It made him +fidget and shift his position; and, once or twice, +growl a little under his breath.</p> + +<p>Presently, his eyes brightened, and his brush +began to thud gently on the rug-edge. For, a +quarter mile above, The Place's car was turning +in from the highway. In it were the Mistress and +the Master, coming home with the mail. Now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +everything would be all right. And the onerous +duties of guardianship would pass to more capable +hands.</p> + +<p>As the car rounded the corner of the house and +came to a stop at the front door, the guest caught +sight of it. Jumping up from her seat on the rug, +she started toward it in quest of mail. So hastily +did she rise that she dislodged one of the wall's +small stones and sent it rattling down into a wide +crevice between two larger rocks.</p> + +<p>She did not heed the tinkle of stone on stone; nor +a sharp little hiss that followed, as the falling missile +smote the coils of a sleeping copperhead snake +in one of the wall's lowest cavities. But Lad heard +it. And he heard the slithering of scales against +rocksides, as the snake angrily sought new sleeping +quarters.</p> + +<p>The guest walked away, all ignorant of what she +had done. And, before she had taken three steps, +a triangular grayish-ruddy head was pushed out +from the bottom of the wall.</p> + +<p>Twistingly, the copperhead glided out onto the +grass at the very edge of the rug. The snake was +short, and thick, and dirty, with a distinct and intricate +pattern interwoven on its rough upper body. +The head was short, flat, wedge-shaped. Between +eye and nostril, on either side, was the sinister "pinhole," +that is the infallible mark of the poison-sac +serpent.</p> + +<p>(The rattlesnake swarms among some of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +stony mountains of the North Jersey hinterland; +though seldom, nowadays, does it venture into the +valleys. But the copperhead—twin brother in +murder to the rattler—still infests meadow and +lakeside. Smaller, fatter, deadlier than the +diamond-back, it gives none of the warning which +redeems the latter from complete abhorrence. It is +a creature as evil as its own aspect—and name. +Copperhead and rattlesnake are the only pit-vipers +left now between Canada and Virginia.)</p> + +<p>Out from its wall-cranny oozed the reptile. +Along the fringe of the rug it moved for a foot or +two; then paused uncertain—perhaps momentarily +dazzled by the light. It stopped within a yard +of the child's wizened little hand that rested idle on +the rug. Baby's other arm was around Lad, and +her body was between him and the snake.</p> + +<p>Lad, with a shiver, freed himself from the frail +embrace and got nervously to his feet.</p> + +<p>There are two things—and perhaps <i>only</i> two +things—of which the best type of thoroughbred +collie is abjectly afraid and from which he will +run for his life. One is a mad dog. The other is +a poisonous snake. Instinct, and the horror of +death, warn him violently away from both.</p> + +<p>At stronger scent, and then at sight of the copperhead, +Lad's stout heart failed him. Gallantly +had he attacked human marauders who had invaded +The Place. More than once, in dashing fearlessness, +he had fought with dogs larger than himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +With a d'Artagnan-like gaiety of zest, he had +tackled and deflected a bull that had charged head +down at the Mistress.</p> + +<p>Commonly speaking, he knew no fear. Yet now +he was afraid; tremulously, quakingly, <i>sickly</i> +afraid. Afraid of the deadly thing that was halting +within three feet of him, with only the Baby's +fragile body as a barrier between.</p> + +<p>Left to himself, he would have taken, incontinently, +to his heels. With the lower animal's instinctive +appeal to a human in moments of danger, +he even pressed closer to the helpless child at his +side, as if seeking the protection of her humanness. +A great wave of cowardice shook the dog from +foot to head.</p> + +<p>The Master had alighted from the car; and was +coming down the hill, toward his guest, with several +letters in his hand. Lad cast a yearning look at +him. But the Master, he knew, was too far away +to be summoned in time by even the most imperious +bark.</p> + +<p>And it was then that the child's straying gaze +fell on the snake.</p> + +<p>With a gasp and a shudder, Baby shrank back +against Lad. At least, the upper half of her body +moved away from the peril. Her legs and feet lay +inert. The motion jerked the rug's fringe an inch +or two, disturbing the copperhead. The snake +coiled, and drew back its three-cornered head, the +forklike maroon tongue playing fitfully.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<p>With a cry of panic-fright at her own impotence +to escape, the child caught up a picture book from +the rug beside her, and flung it at the serpent. The +fluttering book missed its mark. But it served its +purpose by giving the copperhead reason to believe +itself attacked.</p> + +<p>Back went the triangular head, farther than ever; +and then flashed forward. The double move was +made in the minutest fraction of a second.</p> + +<p>A full third of the squat reddish body going with +the blow, the copperhead struck. It struck for the +thin knee, not ten inches away from its own coiled +body. The child screamed again in mortal terror.</p> + +<p>Before the scream could leave the fear-chalked +lips, Baby was knocked flat by a mighty and hairy +shape that lunged across her toward her foe.</p> + +<p>And the copperhead's fangs sank deep in Lad's +nose.</p> + +<p>He gave no sign of pain; but leaped back. As he +sprang his jaws caught Baby by the shoulder. The +keen teeth did not so much as bruise her soft flesh +as he half-dragged, half-threw her into the grass +behind him.</p> + +<p>Athwart the rug again, Lad launched himself +bodily upon the coiled snake.</p> + +<p>As he charged, the swift-striking fangs found +a second mark—this time in the side of his jaw.</p> + +<p>An instant later the copperhead lay twisting and +writhing and thrashing impotently among the grass<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>roots; +its back broken, and its body seared almost in +two by a slash of the dog's saber-like tusk.</p> + +<p>The fight was over. The menace was past. The +child was safe.</p> + +<p>And, in her rescuer's muzzle and jaw were two +deposits of mortal poison.</p> + +<p>Lad stood panting above the prostrate and crying +Baby. His work was done; and instinct told +him at what cost. But his idol was unhurt and +he was happy. He bent down to lick the convulsed +little face in mute plea for pardon for his needful +roughness toward her.</p> + +<p>But he was denied even this tiny consolation. +Even as he leaned downward he was knocked +prone to earth by a blow that all but fractured his +skull.</p> + +<p>At the child's first terrified cry, her mother had +turned back. Nearsighted and easily confused, she +had seen only that the dog had knocked her sick +baby flat, and was plunging across her body. Next, +she had seen him grip Baby's shoulder with his +teeth and drag her, shrieking, along the ground.</p> + +<p>That was enough. The primal mother-instinct +(that is sometimes almost as strong in woman as +in lioness—or cow), was aroused. Fearless of +danger to herself, the guest rushed to her child's +rescue. As she ran she caught her thick parasol +by the ferule and swung it aloft.</p> + +<p>Down came the agate-handle of the sunshade +on the head of the dog. The handle was as large<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +as a woman's fist, and was composed of a single +stone, set in four silver claws.</p> + +<p>As Lad staggered to his feet after the terrific +blow felled him, the impromptu weapon arose once +more in air, descending this time on his broad +shoulders.</p> + +<p>Lad did not cringe—did not seek to dodge or +run—did not show his teeth. This mad assailant +was a woman. Moreover, she was a guest, and as +such, sacred under the Guest Law which he had +mastered from puppyhood.</p> + +<p>Had a man raised his hand against Lad—a man +other than the Master or a guest—there would +right speedily have been a case for a hospital, if not +for the undertaker. But, as things now were, he +could not resent the beating.</p> + +<p>His head and shoulders quivered under the force +and the pain of the blows. But his splendid body +did not cower. And the woman, wild with fear +and mother-love, continued to smite with all her +random strength.</p> + +<p>Then came the rescue.</p> + +<p>At the first blow the child had cried out in +fierce protest at her pet's ill-treatment. Her cry +went unheard.</p> + +<p>"Mother!" she shrieked, her high treble cracked +with anguish. "Mother! Don't! <i>Don't!</i> He kept +the snake from eating me! He——!"</p> + +<p>The frantic woman still did not heed. Each successive +blow seemed to fall upon the little onlooker's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +own bare heart. And Baby, under the stress, went +quite mad.</p> + +<p>Scrambling to her feet, in crazy zeal to protect +her beloved playmate, she tottered forward three +steps, and seized her mother by the skirt.</p> + +<p>At the touch the woman looked down. Then +her face went yellow-white; and the parasol clattered +unnoticed to the ground.</p> + +<p>For a long instant the mother stood thus; her +eyes wide and glazed, her mouth open, her cheeks +ashy—staring at the swaying child who clutched +her dress for support and who was sobbing forth +incoherent pleas for the dog.</p> + +<p>The Master had broken into a run and into a +flood of wordless profanity at sight of his dog's +punishment. Now he came to an abrupt halt and +was glaring dazedly at the miracle before him.</p> + +<p>The child had risen and had walked.</p> + +<p>The child had <i>walked!</i>—she whose lower motive-centers, +the wise doctors had declared, were hopelessly +paralyzed—she who could never hope to +twitch so much as a single toe or feel any sensation +from the hips downward!</p> + +<p>Small wonder that both guest and Master seemed +to have caught, for the moment, some of the +paralysis that so magically departed from the +invalid!</p> + +<p>And yet—as a corps of learned physicians later +agreed—there was no miracle—no magic—about it. +Baby's was not the first, nor the thousandth case<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +in pathologic history, in which paralyzed sensory +powers had been restored to their normal functions +by means of a shock.</p> + +<p>The child had had no malformation, no accident, +to injure the spine or the co-ordination between +limbs and brain. A long illness had left her powerless. +Country air and new interest in life had +gradually built up wasted tissues. A shock had re-established +communication between brain and lower +body—a communication that had been suspended; +not broken.</p> + +<p>When, at last, there was room in any of the +human minds for aught but blank wonder and +gratitude, the joyously weeping mother was made +to listen to the child's story of the fight with the +snake—a story corroborated by the Master's find of +the copperhead's half-severed body.</p> + +<p>"I'll—I'll get down on my knees to that heaven-sent +dog," sobbed the guest, "and apologize to him. +Oh, I wish some of you would beat me as I beat +him! I'd feel so much better! Where is he?"</p> + +<p>The question brought no answer. Lad had vanished. +Nor could eager callings and searchings +bring him to view. The Master, returning from a +shout-punctuated hunt through the forest, made +Baby tell her story all over again. Then he nodded.</p> + +<p>"I understand," he said, feeling a ludicrously +unmanly desire to cry. "I see how it was. The +snake must have bitten him, at least once. Probably +oftener, and he knew what that meant. Lad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +knows everything—<i>knew</i> everything, I mean. If +he had known a little less he'd have been human. +But—if he'd been human, he probably wouldn't +have thrown away his life for Baby."</p> + +<p>"Thrown away his life," repeated the guest. +"I—I don't understand. Surely I didn't strike him +hard enough to——"</p> + +<p>"No," returned the Master, "but the snake did."</p> + +<p>"You mean, he has——?"</p> + +<p>"I mean it is the nature of all animals to crawl +away, alone, into the forest to die. They are more +considerate than we. They try to cause no further +trouble to those they have loved. Lad got his death +from the copperhead's fangs. He knew it. And +while we were all taken up with the wonder of +Baby's cure, he quietly went away—to die."</p> + +<p>The Mistress got up hurriedly, and left the room. +She loved the great dog, as she loved few humans. +The guest dissolved into a flood of sloppy tears.</p> + +<p>"And I beat him," she wailed. "I beat him—horribly! +And all the time he was dying from the +poison he had saved my child from! Oh, I'll never +forgive myself for this, the longest day I live."</p> + +<p>"The longest day is a long day," drily commented +the Master. "And self-forgiveness is the +easiest of all lessons to learn. After all, Lad was +only a dog. That's why he is dead."</p> + +<p>The Place's atmosphere tingled with jubilation +over the child's cure. Her uncertain, but always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +successful, efforts at walking were an hourly +delight.</p> + +<p>But, through the general joy, the Mistress and +the Master could not always keep their faces bright. +Even the guest mourned frequently, and loudly, and +eloquently the passing of Lad. And Baby was +openly inconsolable at the loss of her chum.</p> + +<p>At dawn on the morning of the fourth day, the +Master let himself silently out of the house, for +his usual before-breakfast cross-country tramp—a +tramp on which, for years, Lad had always been his +companion. Heavy-hearted, the Master prepared +to set forth alone.</p> + +<p>As he swung shut the veranda door behind him, +Something arose stiffly from a porch rug—Something +the Master looked at in a daze of unbelief.</p> + +<p>It was a dog—yet no such dog as had ever before +sullied the cleanness of The Place's well-scoured +veranda.</p> + +<p>The animal's body was lean to emaciation. The +head was swollen—though, apparently, the swelling +had begun to recede. The fur, from spine to toe, +from nose to tail-tip, was one solid and shapeless +mass of caked mud.</p> + +<p>The Master sat down very suddenly on the +veranda floor beside the dirt-encrusted brute, and +caught it in his arms, sputtering disjointedly:</p> + +<p>"Lad!—<i>Laddie!</i>—Old <i>friend!</i> You're alive +again! You're—you're—<i>alive!</i>"</p> + +<p>Yes, Lad had known enough to creep away to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +the woods to die. But, thanks to the wolf-strain in +his collie blood, he had also known how to do +something far wiser than die.</p> + +<p>Three days of self-burial, to the very nostrils, in +the mysteriously healing ooze of the marshes, +behind the forest, had done for him what such +mud-baths have done for a million wild creatures. +It had drawn out the viper-poison and had left +him whole again—thin, shaky on the legs, slightly +swollen of head—but <i>whole</i>.</p> + +<p>"He's—he's awfully dirty, though! Isn't he?" +commented the guest, when an idiotic triumph-yell +from the Master had summoned the whole family, +in sketchy attire, to the veranda. "Awfully dirty +and——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," curtly assented the Master, Lad's head +between his caressing hands. "'Awfully dirty.' +That's why he's still alive."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /> +HIS LITTLE SON</h2> + + +<p>Lad's mate Lady was the only one of the +Little People about The Place who refused +to look on Lad with due reverence. In her +frolic-moods she teased him unmercifully; in a +prettily imperious way she bossed and bullied him—for +all of which Lad adored her. He had other +reasons, too, for loving Lady—not only because +she was dainty and beautiful, and was caressingly +fond of him, but because he had won her in fair +mortal combat with the younger and showier +Knave.</p> + +<p>For a time after Knave's routing, Lad was blissfully +happy in Lady's undivided comradeship. Together +they ranged the forests beyond The Place +in search of rabbits. Together they sprawled +shoulder to shoulder on the disreputable old fur +rug in front of the living-room fire. Together they +did joyous homage to their gods, the Mistress and +the Master.</p> + +<p>Then in the late summer a new rival appeared—to +be accurate, three rivals. And they took up all +of Lady's time and thought and love. Poor old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +Lad was made to feel terribly out in the cold. The +trio of rivals that had so suddenly claimed Lady's +care were fuzzy and roly-poly, and about the size +of month-old kittens. In brief, they were three +thoroughbred collie puppies.</p> + +<p>Two of them were tawny brown, with white forepaws +and chests. The third was not like Lad in +color, but like the mother—at least, all of him +not white was of the indeterminate yellowish +mouse-gray which, at three months or earlier, turns +to pale gold.</p> + +<p>When they were barely a fortnight old—almost +as soon as their big mournful eyes opened—the two +brown puppies died. There seemed no particular +reason for their death, except the fact that a collie +is always the easiest or else the most impossible +breed of dog to raise.</p> + +<p>The fuzzy grayish baby alone was left—the puppy +which was soon to turn to white and gold. The +Mistress named him "Wolf."</p> + +<p>Upon Baby Wolf the mother-dog lavished a +ridiculous lot of attention—so much that Lad was +miserably lonely. The great collie would try with +pathetic eagerness, a dozen times a day, to lure +his mate into a woodland ramble or into a romp +on the lawn, but Lady met his wistful advances +with absorbed indifference or with a snarl. Indeed +when Lad ventured overnear the fuzzy baby, he +was warned off by a querulous growl from the +mother or by a slash of her shiny white teeth.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lad could not at all understand it. He felt no +particular interest—only a mild and disapproving +curiosity—in the shapeless little whimpering ball of +fur that nestled so helplessly against his beloved +mate's side. He could not understand the mother-love +that kept Lady with Wolf all day and all night. +It was an impulse that meant nothing to Lad.</p> + +<p>After a week or two of fruitless effort to win +back Lady's interest, Lad coldly and wretchedly +gave up the attempt. He took long solitary walks +by himself in the forest, retired for hours at a +time to sad brooding in his favorite "cave" under +the living-room piano, and tried to console himself +by spending all the rest of his day in the company +of the Mistress and the Master. And he came +thoroughly to disapprove of Wolf. Recognizing +the baby intruder as the cause of Lady's estrangement +from himself, he held aloof from the puppy.</p> + +<p>The latter was beginning to emerge from his +newborn shapelessness. His coat's texture was +changing from fuzz to silk. Its color was turning +from gray into yellow. His blunt little nose was +lengthening and growing thin and pointed. His +butter-ball body was elongating, and his huge feet +and legs were beginning to shape up. He looked +more like a dog now, and less like an animated +muff. Also within Wolf's youthful heart awoke +the devil of mischief, the keen urge of play. He +found Lady a pleasant-enough playfellow up to a +certain point. But a painfully sharp pinch from her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +teeth or a reproving and breath-taking slap from +one of her forepaws was likely to break up every +game that she thought had gone far enough; when +Wolf's clownish roughness at length got on her +hair-trigger nerves.</p> + +<p>So, in search of an additional playmate, the +frolicsome puppy turned to Lad, only to find that +Lad would not play with him at all. Lad made +it very, very clear to everyone—except to the fool +puppy himself—that he had no desire to romp or +to associate in any way with this creature which +had ousted him from Lady's heart! Being cursed +with a soul too big and gentle to let him harm +anything so helpless as Wolf, he did not snap or +growl, as did Lady, when the puppy teased. He +merely walked away in hurt dignity.</p> + +<p>Wolf had a positive genius for tormenting Lad. +The huge collie, for instance, would be snoozing +away a hot hour on the veranda or under the +wistaria vines. Down upon him, from nowhere in +particular, would pounce Wolf.</p> + +<p>The puppy would seize his sleeping father by +the ear, and drive his sharp little milk-teeth fiercely +into the flesh. Then he would brace himself and +pull backward, possibly with the idea of dragging +Lad along the ground.</p> + +<p>Lad would wake in pain, would rise in dignified +unhappiness to his feet and start to walk off—the +puppy still hanging to his ear. As Wolf was a +collie and not a bulldog, he would lose his grip as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +his fat little body left the ground. Then, at a +clumsy gallop, he would pursue Lad, throwing himself +against his father's forelegs and nipping the +slender ankles. All this was torture to Lad, and +dire mortification too—especially if humans chanced +to witness the scene. Yet never did he retaliate; +he simply got out of the way.</p> + +<p>Lad, nowadays, used to leave half his dinner +uneaten, and he took to moping in a way that is +not good for dog or man. For the moping had +in it no ill-temper—nothing but heartache at his +mate's desertion, and a weary distaste for the +puppy's annoying antics. It was bad enough for +Wolf to have supplanted him in Lady's affection, +without also making his life a burden and humiliating +him in the eyes of his gods.</p> + +<p>Therefore Lad moped. Lady remained nervously +fussy over her one child. And Wolf continued +to be a lovable, but unmitigated, pest. The +Mistress and the Master tried in every way to make +up to Lad for the positive and negative afflictions +he was enduring, but the sorrowing dog's unhappiness +grew with the days.</p> + +<p>Then one November morning Lady met Wolf's +capering playfulness with a yell of rage so savage +as to send the puppy scampering away in mortal +terror, and to bring the Master out from his study +on a run. For no normal dog gives that hideous +yell except in racking pain or in illness; and mere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +pain could not wring such a sound from a thoroughbred.</p> + +<p>The Master called Lady over to him. Sullenly +she obeyed, slinking up to him in surly unwillingness. +Her nose was hot and dry; her soft brown +eyes were glazed, their whites a dull red. Her +dense coat was tumbled.</p> + +<p>After a quick examination, the Master shut her +into a kennel-room and telephoned for a veterinary.</p> + +<p>"She is sickening for the worst form of distemper," +reported the vet' an hour later, "perhaps +for something worse. Dogs seldom get distemper +after they're a year old, but when they do it's +dangerous. Better let me take her over to my +hospital and isolate her there. Distemper runs +through a kennel faster than cholera through a +plague-district. I may be able to cure her in a +month or two—or I may not. Anyhow, there's +no use in risking your other dogs' lives by leaving +her here."</p> + +<p>So it was that Lad saw his dear mate borne +away from him in the tonneau of a strange man's +car.</p> + +<p>Lady hated to go. She whimpered and hung +back as the vet' lifted her aboard. At sound of +her whimper Lad started forward, head low, lips +writhing back from his clenched teeth, his shaggy +throat vibrant with growls. At a sharp word of +command from the Master, he checked his onset +and stood uncertain. He looked at his departing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +mate, his dark eyes abrim with sorrow, then +glanced at the Master in an agony of appeal.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, Laddie," the Master tried to console +him, stroking the dog's magnificent head as +he spoke. "It's all right. It's the only chance of +saving her."</p> + +<p>Lad did not grasp the words, but their tone was +reassuring. It told him, at least, that this kidnaping +was legal and must not be prevented. Sorrowfully +he watched the chugging car out of sight, +up the drive. Then with a sigh he walked heavily +back to his "cave" beneath the piano.</p> + +<p>Lad, alone of The Place's dogs, was allowed to +sleep in the house at night, and even had free access +to that dog-forbidden spot, the dining-room. Next +morning, as soon as the doors were opened, he +dashed out in search of Lady. With some faint +hope that she might have been brought back in +the night, he ransacked every corner of The Place +for her.</p> + +<p>He did not find Lady. But Wolf very promptly +found Lad. Wolf was lonely, too—terribly +lonely. He had just spent the first solitary night +of his three-month life. He missed the furry warm +body into whose shelter he had always cuddled for +sleep. He missed his playmate—the pretty mother +who had been his fond companion.</p> + +<p>There are few things so mournful as the eyes +of even the happiest collie pup; this morning, loneliness +had intensified the melancholy expression in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +Wolf's eyes. But at sight of Lad, the puppy gamboled +forward with a falsetto bark of joy. The +world was not quite empty, after all. Though his +mother had cruelly absented herself, here was a +playfellow that was better than nothing. And up +to Lad frisked the optimistic little chap.</p> + +<p>Lad saw him coming. The older dog halted and +instinctively turned aside to avoid the lively little +nuisance. Then, halfway around, he stopped and +turned back to face the puppy.</p> + +<p>Lady was gone—gone, perhaps, forever. And +all that was left to remind Lad of her was this +bumptious and sharp-toothed little son of hers. +Lady had loved the youngster—Lady, whom Lad +so loved. Wolf alone was left; and Wolf was in +some mysterious way a part of Lady.</p> + +<p>So, instead of making his escape as the pest +cantered toward him, Lad stood where he was. +Wolf bounded upward and as usual nipped merrily +at one of Lad's ears. Lad did not shake off his +tormentor and stalk away. In spite of the pain +to the sensitive flesh, he remained quiet, looking +down at the joyful puppy with a sort of sorrowing +friendliness. He seemed to realize that Wolf, too, +was lonely and that the little dog was helpless.</p> + +<p>Tired of biting an unprotesting ear, Wolf dived +for Lad's white forelegs, gnawing happily at them +with a playfully unconscious throwback to his wolf +ancestors who sought thus to disable an enemy by +breaking the foreleg bone. For all seemingly aim<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>less +puppy-play had its origin in some ancestral +custom.</p> + +<p>Lad bore this new bother unflinchingly. Presently +Wolf left off the sport. Lad crossed to the +veranda and lay down. The puppy trotted over +to him and stood for a moment with ears cocked +and head on one side as if planning a new attack +on his supine victim; then with a little satisfied +whimper, he curled up close against his father's +shaggy side and went to sleep.</p> + +<p>Lad gazed down at the slumberer in some perplexity. +He seemed even inclined to resent the +familiarity of being used for a pillow. Then, noting +that the fur on the top of the puppy's sleepy head +was rumpled, Lad bent over and began softly to +lick back the tousled hair into shape with his +curving tongue—his raspberry-pink tongue with the +single queer blue-black blot midway on its surface. +The puppy mumbled drowsily in his sleep and +nestled more snugly to his new protector.</p> + +<p>And thus Lad assumed formal guardianship of +his obstreperous little son. It was a guardianship +more staunch by far than Lady's had been of late. +For animal mothers early wear out their zealously +self-sacrificing love for their young. By the time +the latter are able to shift for themselves, the +maternal care ceases. And, later on, the once-inseparable +relationship drops completely out of +mind.</p> + +<p>Paternity, among dogs, is, from the very first,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +no tie at all. Lad, probably, had no idea of his +relationship to his new ward. His adoption of +Wolf was due solely to his own love for Lady and +to the big heart and soul that stirred him into pity +for anything helpless.</p> + +<p>Lad took his new duties very seriously indeed. +He not only accepted the annoyance of Wolf's undivided +teasing, but he assumed charge of the +puppy's education as well—this to the amusement +of everyone on The Place. But everyone's amusement +was kept from Lad. The sensitive dog +would rather have been whipped than laughed at. +So both the Mistress and Master watched the educational +process with outwardly straight faces.</p> + +<p>A puppy needs an unbelievable amount of educating. +It is a task to wear threadbare the teacher's +patience and to do all kinds of things to the temper. +Small wonder that many humans lose patience and +temper during the process and idiotically resort to +the whip, to the boot-toe and to bellowing—in which +case the puppy is never decently educated, but +emerges from the process with a cowed and broken +spirit or with an incurable streak of meanness that +renders him worthless.</p> + +<p>Time, patience, firmness, wisdom, temper-control, +gentleness—these be the six absolute essentials +for training a puppy. Happy the human who is +blessed with any three of these qualities. Lad, +being only a dog, was abundantly possessed of all +six. And he had need of them.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>To begin with, Wolf had a joyous yearning to +tear up or bury every portable thing that could +be buried or torn. He had a craze for destruction. +A dropped lace handkerchief, a cushion left on the +grass, a book or a hat lying on a veranda-chair—these +and a thousand other things he looked on +as treasure-trove, to be destroyed as quickly and +as delightedly as possible.</p> + +<p>He also enjoyed taking a flying leap onto the +face or body of any hammock-sleeper. He would +howl long and lamentably, nearly every night, at +the moon. If the night were moonless, he howled +on general principles. He thrilled with bliss at a +chance to harry and terrify the chickens or peacocks +or pigeons or any others of The Place's Little +People that were safe prey for him. He tried this +form of bullying once—only once—on the Mistress' +temperamental gray cat, Peter Grimm. For +the rest of the day Wolf nursed a scratched nose +and a torn ear—which, for nearly a week, taught +him to give all cats a wide berth; or, at most, to +bark harrowingly at them from a safe distance.</p> + +<p>Again, Wolf had an insatiable craving to find +out for himself whether or not everything on earth +was good to eat. Kipling writes of puppies' experiments +in trying to eat soap and blacking. Wolf +added to this limited fare a hundred articles, from +clothespins to cigars. The climax came when he +found on the veranda-table a two-pound box of +chocolates, from which the wrapping-paper and gilt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +cord had not yet been removed. Wolf ate not only +all the candy, but the entire box and the paper and +the string—after which he was tumultuously and +horribly ill.</p> + +<p>The foregoing were but a small percentage of +his gay sins. And on respectable, middle-aged Lad +fell the burden of making him into a decent canine +citizen. Lad himself had been one of those rare +puppies to whom the Law is taught with bewildering +ease. A single command or prohibition had +ever been enough to fix a rule in his almost uncannily +human brain. Perhaps if the two little brown +pups had lived, one or both of them might have +taken after their sire in character. But Wolf was +the true son of temperamental, wilful Lady, and +Lad had his job cut out for him in educating the +puppy.</p> + +<p>It was a slow, tedious process. Lad went at it, +as he went at everything—with a gallant dash, behind +which was an endless supply of resource and +endurance. Once, for instance, Wolf leaped barkingly +upon a filmy square of handkerchief that had +just fallen from the Mistress' belt. Before the +destructive little teeth could rip the fine cambric +into rags, the puppy found himself, to his amazement, +lifted gently from earth by the scruff of his +neck and held thus, in midair, until he dropped +the handkerchief.</p> + +<p>Lad then deposited him on the grass—whereupon +Wolf pounced once more upon the handkerchief,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +only to be lifted a second time, painlessly but terrifyingly, +above earth. After this was repeated +five times, a gleam of sense entered the puppy's +fluff-brain, and he trotted sulkily away, leaving the +handkerchief untouched.</p> + +<p>Again, when he made a wild rush at the friendly +covey of peacock chicks, he found he had hurled +himself against an object as immobile as a stone +wall. Lad had darted in between the pup and the +chicks, opposing his own big body to the charge. +Wolf was bowled clean over by the force of the +impact, and lay for a minute on his back, the breath +knocked clean out of his bruised body.</p> + +<p>It was a longer but easier task to teach him at +whom to bark and at whom not to bark. By a +sharp growl or a menacing curl of the lips, Lad +silenced the youngster's clamorous salvo when a +guest or tradesman entered The Place, whether on +foot or in a car. By his own thunderously menacing +bark he incited Wolf to a like outburst when +some peddler or tramp sought to slouch down the +drive toward the house.</p> + +<p>The full tale of Wolf's education would require +many profitless pages in the telling. At times the +Mistress and the Master, watching from the sidelines, +would wonder at Lad's persistency and would +despair of his success. Yet bit by bit—and in a +surprisingly short time for so vast an undertaking—Wolf's +character was rounded into form. True, +he had the ever-goading spirits of a true puppy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +And these spirits sometimes led him to smash even +such sections of the law as he fully understood. +But he was a thoroughbred, and the son of clever +parents. So he learned, on the whole, with gratifying +speed—far more quickly than he could have +been taught by the wisest human.</p> + +<p>Nor was his education a matter of constant +drudgery. Lad varied it by taking the puppy for +long runs in the December woods and relaxed to +the extent of romping laboriously with him at +times.</p> + +<p>Wolf grew to love his sire as he had never loved +Lady. For the discipline and the firm kindliness +of Lad were having their effect on his heart as +well as on his manners. They struck a far deeper +note within him than ever had Lady's alternating +affection and crossness.</p> + +<p>In truth, Wolf seemed to have forgotten Lady. +But Lad had not. Every morning, the moment he +was released from the house, Lad would trot over +to Lady's empty kennel to see if by any chance she +had come back to him during the night. There was +eager hope in his big dark eyes as he hurried over +to the vacant kennel. There was dejection in every +line of his body as he turned away from his hopeless +quest.</p> + +<p>Late gray autumn had emerged overnight into +white early winter. The ground of The Place lay +blanketed in snow. The lake at the foot of the +lawn was frozen solid from shore to shore. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +trees crouched away from the whirling north wind +as if in shame at their own black nakedness. +Nature, like the birds, had flown south, leaving the +northern world as dead and as empty and as cheerless +as a deserted bird's-nest.</p> + +<p>The puppy reveled in the snow. He would roll +in it and bite it, barking all the while in an ecstasy +of excitement. His gold-and-white coat was +thicker and shaggier now, to ward off the stinging +cold. And the snow and the roaring winds were +his playfellows rather than his foes.</p> + +<p>Most of all, the hard-frozen lake fascinated him. +Earlier, when Lad had taught him to swim, Wolf +had at first shrunk back from the chilly black water. +Now, to his astonishment, he could run on that +water as easily—if somewhat sprawlingly—as on +land. It was a miracle he never tired of testing. +He spent half his time on the ice, despite an occasional +hard tumble or involuntary slide.</p> + +<p>Once and once only—in all her six-week absence +and in his own six-week loneliness—had Lad discovered +anything to remind him of his lost mate; +and that discovery caused him for the first time +in his blameless life to break the most sacred of +The Place's simple Laws—the inviolable Guest-Law.</p> + +<p>It was on a day in late November. A runabout +came down the drive to the front door of the +house. In it rode the vet' who had taken Lady +away. He had stopped for a moment on his way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +to Paterson, to report as to Lady's progress at his +dog-hospital.</p> + +<p>Lad was in the living-room at the time. As a +maid answered the summons at the door, he walked +hospitably forward to greet the unknown guest. +The vet' stepped into the room by one door as the +Master entered it by the other—which was lucky +for the vet'.</p> + +<p>Lad took one look at the man who had stolen +Lady. Then, without a sound or other sign of +warning, he launched his mighty bulk straight at +the vet's throat.</p> + +<p>Accustomed though he was to the ways of dogs, +the vet' had barely time to brace himself and to +throw one arm in front of his throat. And then +Lad's eighty pounds smote him on the chest, and +Lad's powerful jaws closed viselike on the forearm +that guarded the man's throat. Deep into the +thick ulster the white teeth clove their way—through +ulster-sleeve and undercoat sleeve and the +sleeves of a linen shirt and of flannels—clear +through to the flesh of the forearm.</p> + +<p>"<i>Lad!</i>" shouted the Master, springing forward.</p> + +<p>In obedience to the sharp command, Lad loosed +his grip and dropped to the floor—where he stood +quivering with leashed fury.</p> + +<p>Through the rage-mists that swirled over his +brain, he knew he had broken the Law. He had +never merited punishment. He did not fear it. +But the Master's tone of fierce disapproval cut the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +sensitive dog soul more painfully than any scourge +could have cut his body.</p> + +<p>"Lad!" cried the Master again, in rebuking +amazement.</p> + +<p>The dog turned, walked slowly over to the Master +and lay down at his feet. The Master, without +another word, opened the front door and pointed +outward. Lad rose and slunk out. He had been +ordered from the house, and in a stranger's +presence!</p> + +<p>"He thinks I'm responsible for his losing Lady," +said the vet', looking ruefully at his torn sleeve. +"That's why he went for me. I don't blame the +dog. Don't lick him."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to lick him," growled the Master. +"I'd as soon thrash a woman. Besides, I've just +punished him worse than if I'd taken an ax-handle +to him. Send me a bill for your coat."</p> + +<p>In late December came a thaw—a freak thaw +that changed the white ground to brown mud and +rotted the smooth surface of the lake-ice to gray +slush. All day and all night the trees and the eaves +sent forth a dreary <i>drip-drip-drip</i>. It was the traditional +January Thaw—set forward a month.</p> + +<p>On the third and last morning of the thaw Wolf +galloped down to the lake as usual. Lad jogged +along at his side. As they reached the margin, +Lad sniffed and drew back. His weird sixth sense +somehow told him—as it tells an elephant—that +there was danger ahead.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<p>Wolf, however, was at the stage of extreme +youth when neither dogs nor humans are bothered +by premonitions. Ahead of him stretched the huge +sheet of ice whereon he loved to gambol. Straightway +he frisked out upon it.</p> + +<p>A rough growl of warning from Lad made him +look back, but the lure of the ice was stronger than +the call of duty.</p> + +<p>The current, at this point of the lake, twisted +sharply landward in a half-circle. Thus, for a +few yards out, the rotting ice was still thick, but +where the current ran, it was thin, and as soggy +as wet blotting-paper—as Wolf speedily discovered.</p> + +<p>He bounded on the thinner ice driving his hind +claws into the slushy surface for his second leap. +He was dismayed to find that the ice collapsed +under the pounding feet. There was a dull, sloppy +sound. A ten-foot ice-cake broke off from the +main sheet; breaking at once into a dozen smaller +cakes; and Wolf disappeared, tail first, into the +swift-running water beneath.</p> + +<p>To the surface he came, at the outer edge of the +hole. He was mad, clear through, at the prank +his beloved lake had played on him. He struck +out for shore. On the landward side of the opening +his forefeet clawed helplessly at the unbroken +ledge of ice. He had not the strength or the wit +to crawl upon it and make his way to land. The +bitter chill of the water was already paralyzing +him. The strong current was tugging at his hind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>quarters. +Anger gave way to panic. The puppy +wasted much of his remaining strength by lifting +up his voice in ear-splitting howls.</p> + +<p>The Mistress and the Master, motoring into the +drive from the highway nearly a quarter-mile distant, +heard the racket. The lake was plainly visible +to them through the bare trees, even at that distance, +and they took in the impending tragedy at a +glance. They jumped out of the car and set off +at a run to the water-edge. The way was long and +the ground was heavy with mud. They could not +hope to reach the lake before the puppy's strength +should fail.</p> + +<p>But Lad was already there. At Wolf's first cry, +Lad sprang out on the ice that heaved and chucked +and cracked under his greater weight. His rush carried +him to the very edge of the hole, and there, +leaning forward and bracing all four of his absurdly +tiny white paws, he sought to catch the +puppy by the neck and lift him to safety. But +before his rescuing jaws could close on Wolf's fur, +the decayed ice gave way beneath his weight, and +the ten-foot hole was widened by another twenty +feet of water.</p> + +<p>Down went Lad with a crash, and up he came, +in almost no time, a few feet away from where +Wolf floundered helplessly among the chunks of +drifting ice. The breaking off of the shoreward +mass of ice, under Lad's pressure, had left the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +puppy with no foothold at all. It had ducked him +and had robbed him even of the chance to howl.</p> + +<p>His mouth and throat full of water, Wolf +strangled and splashed in a delirium of terror. Lad +struck out for him, butting aside the impending ice-chunks +with his great shoulders, and swimming +with a rush that lifted a third of his tawny body +out of water. His jaws gripped Wolf by the +middle of the back, and he swam thus with him +toward shore. At the edge of the shoreward ice +he gave a heave which called on every numbing +muscle of the huge frame, and which—in spite of +the burden he held—again lifted his head and +shoulders high above water.</p> + +<p>He thus flung Wolf's body halfway up on the +ledge of ice. The puppy's flying forepaws chanced +to strike the ice-surface. His sharp claws bit into +its soft upper crust. With a frantic wriggle he +was out of the water and on top of this thicker +stratum of shore-ice, and in a second he had regained +shore and was careering wildly up the lawn +toward the greater safety of his kennel.</p> + +<p>Yet, halfway in his flight, courage returned to +the sopping-wet baby. He halted, turned about +and, with a volley of falsetto barks, challenged the +offending water to come ashore and fight fair.</p> + +<p>As Wolf's forepaws had gripped the ice, he had +further aided his climb to safety by thrusting +downward with his hind legs. Both his hind paws<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +had struck Lad's head, their thrust had driven Lad +clean under water. There the current caught him.</p> + +<p>When Lad came up, it was not to the surface but +under the ice, some yards below. The top of his +head struck stunningly against the underpart of +the ice-sheet.</p> + +<p>A lesser dog would then and there have given +up the struggle, or else would have thrashed about +futilely until he drowned. Lad, perhaps on instinct, +perhaps on reason, struck out toward the +light—the spot where the great hole had let in +sunshine through the gray ice-sheet.</p> + +<p>The average dog is not trained to swim under +water. To this day, it is a mystery how Lad had +the sense to hold his breath. He fought his way +on, inch by inch, against the current, beneath the +scratching rough under-surface of the ice—always +toward the light. And just as his lungs must have +been ready to burst, he reached the open space.</p> + +<p>Sputtering and panting, Lad made for shore. +Presently he reached the ice-ledge that lay between +him and the bank. He reached it just as the +Master, squirming along, face downward and at +full length, began to work his way out over the +swaying shore-ice toward him.</p> + +<p>Twice the big dog raised himself almost to the +top of the ledge. Once the ice broke under his +weight, dousing him. The second time he got his +fore-quarters well over the top of the ledge, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +he was struggling upward with all his tired body +when the Master's hand gripped his soaked ruff.</p> + +<p>With this new help, Lad made a final struggle—a +struggle that laid him gasping but safe on the +slushy surface of the thicker ice. Backward over +the few yards that still separated them from land +he and the Master crawled to the bank.</p> + +<p>Lad was staggering as he started forward to +greet the Mistress, and his eyes were still dim and +bloodshot from his fearful ordeal. Midway in his +progress toward the Mistress another dog barred +his path—a dog that fell upon him in an ecstasy +of delighted welcome.</p> + +<p>Lad cleared his water-logged nostrils for a +growl of protest. He had surely done quite enough +for Wolf this day, without the puppy's trying to +rob him now of the Mistress' caress. He was tired, +and he was dizzy; and he wanted such petting and +comfort and praise as only the worshipped Mistress +could give.</p> + +<p>Impatience at the puppy's interference cleared the +haze a little from Lad's brain and eyes. He halted +in his shaky walk and stared, dumfounded. This +dog which greeted him so rapturously was not +Wolf. It was—why, it was—Lady! Oh, it was +<i>Lady!</i></p> + +<p>"We've just brought her back to you, old friend," +the Master was telling him. "We went over for +her in the car this morning. She's all well again, +and——"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Lad did not hear. All he realized—all he +wanted to realize—was that his mate was ecstatically +nipping one of his ears to make him romp +with her.</p> + +<p>It was a sharp nip; and it hurt like the very +mischief.</p> + +<p>Lad loved to have it hurt.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br /> +FOR A BIT OF RIBBON</h2> + + +<p>Lad had never been in a city or in a crowd. +To him the universe was bounded by the soft +green mountains that hemmed in the valley +and the lake. The Place stood on the lake's edge, +its meadows running back to the forest. There +were few houses nearer than the mile-distant village. +It was an ideal home for such a dog as Lad, even +as Lad was an ideal dog for such a home.</p> + +<p>A guest started all the trouble—a guest who +spent a week-end at The Place and who loved +dogs far better than he understood them. He made +much of Lad, being loud-voiced in his admiration +of the stately collie. Lad endured the caresses +when he could not politely elude them.</p> + +<p>"Say!" announced the guest just before he departed, +"If I had a dog like Lad, I'd 'show' him—at +the big show at Madison Square, you know. It's +booked for next month. Why not take a chance +and exhibit him there? Think what it would mean +to you people to have a Westminster blue ribbon the +big dog had won! Why, you'd be as proud as +Punch!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a careless speech and well meant. No harm +might have come from it, had not the Master the +next day chanced upon an advance notice of the +dog-show in his morning paper. He read the press-agent's +quarter-column proclamation. Then he remembered +what the guest had said. The Mistress +was called into consultation. And it was she, as +ever, who cast the deciding vote.</p> + +<p>"Lad is twice as beautiful as any collie we ever +saw at the Show," she declared, "and not one of +them is half as wise or good or <i>human</i> as he is. +And—a blue ribbon is the greatest honor a dog can +have, I suppose. It would be something to remember."</p> + +<p>After which, the Master wrote a letter to a +friend who kept a show kennel of Airedales. He +received this answer:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"I don't pretend to know anything, professionally, +about collies—Airedales being my specialty. But Lad +is a beauty, as I remember him, and his pedigree shows +a bunch of old-time champions. I'd risk it, if I were you. +If you are in doubt and don't want to plunge, why not +just enter him for the Novice class? That is a class for +dogs that have never before been shown. It will cost you +five dollars to enter him for a single class, like that. And +in the Novice, he won't be up against any champions or +other dogs that have already won prizes. That will make +it easier. It isn't a grueling competition like the 'Open' +or even the 'Limit.' If he wins as a Novice, you can +enter him, another time, in something more important. +I'm inclosing an application-blank for you to fill out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +and send with your entrance-fee, to the secretary. You'll +find his address at the bottom of the blank. I'm showing +four of my Airedales there—so we'll be neighbors."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Thus encouraged, the Master filled in the blank +and sent it with a check. And in due time word +was returned to him that "Sunnybank Lad" was +formally entered for the Novice class, at the Westminster +Kennel Club's annual show at Madison +Square Garden.</p> + +<p>By this time both the Mistress and the Master +were infected with the most virulent type of the +Show Germ. They talked of little else than the +forthcoming Event. They read all the dog-show +literature they could lay hands on.</p> + +<p>As for Lad, he was mercifully ignorant of what +was in store for him.</p> + +<p>The Mistress had an inkling of his fated ordeal +when she read the Kennel Club rule that no dog +could be taken from the Garden, except at stated +times, from the moment the show should begin, +at ten <span class="smcap lowercase">A.M.</span> Wednesday morning, until the hour +of its close, at ten o'clock Saturday night. For +twelve hours a day—for four consecutive days—every +entrant must be there. By paying a forfeit +fee, dog owners might take their pets to some +nearby hotel or stable, for the remainder of the +night and early morning—a permission which, for +obvious reasons, would not affect most dogs.</p> + +<p>"But Lad's never been away from home a night +in his life!" exclaimed the Mistress in dismay.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +"He'll be horribly lonely there, all that while—especially +at night."</p> + +<p>By this time, with the mysterious foreknowledge +of the best type of thoroughbred collie, Lad began +to be aware that something unusual had crept into +the atmosphere of The Place. It made him restless, +but he did not associate it with himself—until the +Mistress took to giving him daily baths and +brushings.</p> + +<p>Always she had brushed him once a day, to keep +his shaggy coat fluffy and burnished; and the lake +had supplied him with baths that made him as clean +as any human. But never had he undergone such +searching massage with comb and brush as was +now his portion. Never had he known such soap-infested +scrubbings as were now his daily fate, for +the week preceding the show.</p> + +<p>As a result of these ministrations his wavy fur +was like spun silk in texture; and it stood out all +over him like the hair of a Circassian beauty in a +dime museum. The white chest and forepaws were +like snow. And his sides and broad back and +mighty shoulders shone like dark bronze.</p> + +<p>He was magnificent—but he was miserable. He +knew well enough, now, that he was in some way +the center of all this unwonted stir and excitement +which pervaded The Place. He loathed change of +any sort—a thoroughbred collie being ever an ultra-conservative. +This particular change seemed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +threaten his peace; also it kept his skin scraped with +combs and his hair redolent of nasty-smelling soaps.</p> + +<p>To humans there was no odor at all in the naphtha +soap with which the Mistress lathered the dog, and +every visible atom of it was washed away at once +with warm water. But a human's sense of smell, +compared with the best type of collie's, is as a +purblind puppy's power of sight in comparison to a +hawk's.</p> + +<p>All over the East, during these last days before +the Show, hundreds of high-bred dogs were undergoing +preparation for an exhibition which to the +beholder is a delight—and which to many of the +canine exhibits is a form of unremitting torture. +To do justice to the Master and the Mistress, they +had no idea—then—of this torture. Otherwise all +the blue ribbons ever woven would not have +tempted them to subject their beloved chum to it.</p> + +<p>In some kennels Airedales were "plucked," by +hand, to rid them of the last vestige of the soft gray +outer coat which is an Airedale's chief natural beauty—and +no hair of which must be seen in a show. +"Plucking" a dog is like pulling live hairs from a +human head, so far as the sensation goes. But +show-traditions demand the anguish.</p> + +<p>In other kennels, bull-terriers' white coats were +still further whitened by the harsh rubbing of pipeclay +into the tender skin. Sensitive tails and still +more sensitive ears were sandpapered, for the vic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>tims' +greater beauty—and agony. Ear-interiors, +also, were shaved close with safety-razors.</p> + +<p>Murderous little "knife-combs" were tearing +blithely away at collies' ear-interiors and heads, to +"barber" natural furriness into painful and unnatural +trimness. Ears were "scrunched" until +their wearers quivered with stark anguish—to impart +the perfect tulip-shape; ordained by fashion +for collies.</p> + +<p>And so on, through every breed to be exhibited—each +to its own form of torment; torments compared +to which Lad's gentle if bothersome brushing +and bathing were a pure delight!</p> + +<p>Few of these ruthlessly "prepared" dogs were +personal pets. The bulk of them were "kennel +dogs"—dogs bred and raised after the formula +for raising and breeding prize hogs or chickens, and +with little more of the individual element in it. The +dogs were bred in a way to bring out certain arbitrary +"points" which count in show-judging, and +which change from year to year.</p> + +<p>Brain, fidelity, devotion, the <i>human</i> side of a dog—these +were totally ignored in the effort to breed +the perfect physical animal. The dogs were kept in +kennel-buildings and in wire "runs" like so many +pedigreed cattle—looked after by paid attendants, +and trained to do nothing but to be the best-looking +of their kind, and to win ribbons. Some of them +did not know their owners by sight—having been +reared wholly by hirelings.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + +<p>The body was everything; the heart, the mind, +the namelessly delightful quality of the master-raised +dog—these were nothing. Such traits do not +win prizes at a bench-show. Therefore fanciers, +whose sole aim is to win ribbons and cups, do not +bother to cultivate them. (All of this is extraneous; +but may be worth your remembering, next time +you go to a dog-show.)</p> + +<p>Early on the morning of the Show's first day, +the Mistress and the Master set forth for town +with Lad. They went in their little car, that the +dog might not risk the dirt and cinders of a train.</p> + +<p>Lad refused to eat a mouthful of the tempting +breakfast set before him that day. He could not +eat, when foreboding was hot in his throat. He had +often ridden in the car. Usually he enjoyed the +ride; but now he crawled rather than sprang into +the tonneau. All the way up the drive, his great +mournful eyes were turned back toward the house +in dumb appeal. Every atom of spirit and gayety +and dash were gone from him. He knew he was +being taken away from the sweet Place he loved, +and that the car was whizzing him along toward +some dreaded fate. His heart was sick within him.</p> + +<p>To the born and bred show-dog this is an everyday +occurrence—painful, but inevitable. To a +chum-dog like Lad, it is heartbreaking. The big +collie buried his head in the Mistress' lap and +crouched hopelessly at her feet as the car chugged +cityward.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + +<p>A thoroughly unhappy dog is the most thoroughly +unhappy thing on earth. All the adored +Mistress' coaxings and pettings could not rouse Lad +from his dull apathy of despair. This was the hour +when he was wont to make his stately morning +rounds of The Place, at the heels of one of his two +deities. And now, instead, these deities were carrying +him away to something direfully unpleasant. A +lesser dog would have howled or would have +struggled crazily to break away. Lad stood his +ground like a furry martyr, and awaited his fate.</p> + +<p>In an hour or so the ride ended. The car drew +up at Madison Square—beside the huge yellowish +building, arcaded and Diana-capped, which goes by +the name of "Garden" and which is as nearly historic +as any landmark in feverish New York is +permitted to be.</p> + +<p>Ever since the car had entered Manhattan +Island, unhappy Lad's nostrils had been aquiver with +a million new and troublous odors. Now, as the +car halted, these myriad strange smells were lost +in one—an all-pervasive scent of dog. To a human, +out there in the street, the scent was not observable. +To a dog it was overwhelming.</p> + +<p>Lad, at the Master's word, stepped down from +the tonneau onto the sidewalk. He stood there, +dazedly sniffing. The plangent roar of the city +was painful to his ears, which had always been +attuned to the deep silences of forest and lake. +And through this din he caught the muffled noise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +of the chorused barks and howls of many of his +own kind.</p> + +<p>The racket that bursts so deafeningly on humans +as they enter the Garden, during a dog-show, was +wholly audible to Lad out in the street itself. And, +as instinct or scent makes a hog flinch at going +into a slaughterhouse, so the gallant dog's spirit +quailed for a moment as he followed the Mistress +and the Master into the building.</p> + +<p>A man who is at all familiar with the ways of +dogs can tell at once whether a dog's bark denotes +cheer or anger or terror or grief or curiosity. To +such a man a bark is as expressive of meanings +as are the inflections of a human voice. To another +dog these meanings are far more intelligible. +And in the timbre of the multiple barks and yells +that now assailed his ears, Lad read nothing to +allay his own fears.</p> + +<p>He was the hero of a half-dozen hard-won +fights. He had once risked his life to save life. +He had attacked tramps and peddlers and other +stick-wielding invaders who had strayed into the +grounds of The Place. Yet the tiniest semblance +of fear now crept into his heart.</p> + +<p>He looked up at the Mistress, a world of sorrowing +appeal in his eyes. At her gentle touch on +his head and at a whisper of her loved voice, he +moved onward at her side with no further hesitation. +If these, his gods, were leading him to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +death, he would not question their right to do it, +but would follow on as befitted a good soldier.</p> + +<p>Through a doorway they went. At a wicket a +yawning veterinary glanced uninterestedly at Lad. +As the dog had no outward and glaring signs of +disease, the vet' did not so much as touch him, but +with a nod suffered him to pass. The vet' was +paid to inspect all dogs as they entered the show. +Perhaps some of them were turned back by him, +perhaps not; but after this, as after many another +show, scores of kennels were swept by distemper +and by other canine maladies, scores of deaths followed. +That is one of the risks a dog-exhibitor +must take—or rather that his luckless dogs must +take—in spite of the fees paid to yawning veterinaries +to bar out sick entrants.</p> + +<p>As Lad passed in through the doorway, he halted +involuntarily in dismay. Dogs—dogs—DOGS! +More than two thousand of them, from Great Dane +to toy terrier, benched in row after row throughout +the vast floor-space of the Garden! Lad had never +known there were so many dogs on earth.</p> + +<p>Fully five hundred of them were barking or +howling. The hideous volume of sound swelled +to the Garden's vaulted roof and echoed back again +like innumerable hammer-blows upon the eardrum.</p> + +<p>The Mistress stood holding Lad's chain and +softly caressing the bewildered dog, while the +Master went to make inquiries. Lad pressed his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +shaggy body closer to her knee for refuge, as he +gazed blinkingly around him.</p> + +<p>In the Garden's center were several large inclosures +of wire and reddish wood. Inside each +inclosure were a table, a chair and a movable platform. +The platform was some six inches high and +four feet square. At corners of these "judging-rings" +were blackboards on which the classes next +to be inspected were chalked up.</p> + +<p>All around the central space were alleys, on each +side of which were lines of raised "benches," two +feet from the ground. The benches were carpeted +with straw and were divided off by high wire partitions +into compartments about three feet in area. +Each compartment was to be the abiding-place of +some unfortunate dog for the next four days and +nights. By short chains the dogs were bound into +these open-fronted cells.</p> + +<p>The chains left their wearers just leeway enough +to stand up or lie down or to move to the various +limits of the tiny space. In front of some of the +compartments a wire barrier was fastened. This +meant that the occupant was savage—in other +words, that under the four-day strain he was likely +to resent the stares or pokes or ticklings or promiscuous +alien pattings of fifty thousand curious +visitors.</p> + +<p>The Master came back with a plumply tipped +attendant. Lad was conducted through a babel +of yapping and snapping thoroughbreds of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +breeds, to a section at the Garden's northeast +corner, above which, in large black letters on a +white sign, was inscribed "<span class="smcap">Collies</span>." Here his +conductors stopped before a compartment numbered +"658."</p> + +<p>"Up, Laddie!" said the Mistress, touching the +straw-carpeted bench.</p> + +<p>Usually, at this command, Lad was wont to +spring to the indicated height—whether car-floor +or table-top—with the lightness of a cat. Now, one +foot after another, he very slowly climbed into the +compartment he was already beginning to detest—the +cell which was planned to be his only resting-spot +for four interminable days. There he, who +had never been tied, was ignominiously chained +as though he were a runaway puppy. The insult +bit to the depths of his sore soul. He curled down +in the straw.</p> + +<p>The Mistress made him as comfortable as she +could. She set before him the breakfast she had +brought and told the attendant to bring him some +water.</p> + +<p>The Master, meantime, had met a collie man +whom he knew, and in company with this acquaintance +he was walking along the collie-section +examining the dogs tied there. A dozen times had +the Master visited dog-shows; but now that Lad +was on exhibition, he studied the other collies with +new eyes.</p> + +<p>"Look!" he said boastfully to his companion,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +pausing before a bench whereon were chained a +half-dozen dogs from a single illustrious kennel. +"These fellows aren't in it with old Lad. See—their +noses are tapered like tooth-picks, and the +span of their heads, between the ears, isn't as wide +as my palm; and their eyes are little and they slant +like a Chinaman's; and their bodies are as curved +as a grayhound's. Compared with Lad, some of +them are freaks. That's all they are, just freaks—not +all of them, of course, but a lot of them."</p> + +<p>"That's the idea nowadays," laughed the collie +man patronizingly. "The up-to-date collie—this +year's style, at least—is bred with a borzoi (wolfhound) +head and with graceful, small bones. +What's the use of his having brain and scenting-power? +He's used for exhibition or kept as a pet +nowadays—not to herd sheep. Long nose, narrow +head——"</p> + +<p>"But Lad once tracked my footsteps two miles +through a snowstorm," bragged the Master; "and +again on a road where fifty people had walked +since I had; and he understands the meaning of +every simple word. He——"</p> + +<p>"Yes?" said the collie man, quite unimpressed. +"Very interesting—but not useful in a show. Some +of the big exhibitors still care for sense in their +dogs, and they make companions of them—Eileen +Moretta, for instance, and Fred Leighton and one +or two more; but I find most of the rest are just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +out for the prizes. Let's have a look at your dog. +Where is he?"</p> + +<p>On the way down the alley toward Cell 658 +they met the worried Mistress.</p> + +<p>"Lad won't eat a thing," she reported, "and he +wouldn't eat before we left home this morning, +either. He drinks plenty of water, but he won't +eat. I'm afraid he's sick."</p> + +<p>"They hardly ever eat at a show," the collie man +consoled her, "hardly a mouthful—most of the +high-strung ones, but they drink quarts of water. +This is your dog, hey?" he broke off, pausing at +658. "H'm!"</p> + +<p>He stood, legs apart, hands behind his back, gazing +down at Lad. The dog was lying, head between +paws, as before. He did not so much as +glance up at the stranger, but his great wistful +eyes roved from the Mistress to the Master and +back again. In all this horrible place they two +alone were his salvation.</p> + +<p>"H'm!" repeated the collie man thoughtfully. +"Eyes too big and not enough slanted. Head too +thick for length of nose. Ears too far apart. Eyes +too far apart, too. Not enough 'terrier expression' +in them. Too much bone, too much bulk. Wonderful +coat, though—glorious coat! Best coat I've +seen this five years. Great brush, too! What's he +entered for? Novice, hey? May get a third with +him at that. He's the true type—but old-fashioned. +I'm afraid he's too old-fashioned for such fast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +company as he's in. Still, you never can tell. Only +it's a pity he isn't a little more——"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have him one bit different in any +way!" flashed the Mistress. "He's perfect as he +is. You can't see that, though, because he isn't +himself now. I've never seen him so crushed and +woe-begone. I wish we had never brought him +here."</p> + +<p>"You can't blame him," said the collie man +philosophically. "Why, just suppose <i>you</i> were +brought to a strange place like this and chained +into a cage and were left there four days and +nights while hundreds of other prisoners kept +screaming and shouting and crying at the top of +their lungs every minute of the time! And suppose +about a hundred thousand people kept jostling past +your cage night and day, rubbering at you and +pointing at you and trying to feel your ears and +mouth, and chirping at you to shake hands, would +<i>you</i> feel very hungry or very chipper? A four-day +show is the most fearful thing a high-strung +dog can go through—next to vivisection. A little +one-day show, for about eight hours, is no special +ordeal, especially if the dog's Master stays near +him all the time; but a four-day show is—is Sheol! +I wonder the S. P. C. A. doesn't do something to +make it easier."</p> + +<p>"If I'd known—if we'd known——" began the +Mistress.</p> + +<p>"Most of these folks know!" returned the collie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +man. "They do it year after year. There's a +mighty strong lure in a bit of ribbon. Why, look +what an exhibitor will do for it! He'll risk his +dog's health and make his dog's life a horror. +He'll ship him a thousand miles in a tight crate +from Show to Show. (Some dogs die under the +strain of so many journeys.) And he'll pay five +dollars for every class the dog's entered in. Some +exhibitors enter a single dog in five or six classes. +The Association charges one dollar admission to +the show. Crowds of people pay the price to come +in. The exhibitor gets none of the gate-money. +All he gets for his five dollars or his twenty-five +dollars is an off chance at a measly scrap of colored +silk worth maybe four cents. That, and the same +off-chance at a tiny cash prize that doesn't come +anywhere near to paying his expenses. Yet, for all, +it's the straightest sport on earth. Not an atom +of graft in it, and seldom any profit.... So long! +I wish you folks luck with 658."</p> + +<p>He strolled on. The Mistress was winking very +fast and was bending over Lad, petting him and +whispering to him. The Master looked in curiosity +at a kennel man who was holding down a nearby +collie while a second man was trimming the scared +dog's feet and fetlocks with a pair of curved shears; +and now the Master noted that nearly every dog +but Lad was thus clipped as to ankle.</p> + +<p>At an adjoining cell a woman was sifting almost +a pound of talcum powder into her dog's fur to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +make the coat fluffier. Elsewhere similar weird +preparations were in progress. And Lad's only +preparation had been baths and brushing! The +Master began to feel like a fool.</p> + +<p>People all along the collie line presently began +to brush dogs (smoothing the fur the wrong way +to fluff it) and to put other finishing touches on +the poor beasts' make-up. The collie man strolled +back to 658.</p> + +<p>"The Novice class in collies is going to be called +presently," he told the Mistress. "Where's your +exhibition-leash and choke-collar? I'll help you +put them on."</p> + +<p>"Why, we've only this chain," said the Mistress. +"We bought it for Lad yesterday, and this is his +regular collar—though he never has had to wear +it. Do we have to have another kind?"</p> + +<p>"You don't have to unless you want to," said +the collie man, "but it's best—especially, the choke-collar. +You see, when exhibitors go into the ring, +they hold their dogs by the leash close to the neck. +And if their dogs have choke-collars, why, then +they've <i>got</i> to hold their heads high when the leash +is pulled. They've got to, to keep from strangling. +It gives them a fine, proud carriage of the head, +that counts a lot with some judges. All dog-photos +are taken that way. Then the leash is blotted out +of the negative. Makes the dog look showy, too—keeps +him from slumping. Can't slump much +when you're trying not to choke, you know."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's horrible! <i>Horrible!</i>" shuddered the Mistress. +"I wouldn't put such a thing on Lad for +all the prizes on earth. When I read Davis' wonderful +'Bar Sinister' story, I thought dog-shows +were a real treat to dogs. I see, now, they're——"</p> + +<p>"Your class is called!" interrupted the collie man. +"Keep his head high, keep him moving as showily +as you can. Lead him close to you with the chain +as short as possible. Don't be scared if any of +the other dogs in the ring happen to fly at him. +The attendants will look out for all that. Good +luck."</p> + +<p>Down the aisle and to the wired gate of the +north-eastern ring the unhappy Mistress piloted the +unhappier Lad. The big dog gravely kept beside +her, regardless of other collies moving in the same +direction. The Garden had begun to fill with +visitors, and the ring was surrounded with interested +"rail-birds." The collie classes, as usual, were +among those to be judged on the first day of the +four.</p> + +<p>Through the gate into the ring the Mistress +piloted Lad. Six other Novice dogs were already +there. Beautiful creatures they were, and all but +one were led by kennel men. At the table, behind +a ledger flanked by piles of multicolored +ribbons, sat the clerk. Beside the platform stood +a wizened and elderly little man in tweeds. He +was McGilead, who had been chosen as judge for +the collie division. He was a Scot, and he was also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +a man with stubborn opinions of his own as to +dogs.</p> + +<p>Around the ring, at the judge's order, the Novice +collies were paraded. Most of them stepped high +and fast and carried their heads proudly aloft—the +thin choke-collars cutting deep into their furry +necks. One entered was a harum-scarum puppy +who writhed and bit and whirled about in ecstasy +of terror.</p> + +<p>Lad moved solemnly along at the Mistress' side. +He did not pant or curvet or look showy. He was +miserable and every line of his splendid body +showed his misery. The Mistress, too, glancing at +the more spectacular dogs, wanted to cry—not because +she was about to lose, but because Lad was +about to lose. Her heart ached for him. Again +she blamed herself bitterly for bringing him here.</p> + +<p>McGilead, hands in pockets, stood sucking at an +empty brier pipe, and scanning the parade that +circled around him. Presently he stepped up to +the Mistress, checked her as she filed past him, and +said to her with a sort of sorrowful kindness:</p> + +<p>"Please take your dog over to the far end of +the ring. Take him into the corner where he won't +be in my way while I am judging."</p> + +<p>Yes, he spoke courteously enough, but the Mistress +would rather have had him hit her across the +face. Meekly she obeyed his command. Across +the ring, to the very farthest corner, she went—poor +beautiful Lad beside her, disgraced, weeded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +out of the competition at the very start. There, +far out of the contest, she stood, a drooping little +figure, feeling as though everyone were sneering at +her dear dog's disgrace.</p> + +<p>Lad seemed to sense her sorrow. For, as he +stood beside her, head and tail low, he whined +softly and licked her hand as if in encouragement. +She ran her fingers along his silky head. Then, +to keep from crying, she watched the other contestants.</p> + +<p>No longer were these parading. One at a time +and then in twos, the judge was standing them on +the platform. He looked at their teeth. He +pressed their heads between his hands. He +"hefted" their hips. He ran his fingers through +their coats. He pressed his palm upward against +their underbodies. He subjected them to a score +of such annoyances, but he did it all with a quick +and sure touch that not even the crankiest of them +could resent.</p> + +<p>Then he stepped back and studied the quartet. +After that he seemed to remember Lad's presence, +and, as though by way of earning his fee, he +slouched across the ring to where the forlorn Mistress +was petting her dear disgraced dog.</p> + +<p>Lazily, perfunctorily, the judge ran his hand over +Lad, with absolutely none of the thoroughness that +had marked his inspection of the other dogs. Apparently +there was no need to look for the finer +points in a disqualified collie. The sketchy examina<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>tion +did not last three seconds. At its end the +judge jotted down a number on a pad he held. +Then he laid one hand heavily on Lad's head and +curtly thrust out his other hand at the Mistress.</p> + +<p>"Can I take him away now?" she asked, still +stroking Lad's fur.</p> + +<p>"Yes," rasped the judge, "and take this along +with him."</p> + +<p>In his outstretched hand fluttered a little bunch +of silk—dark blue, with gold lettering on it.</p> + +<p>The blue ribbon! First prize in the Novice class! +And this grouchy little judge was awarding it—to +<i>Lad!</i></p> + +<p>The Mistress looked very hard at the bit of blue +and gold in her fingers. She saw it through a +queer mist. Then, as she stooped to fasten it to +Lad's collar, she furtively kissed the tiny white spot +on the top of his head.</p> + +<p>"It's something like the 'Bar Sinister' victory +after all!" she exclaimed joyously as she rejoined +the delighted Master at the ring gate. "But, oh, +it was terrible for a minute or two, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>Now, Angus McGilead, Esq. (late of Linlithgow, +Scotland), had a knowledge of collies such as is +granted to few men, and this very fact made him +a wretchedly bad dog-show judge; as the Kennel +Club, which—on the strength of his fame—had +engaged his services for this single occasion, +speedily learned. The greatest lawyer makes often +the worst judge. Legal annals prove this; and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +same thing applies to dog-experts. They are sane +rather than judicial.</p> + +<p>McGilead had scant patience with the ultra-modern, +inbred and grayhoundlike collies which +had so utterly departed from their ancestral +standards. At one glimpse he had recognized Lad +as a dog after his own heart—a dog that brought +back to him the murk and magic of the Highland +moors.</p> + +<p>He had noted the deep chest, the mighty forequarters, +the tiny white paws, the incredible wealth +of outer- and under-coat, the brush, the grand +head, and the soul in the eyes. This was such a +dog as McGilead's shepherd ancestors had admitted +as an honored equal, at hearth and board—such a +dog, for brain and brawn and beauty, as a Highland +master would no sooner sell than he would +sell his own child.</p> + +<p>McGilead, therefore, had waved Lad aside while +he judged the lesser dogs of his class, lest he be +tempted to look too much at Lad and too little at +them; and he rejoiced, at the last, to give honor +where all honor was due.</p> + +<p>Through dreary hours that day Lad lay disconsolate +in his cell, nose between paws, while the +stream of visitors flowed sluggishly past him. His +memory of the Guest-Law prevented him from +showing his teeth when some of these passing +humans paused in front of the compartment to +pat him or to consult his number in their catalogues.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +But he accorded not so much as one look—to say +nothing of a handshake—to any of them.</p> + +<p>A single drop of happiness was in his sorrow-cup. +He had, seemingly, done something that made +both the Master and the Mistress very, <i>very</i> proud +of him. He did not know just why they should +be for he had done nothing clever. In fact, he had +been at his dullest. But they <i>were</i> proud of him—undeniably +proud, and this made him glad, through +all his black despondency.</p> + +<p>Even the collie man seemed to regard him with +more approval than before—not that Lad cared at +all; and two or three exhibitors came over for a +special look at him. From one of these exhibitors +the Mistress learned of a dog-show rule that was +wholly new to her.</p> + +<p>She was told that the winning dog of each and +every class was obliged to return later to the ring +to compete in what was known as the Winners' +class—a contest whose entrants included every +class-victor from Novice to Open. Briefly, this +special competition was to determine which class-winner +was the best collie in the whole list of +winners and, as such, entitled to a certain number +of "points" toward a championship. There were +eight of these winners.</p> + +<p>One or two such world-famed champions as +Grey Mist and Southport Sample were in the show +"for exhibition only." But the pick of the remaining +leaders must compete in the winners' class<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>—Sunnybank +Lad among them. The Master's +heart sank at this news.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry!" he said. "You see, it's one thing +to win as a Novice against a bunch of untried dogs, +and quite another to compete against the best dogs +in the show. I wish we could get out of it."</p> + +<p>"Never mind!" answered the Mistress. "Laddie +has won his ribbon. They can't take that away +from him. There's a silver cup for the Winners' +class, though. I wish there had been one for the +Novices."</p> + +<p>The day wore on. At last came the call for +"Winners!" And for the second time poor Lad +plodded reluctantly into the ring with the Mistress. +But now, instead of novice dogs, he was confronted +by the cream of colliedom.</p> + +<p>Lad's heartsick aspect showed the more intensely +in such company. It grieved the Mistress bitterly +to see his disconsolate air. She thought of the +three days and nights to come—the nights when +she and the Master could not be with him, when +he must lie listening to the babel of yells and barks +all around, with nobody to speak to him except +some neglectful and sleepy attendant. And for +the sake of a blue ribbon she had brought this upon +him!</p> + +<p>The Mistress came to a sudden and highly unsportsmanlike +resolution.</p> + +<p>Again the dogs paraded the ring. Again the +judge studied them from between half-shut eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +But this time he did not wave Lad to one side. +The Mistress had noted, during the day, that +McGilead had always made known his decisions by +first laying his hand on the victor's head. And +she watched breathless for such a gesture.</p> + +<p>One by one the dogs were weeded out until only +two remained. Of these two, one was Lad—the +Mistress' heart banged crazily—and the other was +Champion Coldstream Guard. The Champion was +a grand dog, gold-and-white of hue, perfect of coat +and line, combining all that was best in the old and +new styles of collies. He carried his head nobly +aloft with no help from the choke-collar. His +"tulip" ears hung at precisely the right curve.</p> + +<p>Lad and Coldstream Guard were placed shoulder +to shoulder on the platform. Even the Mistress +could not fail to contrast her pet's woe-begone +aspect with the Champion's alert beauty.</p> + +<p>"Lad!" she said, very low, and speaking with +slow intentness as McGilead compared the two. +"Laddie, we're going home. Home! <i>Home</i>, Lad!"</p> + +<p>Home! At the word, a thrill went through the +great dog. His shoulders squared. Up went his +head and his ears. His dark eyes fairly glowed +with eagerness as he looked expectantly up at the +Mistress. <i>Home!</i></p> + +<p>Yet, despite the transformation, the other was +the finer dog—from a mere show viewpoint. The +Mistress could see he was. Even the new uptilt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +of Lad's ears could not make those ears so perfect +in shape and attitude as were the Champion's.</p> + +<p>With almost a gesture of regret McGilead laid +his hand athwart Coldstream Guard's head. The +Mistress read the verdict, and she accepted it.</p> + +<p>"Come, Laddie, dear," she said tenderly. +"You're second, anyway, Reserve-Winner. That's +<i>something</i>."</p> + +<p>"Wait!" snapped McGilead.</p> + +<p>The judge was seizing one of Champion Coldstream +Guard's supershapely ears and turning it +backward. His sensitive fingers, falling on the +dog's head in token of victory, had encountered +an odd stiffness in the curve of the ear. Now he +began to examine that ear, and then the other, and +thereby he disclosed a most clever bit of surgical +bandaging.</p> + +<p>Neatly crisscrossed, inside each of the Champion's +ears, was a succession of adhesive-plaster +strips cut thin and running from tip to orifice. +The scientific applying of these strips had painfully +imparted to the prick-ears (the dog's one flaw) +the perfect tulip-shape so desirable as a show-quality. +Champion Coldstream Guard's silken ears +could not have had other than ideal shape and +posture if he had wanted them to—while that +crisscross of sticky strips held them in position!</p> + +<p>Now, this was no new trick—the ruse that the +Champion's handlers had employed. Again and +again in bench-shows, it had been employed upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +bull-terriers. A year or two ago a woman was +ordered from the ring, at the Garden, when plaster +was found inside her terrier's ears, but seldom before +had it been detected in a collie—in which a +prick-ear usually counts as a fatal blemish.</p> + +<p>McGilead looked at the Champion. Long and +searchingly he looked at the man who held the +Champion's leash—and who fidgeted grinningly +under the judge's glare. Then McGilead laid both +hands on Lad's great honest head—almost as in +benediction.</p> + +<p>"Your dog wins, Madam," he said, "and while +it is no part of a judge's duty to say so, I am +heartily glad. I won't insult you by asking if he +is for sale, but if ever you have to part with +him——"</p> + +<p>He did not finish, but abruptly gave the Mistress +the "Winning Class" rosette.</p> + +<p>And now, as Lad left the ring, hundreds of +hands were put out to pat him. All at once he +was a celebrity.</p> + +<p>Without returning the dog to the bench, the Mistress +went directly to the collie man.</p> + +<p>"When do they present the cups?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Not until Saturday night, I believe," said the +man. "I congratulate you both on——"</p> + +<p>"In order to win his cup, Lad will have to stay +in this—this inferno—for three days and nights +longer?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. All the dogs——"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If he doesn't stay, he won't get the cup?"</p> + +<p>"No. It would go to the Reserve, I suppose, +or to——"</p> + +<p>"Good!" declared the Mistress in relief. "Then +he won't be defrauding anyone, and they can't rob +him of his two ribbons because I have those."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" asked the puzzled collie +man.</p> + +<p>But the Master understood—and approved.</p> + +<p>"Good!" he said. "I wanted all day to suggest +it to you, but I didn't have the nerve. Come around +to the Exhibitors' Entrance. I'll go ahead and start +the car."</p> + +<p>"But what's the idea?" queried the collie man +in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"The idea," replied the Mistress, "is that the +cup can go to any dog that wants it. Lad's coming +<i>home</i>. He knows it, too. Just look at him. +I promised him he should go home. We can get +there by dinner-time, and he has a day's fast to +make up for."</p> + +<p>"But," expostulated the scandalized collie man, +"if you withdraw your dog like that, the Association +will never allow you to exhibit him at its +shows again."</p> + +<p>"The Association can have a pretty silver cup," +retorted the Mistress, "to console it for losing Lad. +As for exhibiting him again—well, I wouldn't lose +these two ribbons for a hundred dollars, but I +wouldn't put my worst enemy's dog to the torture<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +of winning them over again—for a thousand. +Come along, Lad, we're going back home."</p> + +<p>At the talisman-word, Lad broke silence for the +first time in all that vilely wretched day. He broke +it with a series of thunderously trumpeting barks +that quite put to shame the puny noise-making efforts +of every other dog in the show.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /> +LOST!</h2> + + +<p>Four of us were discussing abstract themes, +idly, as men will, after a good dinner and +in front of a country-house fire. Someone +asked:</p> + +<p>"What is the saddest sight in everyday life? I +don't mean the most gloomily tragic, but the +saddest?"</p> + +<p>A frivolous member of the fireside group cited +a helpless man between two quarreling women. A +sentimentalist said:</p> + +<p>"A lost child in a city street."</p> + +<p>The Dog-Master contradicted:</p> + +<p>"A lost <i>dog</i> in a city street."</p> + +<p>Nobody agreed with him of course; but that was +because none of the others chanced to know dogs—to +know their psychology—their souls, if you +prefer. The dog-man was right. A lost dog in a +city street is the very saddest and most hopeless +sight in all a city street's abounding everyday sadness.</p> + +<p>A man between two quarreling women is an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +object piteous enough, heaven knows. Yet his +plight verges too much on the grotesque to be +called sad.</p> + +<p>A lost child?—No. Let a child stand in the middle +of a crowded sidewalk and begin to cry. In +one minute fifty amateur and professional rescuers +have flocked to the Lost One's aid. An hour, at +most, suffices to bring it in touch with its frenzied +guardians.</p> + +<p>A lost dog?—Yes. No succoring cohort surges +to the relief. A gang of boys, perhaps, may give +chase, but assuredly not in kindness. A policeman +seeking a record for "mad dog" shooting—a professional +dog-catcher in quest of his dirty fee—these +will show marked attention to the wanderer. +But, again, not in kindness.</p> + +<p>A dog, at some turn in the street, misses his +master—doubles back to where the human demigod +was last seen—darts ahead once more to find him, +through the press of other human folk—halts, hesitates, +begins the same maneuvers all over again; +then stands, shaking in panic at his utter aloneness.</p> + +<p>Get the look in his eyes, then—you who do not +mind seeing such things—and answer, honestly: Is +there anything sadder on earth? All this, before +the pursuit of boys and the fever of thirst and the +final knowledge of desolation have turned him from +a handsome and prideful pet into a slinking outcast.</p> + +<p>Yes, a lost dog is the saddest thing that can meet +the gaze of a man or woman who understands dogs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +As perhaps my story may help to show—or perhaps +not.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Lad had been brushed and bathed, daily, for a +week, until his mahogany-and-snow coat shone. +All this, at The Place, far up in the North Jersey +hinterland and all to make him presentable for the +Westminster Kennel Show at New York's Madison +Square Garden. After which, his two gods, the +Mistress and the Master took him for a thirty-mile +ride in The Place's only car, one morning.</p> + +<p>The drive began at The Place—the domain +where Lad had ruled as King among the lesser folk +for so many years. It ended at Madison Square +Garden, where the annual four-day dog show was +in progress.</p> + +<p>You have read how Lad fared at that show—how, +at the close of the first day, when he had two +victories to his credit, the Mistress had taken pity +on his misery and had decreed that he should be +taken home, without waiting out the remaining +three days of torture-ordeal.</p> + +<p>The Master went out first, to get the car and +bring it around to the side exit of the Garden. +The Mistress gathered up Lad's belongings—his +brush, his dog biscuits, etc., and followed, with Lad +himself.</p> + +<p>Out of the huge building, with its reverberating +barks and yells from two thousand canine throats, +she went. Lad paced, happy and majestic, at her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +side. He knew he was going home, and the unhappiness +of the hideous day dropped from him.</p> + +<p>At the exit, the Mistress was forced to leave a +deposit of five dollars, "to insure the return of the +dog to his bench" (to which bench of agony she +vowed, secretly, Lad should never return). Then +she was told the law demands that all dogs in New +York City streets shall be muzzled.</p> + +<p>In vain she explained that Lad would be in the +streets only for such brief time as the car would +require to journey to the One Hundred and Thirtieth +Street ferry. The door attendant insisted that +the law was inexorable. So, lest a policeman hold +up the car for such disobedience to the city statutes, +the Mistress reluctantly bought a muzzle.</p> + +<p>It was a big, awkward thing, made of steel, and +bound on with leather straps. It looked like a rat-trap. +And it fenced in the nose and mouth of its +owner with a wicked criss-cross of shiny metal +bars.</p> + +<p>Never in all his years had Lad worn a muzzle. +Never, until to-day, had he been chained. The +splendid eighty-pound collie had been as free of +The Place and of the forests as any human; and +with no worse restrictions than his own soul and +conscience put upon him.</p> + +<p>To him this muzzle was a horror. Not even the +loved touch of the Mistress' dear fingers, as she +adjusted the thing to his beautiful head, could +lessen the degradation. And the discomfort of it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>—a +discomfort that amounted to actual pain—was +almost as bad as the humiliation.</p> + +<p>With his absurdly tiny white forepaws, the huge +dog sought to dislodge the torture-implement. He +strove to rub it off against the Mistress' skirt. But +beyond shifting it so that the forehead strap +covered one of his eyes, he could not budge it.</p> + +<p>Lad looked up at the Mistress in wretched appeal. +His look held no resentment, nothing but sad entreaty. +She was his deity. All his life she had +given him of her gentleness, her affection, her sweet +understanding. Yet, to-day, she had brought him +to this abode of noisy torment, and had kept him +there from morning to dusk. And now—just as +the vigil seemed ended—she was tormenting him, +to nerve-rack, by this contraption she had fastened +over his nose. Lad did not rebel. But he besought. +And the Mistress understood.</p> + +<p>"Laddie, dear!" she whispered, as she led him +across the sidewalk to the curb where the Master +waited for the car. "Laddie, old friend, I'm just +as sorry about it as you are. But it's only for a +few minutes. Just as soon as we get to the ferry, +we'll take it off and throw it into the river. And +we'll never bring you again where dogs have to +wear such things. I promise. It's only for a few +minutes."</p> + +<p>The Mistress, for once, was mistaken. Lad was +to wear the accursed muzzle for much, <i>much</i> longer +than "a few minutes."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Give him the back seat to himself, and come in +front here with me," suggested the Master, as the +Mistress and Lad arrived alongside the car. "The +poor old chap has been so cramped up and pestered +all day that he'll like to have a whole seat to stretch +out on."</p> + +<p>Accordingly, the Mistress opened the door and +motioned Lad to the back seat. At a bound the +collie was on the cushion, and proceeded to curl up +thereon. The Mistress got into the front seat with +the Master. The car set forth on its six-mile run +to the ferry.</p> + +<p>Now that his face was turned homeward, Lad +might have found vast interest in his new surroundings, +had not the horrible muzzle absorbed all his +powers of emotion. The Milan Cathedral, the Taj +Mahal, the Valley of the Arno at sunset—these be +sights to dream of for years. But show them to a +man who has an ulcerated tooth, or whose tight, +new shoes pinch his soft corn, and he will probably +regard them as Lad just then viewed the twilight +New York streets.</p> + +<p>He was a dog of forest and lake and hill, this +giant collie with his mighty shoulders and tiny white +feet and shaggy burnished coat and mournful eyes. +Never before had he been in a city. The myriad +blended noises confused and deafened him. The +myriad blended smells assailed his keen nostrils. +The swirl of countless multicolored lights stung and +blurred his vision. Noises, smells and lights were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +all jarringly new to him. So were the jostling +masses of people on the sidewalk and the tangle and +hustle of vehicular traffic through which the Master +was threading the car's way with such difficulty.</p> + +<p>But, newest and most sickening of all the day's +novelties was the muzzle.</p> + +<p>Lad was quite certain the Mistress did not realize +how the muzzle was hurting him nor how he detested +it. In all her dealings with him—or with +anyone or anything else—the Mistress had never +been unkind; and most assuredly not cruel. It must +be she did not understand. At all events, she had +not scolded or forbidden, when he had tried to rub +the muzzle off. So the wearing of this new torture +was apparently no part of the Law. And Lad felt +justified in striving again to remove it.</p> + +<p>In vain he pawed the thing, first with one foot, +then with both. He could joggle it from side to side, +but that was all. And each shift of the steel bars +hurt his tender nose and tenderer sensibilities worse +than the one before. He tried to rub it off against +the seat cushion—with the same distressing result.</p> + +<p>Lad looked up at the backs of his gods, and +whined very softly. The sound went unheard, in the +babel of noise all around him. Nor did the Mistress, +or the Master turn around, on general principles, to +speak a word of cheer to the sufferer. They were +in a mixup of crossways traffic that called for every +atom of their attention, if they were to avoid col<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>lision. +It was no time for conversation or for dog-patting.</p> + +<p>Lad got to his feet and stood, uncertainly, on the +slippery leather cushion, seeking to maintain his +balance, while he rubbed a corner of the muzzle +against one of the supports of the car's lowered top. +Working away with all his might, he sought to get +leverage that would pry loose the muzzle.</p> + +<p>Just then there was a brief gap in the traffic. The +Master put on speed, and, darting ahead of a delivery +truck, sharply rounded the corner into a side +street.</p> + +<p>The car's sudden twist threw Lad clean off his +precarious balance on the seat, and hurled him +against one of the rear doors.</p> + +<p>The door, insecurely shut, could not withstand the +eighty-pound impact. It burst open. And Lad was +flung out onto the greasy asphalt of the avenue.</p> + +<p>He landed full on his side, in the muck of the +roadway, with a force that shook the breath clean +out of him. Directly above his head glared the twin +lights of the delivery truck the Master had just +shot past. The truck was going at a good twelve +miles an hour. And the dog had fallen within +six feet of its fat front wheels.</p> + +<p>Now, a collie is like no other animal on earth. +He is, at worst, more wolf than dog. And, at best, +he has more of the wolf's lightning-swift instinct +than has any other breed of canine. For which +reason Lad was not, then and there, smashed, flat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +and dead, under the fore-wheels of a three-ton +truck.</p> + +<p>Even as the tires grazed his fur, Lad gathered +himself compactly together, his feet well under him, +and sprang far to one side. The lumbering truck +missed him by less than six inches. But it missed +him.</p> + +<p>His leap brought him scramblingly down on all +fours, out of the truck's way, but on the wrong side +of the thoroughfare. It brought him under the very +fender of a touring car that was going at a good +pace in the opposite direction. And again, a leap +that was inspired by quick instinct alone, lifted the +dog free of this newest death-menace.</p> + +<p>He halted and stared piteously around in search +of his deities. But in that glare and swelter of +traffic, a trained human eye could not have recognized +any particular car. Moreover, the Mistress +and Master were a full half-block away, down the +less crowded side street, and were making up for +lost time by putting on all the speed they dared, +before turning into the next westward traffic-artery. +They did not look back, for there was a car directly +in front of them, whose driver seemed uncertain +as to his wheel control, and the Master was manœuvering +to pass it in safety.</p> + +<p>Not until they had reached the lower end of +Riverside Drive, nearly a mile to the north, did +either the Master or Mistress turn around for a +word with the dog they loved.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>Meantime, Lad was standing, irresolute and panting, +in the middle of Columbus Circle. Cars of a +million types, from flivver to trolley, seemed to be +whizzing directly at him from every direction at +once.</p> + +<p>A bound, a dodge, or a deft shrinking back would +carry him out of one such peril—barely out of it—when +another, or fifty others, beset him.</p> + +<p>And, all the time, even while he was trying to +duck out of danger, his frightened eyes and his +pulsing nostrils sought the Mistress and the Master.</p> + +<p>His eyes, in that mixture of flare and dusk, told +him nothing except that a host of motors were +likely to kill him. But his nose told him what it +had not been able to tell him since morning—namely, +that, through the reek of gasoline and horseflesh +and countless human scents, there was a nearness +of fields and woods and water. And, toward +that blessed mingling of familiar odors he dodged +his threatened way.</p> + +<p>By a miracle of luck and skill he crossed Columbus +Circle, and came to a standstill on a sidewalk, +beside a low gray stone wall. Behind the wall, his +nose taught him, lay miles of meadow and wood and +lake—Central Park. But the smell of the Park +brought him no scent of the Mistress nor of the +Master. And it was they—infinitely more than his +beloved countryside—that he craved. He ran up +the street, on the sidewalk, for a few rods, hesitant, +alert, watching in every direction. Then, perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +seeing a figure, in the other direction, that looked +familiar, he dashed at top speed, eastward, for half +a block. Then he made a peril-fraught sortie out +into the middle of the traffic-humming street, deceived +by the look of a passing car.</p> + +<p>The car was traveling at twenty miles an hour. +But, in less than a block, Lad caught up with it. +And this, in spite of the many things he had to +dodge, and the greasy slipperiness of the unfamiliar +roadway. An upward glance, as he came alongside +the car, told him his chase was in vain. And he +made his precarious way to the sidewalk once more.</p> + +<p>There he stood, bewildered, heartsick—lost!</p> + +<p>Yes, he was lost. And he realized it—realized +it as fully as would a city-dweller snatched up by +magic and set down amid the trackless Himalayas. +He was lost. And Horror bit deep into his soul.</p> + +<p>The average dog might have continued to waste +energy and risk life by galloping aimlessly back and +forth, running hopefully up to every stranger he +met; then slinking off in scared disappointment and +searching afresh.</p> + +<p>Lad was too wise for that. He was lost. His +adored Mistress had somehow left him; as had the +Master; in this bedlam place—all alone. He stood +there, hopeless, head and tail adroop, his great heart +dead within him.</p> + +<p>Presently he became aware once more that he was +still wearing his abominable muzzle. In the stress +of the past few minutes Lad had actually forgotten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +the pain and vexation of the thing. Now, the memory +of it came back, to add to his despair.</p> + +<p>And, as a sick animal will ever creep to the +woods and the waste places for solitude, so the +soul-sick Lad now turned from the clangor and +evil odors of the street to seek the stretch of country-land +he had scented.</p> + +<p>Over the gray wall he sprang, and came earthward +with a crash among the leafless shrubs that +edged the south boundary of Central Park.</p> + +<p>Here in the Park there were people and lights +and motor-cars, too, but they were few, and they +were far off. Around the dog was a grateful +darkness and aloneness. He lay down on the dead +grass and panted.</p> + +<p>The time was late February. The weather of +the past day or two had been mild. The brown-gray +earth and the black trees had a faint odor +of slow-coming spring, though no nostrils less +acute than a dog's could have noted it.</p> + +<p>Through the misery at his heart and the carking +pain from his muzzle, Lad began to realize that +he was tired, also that he was hollow from lack of +food. The long day's ordeal of the dog show had +wearied him and had worn down his nerves more +than could a fifty-mile run. The nasty thrills of the +past half-hour had completed his fatigue. He had +eaten nothing all day. Like most high-strung dogs +at a show, he had drunk a great deal of water and +had refused to touch a morsel of food.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>He was not hungry even now for, in a dog, +hunger goes only with peace of mind, but he was +cruelly thirsty. He got up from his slushy couch +on the dead turf and trotted wearily toward the +nearest branch of the Central Park lake. At the +brink he stooped to drink.</p> + +<p>Soggy ice still covered the lake, but the mild +weather had left a half-inch skim of water over +it. Lad tried to lap up enough of this water to +allay his craving thirst. He could not.</p> + +<p>The muzzle protruded nearly an inch beyond his +nose. Either through faulty adjustment or from +his own futile efforts to scrape it off, the awkward +steel hinge had become jammed and would not open. +Lad could not get his teeth a half-inch apart.</p> + +<p>After much effort he managed to protrude the +end of his pink tongue and to touch the water with +it, but it was a painful and drearily slow process +absorbing water drop by drop in this way. More +through fatigue than because his thirst was slaked, +he stopped at last and turned away from the lake.</p> + +<p>The next half-hour was spent in a diligent and +torturing and wholly useless attempt to rid himself +of his muzzle.</p> + +<p>After which the dog lay panting and athirst +once more; his tender nose sore and bruised and +bleeding; the muzzle as firmly fixed in place as +ever. Another journey to the lake and another +Tantalus-effort to drink—and the pitifully harassed +dog's uncanny brain began to work.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>He no longer let himself heed the muzzle. Experience +of the most painful sort had told him he +could not dislodge it nor, in that clamorous and ill-smelling +city beyond the park wall, could he hope +to find the Mistress and the Master. These things +being certain, his mind went on to the next step, +and the next step was—Home!</p> + +<p>Home! The Place where his happy, beautiful +life had been spent, where his two gods abode, +where there were no clang and reek and peril as +here in New York. Home!—The House of +Peace!</p> + +<p>Lad stood up. He drew in great breaths of the +muggy air, and he turned slowly about two or +three times, head up, nostrils aquiver. For a full +minute he stood thus. Then he lowered his head +and trotted westward. No longer he moved uncertainly, +but with as much sureness as if he were +traversing the forest behind The Place—the forest +that had been his roaming-ground since puppyhood.</p> + +<p>(Now, this is not a fairy story, nor any other +type of fanciful yarn, so I do not pretend to account +for Lad's heading unswervingly toward the +northwest in the exact direction of The Place, thirty +miles distant, any more than I can account for the +authenticated case of a collie who, in 1917, made +his way four hundred miles from the home of a +new owner in southern Georgia to the doorstep of +his former and better loved master in the mountains +of North Carolina; any more than I can ac<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>count +for the flight of a homing pigeon or for that +of the northbound duck in Spring. God gives to +certain animals a whole set of mystic traits which +He withholds utterly from humans. No dog-student +can doubt that, and no dog-student or deep-delving +psychologist can explain it.)</p> + +<p>Northwestward jogged Lad, and in half a mile +he came to the low western wall of Central Park. +Without turning aside to seek a gateway, he cleared +the wall and found himself on Eighth Avenue in +the very middle of a block.</p> + +<p>Keeping on the sidewalk and paying no heed to +the few pedestrians, he moved along to the next +westward street and turned down it toward the +Hudson River. So calmly and certainly did he +move that none would have taken him for a lost +dog.</p> + +<p>Under the roaring elevated road at Columbus +Avenue, he trotted; his ears tormented by the +racket of a train that reverberated above him; his +sense so blurred by the sound that he all but forgot +to dodge a southbound trolley car.</p> + +<p>Down the cross street to Amsterdam Avenue he +bore. A patrolman on his way to the West Sixty-ninth +Street police station to report for night duty, +was so taken up by his own lofty thoughts that +he quite forgot to glance at the big mud-spattered +dog that padded past him.</p> + +<p>For this lack of observation the patrolman was +destined to lose a good opportunity for fattening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +his monthly pay. Because, on reaching the station, +he learned that a distressed man and woman had +just been there in a car to offer a fifty-dollar reward +for the finding of a big mahogany-and-white +collie, answering to the name of "Lad."</p> + +<p>As the dog reached Amsterdam Avenue a high +little voice squealed delightedly at him. A three-year-old +baby—a mere fluff of gold and white and +pink—was crossing the avenue convoyed by a fat +woman in black. Lad was jogging by the mother +and child when the latter discovered the passing +dog.</p> + +<p>With a shriek of joyous friendliness the baby +flung herself upon Lad and wrapped both arms +about his shaggy neck.</p> + +<p>"Why <i>doggie!</i>" she shrilled, ecstatically. "Why, +dear, <i>dear</i> doggie!"</p> + +<p>Now Lad was in dire haste to get home, and +Lad was in dire misery of mind and body, but his +big heart went out in eagerly loving answer to the +impulsive caress. He worshipped children, and +would cheerfully endure from them any amount +of mauling.</p> + +<p>At the baby embrace and the baby voice, he +stopped short in his progress. His plumy tail +wagged in glad friendliness; his muzzled nose +sought wistfully to kiss the pink little face on a +level with his own. The baby tightened her hug, +and laid her rose leaf cheek close to his own.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I love you, Miss Doggie!" she whispered in +Lad's ear.</p> + +<p>Then the fat woman in black bore down upon +them. Fiercely, she yanked the baby away from +the dog. Then, seeing that the mud on Lad's +shoulder had soiled the child's white coat, she +whirled a string-fastened bundle aloft and brought +it down with a resounding thwack over the dog's +head.</p> + +<p>Lad winched under the heavy blow, then hot +resentment blazed through his first instant of +grieved astonishment. This unpleasant fat creature +in black was not a man, wherefore Lad contented +himself by baring his white teeth, and with growling +deep menace far down in his throat.</p> + +<p>The woman shrank back scared, and she +screamed loudly. On the instant the station-bound +patrolman was beside her.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong, ma'am?" asked the bluecoat.</p> + +<p>The woman pointed a wobbly and fat forefinger +at Lad, who had taken up his westward journey +again and was halfway across the street.</p> + +<p>"Mad dog!" she sputtered, hysterically. "He—he +bit me! Bit <i>at</i> me, anyhow!"</p> + +<p>Without waiting to hear the last qualifying sentence, +the patrolman gave chase. Here was a chance +for honorable blotter-mention at the very least. As +he ran he drew his pistol.</p> + +<p>Lad had reached the westward pavement of +Amsterdam Avenue and was in the side street be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>yond. +He was not hurrying, but his short wolf-trot +ate up ground in deceptively quick time.</p> + +<p>By the time the policeman had reached the west +corner of street and avenue the dog was nearly a +half-block ahead. The officer, still running, leveled +his pistol and fired.</p> + +<p>Now, anyone (but a very newly-appointed patrolman +or a movie-hero) knows that to fire a shot +when running is worse than fatal to any chance +of accuracy. No marksman—no one who has the +remotest knowledge of marksmanship—will do such +a thing. The very best pistol-expert cannot hope +to hit his target if he is joggling his own arm and +his whole body by the motion of running.</p> + +<p>The bullet flew high and to the right, smashing +a second-story window and making the echoes resound +deafeningly through the narrow street.</p> + +<p>"What's up?" excitedly asked a boy, who stood +beside a barrel bonfire with a group of chums.</p> + +<p>"Mad dog!" puffed the policeman as he sped past.</p> + +<p>At once the boys joined gleesomely in the chase, +outdistancing the officer, just as the latter fired a +second shot.</p> + +<p>Lad felt a white-hot ridge of pain cut along his +left flank like a whip-lash. He wheeled to face +his invisible foe, and he found himself looking at +a half-dozen boys who charged whoopingly down +on him. Behind the boys clumped a man in blue +flourishing something bright.</p> + +<p>Lad had no taste for this sort of attention.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +Always he had loathed strangers, and these new +strangers seemed bent on catching him—on barring +his homeward way.</p> + +<p>He wheeled around again and continued his westward +journey at a faster pace. The hue-and-cry +broke into louder yells and three or four new recruits +joined the pursuers. The yap of "Mad dog! +<i>Mad dog!</i>" filled the air.</p> + +<p>Not one of these people—not even the policeman +himself—had any evidence that the collie was +mad. There are not two really rabid dogs seen at +large in New York or in any other city in the +course of a year. Yet, at the back of the human +throat ever lurks that fool-cry of "Mad dog!"—ever +ready to leap forth into shouted words at the +faintest provocation.</p> + +<p>One wonders, disgustedly, how many thousand +luckless and totally harmless pet dogs in the course +of a year are thus hunted down and shot or kicked +or stoned to death in the sacred name of Humanity, +just because some idiot mistakes a hanging tongue +or an uncertainty of direction for signs of that +semi-phantom malady known as "rabies."</p> + +<p>A dog is lost. He wanders to and fro in bewilderment. +Boys pelt or chase him. His tongue +lolls and his eyes glaze with fear. Then, ever, rises +the yell of "Mad Dog!" And a friendly, lovable +pet is joyfully done to death.</p> + +<p>Lad crossed Broadway, threading his way +through the trolley-and-taxi procession, and gal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>loped +down the hill toward Riverside Park. Close +always at his heels followed the shouting crowd. +Twice, by sprinting, the patrolman gained the front +rank of the hunt, and twice he fired—both bullets +going wide. Across West End Avenue and across +Riverside Drive went Lad, hard-pressed and fleeing +at top speed. The cross-street ran directly down +to a pier that jutted a hundred feet out into the +Hudson River.</p> + +<p>Along this pier flew Lad, not in panic terror, +but none the less resolved that these howling New +Yorkers should not catch him and prevent his going +home.</p> + +<p>Onto the pier the clattering hue-and-cry followed. +A dock watchman, as Lad flashed by, +hurled a heavy joist of wood at the dog. It +whizzed past the flying hind legs, scoring the barest +of misses.</p> + +<p>And now Lad was at the pier end. Behind him +the crowd raced; sure it had the dangerous brute +cornered at last.</p> + +<p>On the string-piece the collie paused for the +briefest of moments glancing to north and to south. +Everywhere the wide river stretched away, unbridged. +It must be crossed if he would continue +his homeward course, and there was but one way +for him to cross it.</p> + +<p>The watchman, hard at his heels, swung upward +the club he carried. Down came the club with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +murderous force—upon the stringpiece where Lad +had been standing.</p> + +<p>Lad was no longer there. One great bound had +carried him over the edge and into the black water +below.</p> + +<p>Down he plunged into the river and far, far +under it, fighting his way gaspingly to the surface. +The water that gushed into his mouth and nostrils +was salty and foul, not at all like the water of the +lake at the edge of The Place. It sickened him. +And the February chill of the river cut into him +like a million ice-needles.</p> + +<p>To the surface he came, and struck out valorously +for the opposite shore much more than a +mile away. As his beautiful head appeared, a yell +went up from the clustering riff-raff at the pier +end. Bits of wood and coal began to shower the +water all around him. A pistol shot plopped into +the river a bare six inches away from him.</p> + +<p>But the light was bad and the stream was a tossing +mass of blackness and of light-blurs, and presently +the dog swam, unscathed, beyond the range +of missiles.</p> + +<p>Now a swim of a mile or of two miles was no +special exploit for Lad—even in ice-cold water, but +this water was not like any he had swum in. The +tide was at the turn for one thing, and while, in +a way, this helped him, yet the myriad eddies and +cross-currents engendered by it turned and jostled +and buffeted him in a most perplexing way. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +there were spars and barrels and other obstacles +that were forever looming up just in front of him +or else banging against his heaving sides.</p> + +<p>Once a revenue cutter passed not thirty feet +ahead of him. Its wake caught the dog and sucked +him under and spun his body around and around +before he could fight clear of it.</p> + +<p>His lungs were bursting. He was worn out. He +felt as sore as if he had been kicked for an hour. +The bullet-graze along his flank was hurting him +as the salt water bit into it, and the muzzle half-blinded, +half-smothered him.</p> + +<p>But, because of his hero heart rather than +through his splendid strength and wisdom, he +kept on.</p> + +<p>For an hour or more he swam until at last his +body and brain were numb, and only the mechanical +action of his wrenched muscles held him in +motion. Twice tugs narrowly escaped running him +down, and in the wake of each he waged a fearful +fight for life.</p> + +<p>After a century of effort his groping forepaws +felt the impact of a submerged rock, then of +another, and with his last vestige of strength Lad +crawled feebly ashore on a narrow sandspit at the +base of the elephant-gray Palisades. There, he collapsed +and lay shivering, panting, struggling for +breath.</p> + +<p>Long he lay there, letting Nature bring back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +some of his wind and his motive-power, his shaggy +body one huge pulsing ache.</p> + +<p>When he was able to move, he took up his +journey. Sometimes swimming, sometimes on +ground, he skirted the Palisades-foot to northward, +until he found one of the several precipice-paths +that Sunday picnickers love to climb. Up this +he made his tottering way, slowly; conserving his +strength as best he could.</p> + +<p>On the summit he lay down again to rest. Behind +him, across the stretch of black and lamp-flecked +water, rose the inky skyline of the city with +a lurid furnace-glow between its crevices that +smote the sky. Ahead was a plateau with a downward +slope beyond it.</p> + +<p>Once more, getting to his feet, Lad stood and +sniffed, turning his head from side to side, muzzled +nose aloft. Then, his bearings taken, he set off +again, but this time his jog-trot was slower and +his light step was growing heavier. The terrible +strain of his swim was passing from his mighty +sinews, but it was passing slowly because he was +so tired and empty and in such pain of body and +mind. He saved his energies until he should have +more of them to save.</p> + +<p>Across the plateau, down the slope, and then +across the interminable salt meadows to westward +he traveled; sometimes on road or path, sometimes +across field or hill, but always in an unswerving +straight line.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a little before midnight that he breasted +the first rise of Jersey hills above Hackensack. +Through a lightless one-street village he went, +head low, stride lumbering, the muzzle weighing +a ton and composed of molten iron and hornet +stings.</p> + +<p>It was the muzzle—now his first fatigue had +slackened—that galled him worst. Its torture was +beginning to do queer things to his nerves and +brain. Even a stolid, nerveless dog hates a muzzle. +More than one sensitive dog has been driven crazy +by it.</p> + +<p>Thirst—intolerable thirst—was torturing Lad. +He could not drink at the pools and brooks he +crossed. So tight-jammed was the steel jaw-hinge +now that he could not even open his mouth to pant, +which is the cruelest deprivation a dog can suffer.</p> + +<p>Out of the shadows of a ramshackle hovel's front +yard dived a monstrous shape that hurled itself +ferociously on the passing collie.</p> + +<p>A mongrel watchdog—part mastiff, part hound, +part anything you choose—had been dozing on his +squatter-owner's doorstep when the pad-pad-pad of +Lad's wearily-jogging feet had sounded on the road.</p> + +<p>Other dogs, more than one of them, during the +journey had run out to yap or growl at the +wanderer, but as Lad had been big and had followed +an unhesitant course they had not gone to +the length of actual attack.</p> + +<p>This mongrel, however, was less prudent. Or,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +perhaps, dog-fashion, he realized that the muzzle +rendered Lad powerless and therefore saw every +prospect of a safe and easy victory. At all events, +he gave no warning bark or growl as he shot forward +to the attack.</p> + +<p>Lad—his eyes dim with fatigue and road dust, +his ears dulled by water and by noise—did not hear +nor see the foe. His first notice of the attack was +a flying weight of seventy-odd pounds that crashed +against his flank. A double set of fangs in the +same instant, sank into his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Under the onslaught Lad fell sprawlingly into +the road on his left side, his enemy upon him.</p> + +<p>As Lad went down the mongrel deftly shifted +his unprofitable shoulder grip to a far more promisingly +murderous hold on his fallen victim's throat.</p> + +<p>A cat has five sets of deadly weapons—its +four feet and its jaws. So has every animal on +earth—human and otherwise—except a dog. A +dog is terrible by reason of its teeth. Encase the +mouth in a muzzle and a dog is as helpless for +offensive warfare as is a newborn baby.</p> + +<p>And Lad was thus pitiably impotent to return +his foe's attack. Exhausted, flung prone to earth, +his mighty jaws muzzled, he seemed as good as +dead.</p> + +<p>But a collie down is not a collie beaten. The +wolf-strain provides against that. Even as he fell +Lad instinctively gathered his legs under him as +he had done when he tumbled from the car.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + +<p>And, almost at once, he was on his feet again, +snarling horribly and lunging to break the mongrel's +throat-grip. His weariness was forgotten and his +wondrous reserve strength leaped into play. Which +was all the good it did him; for he knew as well +as the mongrel that he was powerless to use his +teeth.</p> + +<p>The throat of a collie—except in one small vulnerable +spot—is armored by a veritable mattress +of hair. Into this hair the mongrel had driven +his teeth. The hair filled his mouth, but his grinding +jaws encountered little else to close on.</p> + +<p>A lurching jerk of Lad's strong frame tore loose +the savagely inefficient hold. The mongrel sprang +at him for a fresh grip. Lad reared to meet him, +opposing his mighty chest to the charge and snapping +powerlessly with his close-locked mouth.</p> + +<p>The force of Lad's rearing leap sent the mongrel +spinning back by sheer weight, but at once he drove +in again to the assault. This time he did not give +his muzzled antagonist a chance to rear, but sprang +at Lad's flank. Lad wheeled to meet the rush and, +opposing his shoulder to it, broke its force.</p> + +<p>Seeing himself so helpless, this was of course the +time for Lad to take to his heels and try to outrun +the enemy he could not outfight. To stand +his ground was to be torn, eventually, to death. +Being anything but a fool Lad knew that; yet he +ignored the chance of safety and continued to fight +the worse-than-hopeless battle.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + +<p>Twice and thrice his wit and his uncanny swiftness +enabled him to block the big mongrel's rushes. +The fourth time, as he sought to rear, his hind +foot slipped on a skim of puddle-ice.</p> + +<p>Down went Lad in a heap, and the mongrel +struck.</p> + +<p>Before the collie could regain his feet the +mongrel's teeth had found a hold on the side of +Lad's throat. Pinning down the muzzled dog, the +mongrel proceeded to improve his hold by grinding +his way toward the jugular. Now his teeth encountered +something more solid than mere hair. +They met upon a thin leather strap.</p> + +<p>Fiercely the mongrel gnawed at this solid obstacle, +his rage-hot brain possibly mistaking it for +flesh. Lad writhed to free himself and to regain +his feet, but seventy-five pounds of fighting weight +were holding his neck to the ground.</p> + +<p>Of a sudden, the mongrel growled in savage +triumph. The strap was bitten through!</p> + +<p>Clinging to the broken end of the leather the +victor gave one final tug. The pull drove the steel +bars excruciatingly deep into Lad's bruised nose +for a moment. Then, by magic, the torture-implement +was no longer on his head but was dangling +by one strap between the muzzled mongrel's +jaws.</p> + +<p>With a motion so swift that the eye could not +follow it, Lad was on his feet and plunging deliriously +into the fray. Through a miracle, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +jaws were free; his torment was over. The joy +of deliverance sent a glow of Berserk vigor sweeping +through him.</p> + +<p>The mongrel dropped the muzzle and came +eagerly to the battle. To his dismay he found himself +fighting not a helpless dog, but a maniac wolf. +Lad sought no permanent hold. With dizzying +quickness his head and body moved—and kept +moving, and every motion meant a deep slash or +a ragged tear in his enemy's short-coated hide.</p> + +<p>With ridiculous ease the collie eluded the mongrel's +awkward counter-attacks, and ever kept boring +in. To the quivering bone his short front +teeth sank. Deep and bloodily his curved tusks +slashed—as the wolf and the collie alone can slash.</p> + +<p>The mongrel, swept off his feet, rolled howling +into the road; and Lad tore grimly at the exposed +under-body.</p> + +<p>Up went a window in the hovel. A man's voice +shouted. A woman in a house across the way +screamed. Lad glanced up to note this new diversion. +The stricken mongrel yelping in terror and +agony seized the second respite to scamper back +to the doorstep, howling at every jump.</p> + +<p>Lad did not pursue him, but jogged along on +his journey without one backward look.</p> + +<p>At a rivulet, a mile beyond, he stopped to drink. +And he drank for ten minutes. Then he went on. +Unmuzzled and with his thirst slaked, he forgot +his pain, his fatigue, his muddy and blood-caked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +and abraded coat, and the memory of his nightmare +day.</p> + +<p>He was going home!</p> + +<p>At gray dawn the Mistress and the Master +turned in at the gateway of The Place. All night +they had sought Lad; from one end of Manhattan +Island to the other—from Police Headquarters to +dog pound—they had driven. And now the Master +was bringing his tired and heartsore wife home to +rest, while he himself should return to town and +to the search.</p> + +<p>The car chugged dispiritedly down the driveway +to the house, but before it had traversed half the +distance the dawn-hush was shattered by a thundrous +bark of challenge to the invaders.</p> + +<p>Lad, from his post of guard on the veranda, ran +stiffly forward to bar the way. Then as he ran +his eyes and nose suddenly told him these mysterious +newcomers were his gods.</p> + +<p>The Mistress, with a gasp of rapturous unbelief, +was jumping down from the car before it came to +a halt. On her knees, she caught Lad's muddy and +bloody head tight in her arms.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lad;" she sobbed incoherently. "Laddie! +<i>Laddie!</i>"</p> + +<p>Whereat, by another miracle, Lad's stiffness and +hurts and weariness were gone. He strove to lick +the dear face bending so tearfully above him. +Then, with an abandon of puppylike joy, he rolled +on the ground waving all four soiled little feet in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +the air and playfully pretending to snap at the +loving hands that caressed him.</p> + +<p>Which was ridiculous conduct for a stately and +full-grown collie. But Lad didn't care, because it +made the Mistress stop crying and laugh. And that +was what Lad most wanted her to do.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /> +THE THROWBACK</h2> + + +<p>The Place was nine miles north of the county-seat +city of Paterson. And yearly, near +Paterson, was held the great North Jersey +Livestock Fair—a fair whose awards established +for the next twelve-month the local rank of purebred +cattle and sheep and pigs for thirty miles in +either direction.</p> + +<p>From the Ramapo hill pastures, south of Suffern, +two days before the fair, descended a flock of +twenty prize sheep—the playthings of a man to +whom the title of Wall Street Farmer had a lure +of its own—a lure that cost him something like +$30,000 a year; and which made him a scourge to +all his few friends.</p> + +<p>Among these luckless friends chanced to be the +Mistress and the Master of The Place. And the +Gentleman Farmer had decided to break his sheep's +fair-ward journey by a twenty-four-hour stop at +The Place.</p> + +<p>The Master, duly apprised of the sorry honor +planned for his home, set aside a disused horse-paddock +for the woolly visitors' use. Into this their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +shepherd drove his dusty and bleating charges on +their arrival.</p> + +<p>The shepherd was a somber Scot. Nature had +begun the work of somberness in his Highland +heart. The duty of working for the Wall Street +Farmer had added tenfold to the natural tendency. +His name was McGillicuddy, and he looked it.</p> + +<p>Now, in northern New Jersey a live sheep is +well nigh as rare as a pterodactyl. This flock of +twenty had cost their owner their weight in merino +wool. A dog—especially a collie—that does not +know sheep, is prone to consider them his lawful +prey, in other words, the sight of a sheep has +turned many an otherwise law-abiding dog into +a killer.</p> + +<p>To avoid so black a smirch on The Place's hospitality, +the Master had loaded all his collies, except +Lad, into the car, and had shipped them off, +that morning, for a three-day sojourn at the boarding +kennels, ten miles away.</p> + +<p>"Does the Old Dog go, too, sir?" asked The +Place's foreman, with a questioning nod at Lad, +after he had lifted the others into the tonneau.</p> + +<p>Lad was viewing the proceedings from the top of +the veranda steps. The Master looked at him, then +at the car, and answered:</p> + +<p>"No. Lad has more right here than any measly +imported sheep. He won't bother them if I tell +him not to. Let him stay."</p> + +<p>The sheep, convoyed by the misanthropic McGil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>licuddy, +filed down the drive, from the highroad, an +hour later, and were marshaled into the corral.</p> + +<p>As the jostling procession, followed by its dour +shepherd, turned in at the gate of The Place, Lad +rose from his rug on the veranda. His nostrils +itching with the unfamiliar odor, his soft eyes outraged +by the bizarre sight, he set forth to drive the +intruders out into the main road.</p> + +<p>Head lowered, he ran, uttering no sound. This +seemed to him an emergency which called for +drastic measures rather than for monitory barking. +For all he knew, these twenty fat, woolly, white +things might be fighters who would attack him in +a body, and who might even menace the safety of +his gods; and the glum McGillicuddy did not impress +him at all favorably. Hence the silent charge +at the foe—a charge launched with the speed and +terrible menace of a thunderbolt.</p> + +<p>McGillicuddy sprang swiftly to the front of his +flock, staff upwhirled; but before the staff could +descend on the furry defender of The Place, a +sweet voice called imperiously to the dog.</p> + +<p>The Mistress had come out upon the veranda +and had seen Lad dash to the attack.</p> + +<p>"Lad!" she cried. "<i>Lad!</i>"</p> + +<p>The great dog halted midway in his rush.</p> + +<p>"Down!" called the Mistress. "Leave them +alone! Do you hear, Lad? <i>Leave them alone!</i> +Come back here!"</p> + +<p>Lad heard, and Lad obeyed. Lad always obeyed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +If these twenty malodorous strangers and their +staff-brandishing guide were friends of the Mistress +he must not drive them away. The order +"Leave them alone!" was one that could not be disregarded.</p> + +<p>Trembling with anger, yet with no thought of +rebelling, Lad turned and trotted back to the +veranda. He thrust his cold nose into the Mistress' +warm little hand and looked up eagerly into her +face, seeking a repeal of the command to keep away +from the sheep and their driver.</p> + +<p>But the Mistress only patted his silken head and +whispered:</p> + +<p>"We don't like it any more than you do, Laddie; +but we mustn't let anyone know we don't. Leave +them alone!"</p> + +<p>Past the veranda filed the twenty priceless sheep, +and on to the paddock.</p> + +<p>"I suppose they'll carry off all the prizes at the +fair, won't they?" asked the Mistress civilly, as +McGillicuddy plodded past her at the tail of the procession.</p> + +<p>"Aiblins, aye," grunted McGillicuddy, with the +exquisite courtesy of a member of his race and +class who feels he is being patronized. "Aiblins, +aye. Aiblins, na'. Aiblins—ugh-uh."</p> + +<p>Having thus safeguarded his statement against +assault from any side at all, the Scot moved on. +Lad strolled down toward the paddock to superintend +the task of locking up the sheep. The Mis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>tress +did not detain him. She felt calmly certain her +order of "Leave them alone!" had rendered the +twenty visitors inviolate from him.</p> + +<p>Lad walked slowly around the paddock, his gaze +on the sheep. These were the first sheep he had +ever seen. Yet his ancestors, for a thousand years +or more, had herded and guarded flocks on the +moors.</p> + +<p>Atavism is mysteriously powerful in dogs, and it +takes strange forms. A collie, too, has a queer +strain of wolf in him—not only in body but in +brain, and the wolf was the sheep's official murderer, +as far back as the days when a humpbacked +Greek slave, named Æsop, used to beguile his sleepless +nights with writing fables.</p> + +<p>Round and round the paddock prowled Lad; his +eyes alight with a myriad half-memories; his sensitive +nostrils quivering at the scents that enveloped +them.</p> + +<p>McGillicuddy, from time to time, eyed the dog +obliquely, and with a scowl. These sheep were not +the pride of his heart. His conscientious heart +possessed no pride—pride being one of the seven +deadly sins, and the sheep not being his own; but +the flock represented his livelihood—his comfortably +overpaid job with the Wall Street Farmer. +He was responsible for their welfare.</p> + +<p>And McGillicuddy did not at all like the way this +beautiful collie eyed the prize merinos, nor was the +Scot satisfied with the strength of the corral. Its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +wire fencing was rusty and sagging from long disuse, +its gate hung crookedly and had a crazy hasp.</p> + +<p>A sheep is one of the least intelligent creatures +on earth. Should the flock's leader decide at any +time during the night to press his heavy bulk +against the gate or against some of the rustier wire +strands, there would presently be a gap through +which the entire twenty could amble forth. Once +outside——</p> + +<p>Again McGillicuddy glowered dourly at Lad. +The collie returned the look with interest; a well-bred +dog being as skilled in reading human faces +as is any professional dead beat. Lad saw the dislike +in McGillicuddy's heavy-thatched eyes; cordially +he yearned to prove his own distaste for the shepherd, +but the Mistress' command had immuned +this sour stranger.</p> + +<p>So Lad merely turned his back on the man, sat +down, flattened his furry ears close against his +head, thrust his pointed nose skyward, and sniffed. +McGillicuddy was too much an animal man not to +read the insult in the dog's posture and action, and +the shepherd's fist tightened longingly round his +staff.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later the Wall Street Farmer himself +arrived at The Place. He came in a runabout. +On the seat beside him sat his pasty-faced, four-year-old +son. At his feet was something which, at +first glance, might have been either a quadruped or +a rag bag.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Mistress and the Master, with dutiful hypocrisy, +came smilingly out on the veranda to welcome +the guests. Lad, who had returned from the +impromptu sheep-fold, stood beside them. At sight +and scent of this new batch of visitors the collie +doubtless felt what old-fashioned novelists used to +describe as "mingled emotions."</p> + +<p>There was a child in the car. And though there +had been few children in Lad's life, yet he loved +them, loved them as a big-hearted and big-bodied +dog always loves the helpless. Wherefore, at sight +of the child, Lad rejoiced.</p> + +<p>But the animal crouching at the Wall Street +Farmer's feet was quite a different form of guest. +Lad recognized the thing as a dog—yet no such +dog as ever he had seen. An unwholesome-looking +dog. Even as the little boy was an unwholesome-looking +child.</p> + +<p>"Well!" sonorously proclaimed the Wall Street +Farmer as he scrambled out of the runabout and +bore down upon his hosts, "here I am! The sheep +got here all safe? Good! I knew they would. +McGillicuddy's a genius; nothing he can't do with +sheep. You remember Mortimer?" lifting the +lanky youngster from the seat. "He teased so to +come along, his mother said I'd better bring him. +I knew you'd be glad. Shake hands with them, +Morty, darling."</p> + +<p>"I wun't!" snarled Morty darling, hanging back.</p> + +<p>Then he caught sight of Lad. The collie came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +straight up to the child, grinning from ear to ear, +and wrinkling his nose so delightedly that every +white front tooth showed. Morty flung himself +forward to greet the huge dog, but the Wall Street +Farmer, with a shout of warning, caught the boy +in his arms and bravely interposed his own fat +body between Mortimer and Lad.</p> + +<p>"What does the beast mean by snarling at my +son?" fiercely demanded the Wall Street Farmer. +"You people have no right to leave such a savage +dog at large."</p> + +<p>"He's not snarling," the Mistress indignantly declared, +"he's smiling. That's Lad's way. Why, +he'd let himself be cut up into squares sooner than +hurt a child."</p> + +<p>Still doubtful, the Wall Street Farmer cautiously +set down his son on the veranda. Morty flung himself +bodily upon Lad; hauling and mauling the +stately collie this way and that.</p> + +<p>Had any grown person, save only the Mistress +or the Master, attempted such treatment, the curving +white eyeteeth would have buried themselves +very promptly in the offender.</p> + +<p>Indeed, the Master now gazed, with some nervousness, +at the performance; but the Mistress was +not worried as to her adored pet's behavior; and the +Mistress, as ever, was right.</p> + +<p>For Lad endured the mauling—not patiently, but +blissfully. He fairly writhed with delight at the +painful tugging of hair and ears; and moistly he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +strove to kiss the wizened little face that was on a +level with his own. Morty repaid this attention by +slapping Lad across the mouth. Lad only wagged +his plumy tail the more ecstatically and snuggled +closer to the preposterous baby.</p> + +<p>Meantime, the Wall Street Farmer, in clarion +tones, was calling attention to the second of the two +treasures he had brought along.</p> + +<p>"Melisande!" he cried.</p> + +<p>At the summons, the fuzzy monstrosity in the car +ceased peering snappishly over the doortop at Lad, +and condescended to turn toward its owner. It +looked like something between an Old English +sheep-dog and a dachshund; straw-colored fur enveloped +the scrawny body; a miserable apology for +a bushy tail hung limply between crooked hind legs; +evil little eyes peered forth from beneath a scarecrow +stubble of head fringe; it was not a pretty +dog, this canine the Wall Street Farmer had just +addressed by the poetic title of "Melisande."</p> + +<p>"What in blazes is he?" asked the Master.</p> + +<p>"She is a Prussian sheep-dog," proudly replied +the Wall Street Farmer. "She is the first of her +breed ever imported to America. Cost me a clean +$1100 to buy her from a Chicago man who brought +her over. I'm going to exhibit her at the Garden +Show next winter. What do you think of her, +old man?"</p> + +<p>"I'd hate to tell you," said the Master, "but I'll +gladly tell you what I think of that Chicago man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +He's the original genius who sold all the land between +New York and Jersey City for a thousand +dollars an acre and issued the series of ten-dollar +season admission tickets to Central Park."</p> + +<p>Being the Wall Street Farmer's host the Master +said this in the recesses of his own heart. Aloud, +he blithered some complimentary lie and watched +the visitor lift the scraggy nondescript out of +the car.</p> + +<p>The moment she was on the ground, Melisande +made a wild dash at Lad. Snarling, she snapped +ferociously at his throat. Lad merely turned his +shaggy shoulder to meet the onslaught. And +Melisande found herself gripping nothing but a +mouthful of his soft hair. He made no move to +resent the attack. And the Wall Street Farmer, +shouting unobeyed mandates to his pet, dragged +away the pugnacious Melisande by the scruff of the +neck.</p> + +<p>The $1100 Prussian sheep-dog next caught a +glimpse of one of the half-grown peacock chicks—the +joy of the Mistress' summer—strutting across +the lawn. Melisande, with a yap of glee, rushed off +in pursuit.</p> + +<p>The chick had no fear. The dogs of The Place +had always been trained to give the fowls a wide +berth; so the pretty little peacock fell a pitifully +easy prey to the first snap of Melisande's jaws.</p> + +<p>Lad growled, deep down in his throat, at this +gross lawlessness. The Mistress bit her lip to keep<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +her self-control at the slaughter of her pet. The +Master hastily said something that was lost in the +louder volume of the Wall Street Farmer's bellow +as he sought to call back his $1100 treasure from +further slaying.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, well!" the guest exclaimed as at last +he returned to the veranda, dragging Melisande +along in his wake. "I'm sorry this happened, but +you must overlook it. You see, Melisande is so +high spirited she is hard to control. That's the way +with thoroughbred dogs. Don't you find it so?"</p> + +<p>The Master, thus appealed to, glanced at his wife. +She was momentarily out of ear-shot, having gone +to pick up the killed peacock and stroke its rumpled +plumage. So the Master allowed himself the luxury +of plainer speech than if she had been there to +be grieved over the breach of hospitality.</p> + +<p>"A thoroughbred dog," he said oracularly, "is +either the best dog on earth, or else he is the worst. +If he is the best he learns to mind, and to behave +himself in every way like a thoroughbred. He +learns it without being beaten or sworn at. If he is +the worst—then it's wisest for his owner to hunt up +some Easy Mark and sell the cur to him for $1100. +You'll notice I said his 'owner'—not his 'master.' +There's all the difference in the world between +those two terms. Anybody, with price to buy a +dog, can be an 'owner,' but all the cash coined won't +make a man a dog's 'master'—unless he's that sort +of man. Think it over."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Wall Street Farmer glared apoplectically at +his host, who was already sorry that the sneer at +Lad and the killing of his wife's pet had made him +speak so to a guest—even to a self-invited and undesired +guest. Then the Wall Street Man, with a +grunt, put a leash on Melisande and gruffly asked +that she be fastened to one of the vacant kennels.</p> + +<p>The Mistress came back to the group as the +$1100 beast was led away, kennelward, by the +gardener. Recovering her self-possession, the Mistress +said to her guest:</p> + +<p>"I never heard of a Prussian sheep-dog before. +Is she trained to herd your sheep?"</p> + +<p>"No," replied the Wall Street Farmer, his rancor +forgotten in the prospect of exploiting his wondrous +dog, "not yet. In fact, she hates the sheep. +She's young, so we haven't tried to train her for +shepherding. Two or three times we have taken +her into the pasture—always on leash—but she +flies at the sheep and goes almost crazy with anger. +McGillicuddy says it's bad for the sheep to be scared +by her. So we keep her away from them. But by +next season——"</p> + +<p>He got no further. A sound of lamentation—prolonged +and leather-lunged lamentation—smote +upon the air.</p> + +<p>"Morty!" ejaculated the visitor in panic. "It's +Morty! Quick!"</p> + +<p>Following the easily traceable direction of the +squalling, he ran up the veranda steps and into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +house—closely followed by the Mistress and the +Master.</p> + +<p>The engaging Mortimer was of the stuff whereof +explorers are made. No pent-up Utica—nor veranda—contracted +his powers. Bored by the stupid +talk of grown folk, wearying of Lad's friendly advances, +he had slipped through the open house door +into the living-room.</p> + +<p>There, for the day was cool, a jolly wood fire +blazed on the hearth. In front of the fireplace was +an enormous and cavernous couch. In the precise +center of the couch was curled something that +looked like a ball of the grayish fluff a maid sweeps +under the bed.</p> + +<p>As Mortimer came into the room the infatuated +Lad at his heels, the fluffy ball lazily uncurled and +stretched—thereby revealing itself as no ball, but a +superfurry gray kitten—the Mistress' temperamental +new Persian kitten rejoicing in the dreamily +Oriental name of Tipperary.</p> + +<p>With a squeal of glad discovery, Mortimer +grabbed Tipperary with both hands, essaying to +pull her fox-brush tail. Now, no sane person needs +to be told the basic difference between the heart of +a cat and the heart of a dog. Nor will any student +of Persian kittens be surprised to hear that Tipperary's +reception of the ruffianly baby's advances +was totally different from Lad's.</p> + +<p>A lightning stroke of one of her shapeless fore-paws, +and Tipperary was free. Morty stood blink<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>ing +in amaze at four geometrically regular red +marks on the back of his own pudgy hand. Tipperary +had not done her persecutor the honor to +run away. She merely moved to the far end of +the couch and lay down there to renew her nap.</p> + +<p>A mad fury fired the brain of Mortimer; a fury +goaded by the pain of his scratches. Screaming in +rage he seized the cat by the nape of the neck—to +be safe from teeth and whizzing claws—and +stamped across toward the high-burning fire with +her. His arm was drawn back to fling the squirming +and offending kitten into the scarlet heart of +the flames. And then Lad intervened.</p> + +<p>Now Lad was not in the very least interested in +Tipperary; treating the temperamental Persian +always with marked coldness. It is even doubtful +if he realized Morty's intent.</p> + +<p>But one thing he did realize—that a silly baby +was toddling straight toward the fire. As many +another wise dog has gone, before and since, Lad +quietly stepped between Morty and the hearth. He +stood, broadside to the fire and to the child—a +shaggy wall between the peril and the baby.</p> + +<p>But so quickly had anger carried Mortimer toward +the hearth that the dog had not been able +to block his progress until only a bare eighteen +inches separated the youngster from the blaze.</p> + +<p>Thus Lad found the heat from the burning logs +all but intolerable. It bit through his thick coat and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +into the tender flesh beneath. Like a rock he stood +there.</p> + +<p>Mortimer, his gentle plan of kitten killing foiled, +redoubled his screeches. Lad's back was higher +than the child's eyes. Yet Morty sought to hurl +the kitten over this stolid barrier into the fire.</p> + +<p>Tipperary fell short; landing on the dog's +shoulders, digging her needle claws viciously +therein, and thence leaping to the floor, from which +she sprang to the top of the bookshelves, spitting +back blasphemously at her tormentor.</p> + +<p>Morty's interest in the fire had been purely as a +piece of immolation for the cat, but finding his +path to it barred, he straightway resolved to go +thither himself.</p> + +<p>He started to move round to it, in front of Lad. +The dog took a forward step that again barred the +way. Morty went insane with wrath at this new +interference with his sweet plans. His howls +swelled to a sustained roar, that reached the ears +of the grown-ups on the lawn.</p> + +<p>He flew at Lad, beating the dog with all the +puny force of his fists, sinking his milk teeth into +the collie's back, wrenching and tearing at the thick +fur, stamping with his booted heels upon the absurdly +tiny white forepaws, kicking the short ribs +and the tender stomach.</p> + +<p>Never for an instant did the child slacken his +howls as he punished the dog that was saving him +from death. Rather, he increased their volume<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +from moment to moment. Lad did not stir. The +kicking and beating and gouging and hair-pulling +were not pleasant, but they were wholly bearable. +The heat was not. The smell of singed hair began +to fill the room, but Lad stood firm.</p> + +<p>And then in rushed the relief expedition, the +Wall Street Farmer at its head.</p> + +<p>At once concluding that Lad had bitten his son's +bleeding hand, the irate father swung aloft a chair +and strode to the rescue.</p> + +<p>Lad saw him coming.</p> + +<p>With the lightning swiftness of his kind he +whirled to one side as the mass of wood descended. +The chair missed him by a fraction of an inch +and splintered into pieces. It was a Chippendale, +and had belonged to the Mistress' great grandparents.</p> + +<p>For the first time in all his blameless life Lad +broke the sacred Guest Law by growling at a +vouched-for visitor. But surely this fat bellower +was no guest! Lad looked at his gods for information.</p> + +<p>"Down, Lad!" said the Master very gently, his +voice not quite steady.</p> + +<p>Lad, perplexed but obedient, dropped to the floor.</p> + +<p>"The brute tried to kill my boy!" stormed the +Wall Street Farmer right dramatically as he caught +the howling Morty up in his arms to study the extent +of the wound.</p> + +<p>"He's my guest! <i>He's my guest!</i> <span class="smcap lowercase">HE'S MY GUEST!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></span> +the Master was saying over and over +to himself. "Lord, help me to keep on remembering +he's my GUEST!"</p> + +<p>The Mistress came forward.</p> + +<p>"Lad would sooner die than hurt a child," she +declared, trying not to think of the wrecked heirloom +chair. "He loves children. Here, let me see +Morty's hand. Why, those are claw-marks! Cat +scratches!"</p> + +<p>"Ve nassy cat scwatched me!" bawled Morty. +"Kill her, daddy! I twied to. I twied to frow her +in ve fire. But ve mizz'ble dog wouldn't let me! +Kill her, daddy! Kill ve dog too!"</p> + +<p>The Master's mouth flew wide open.</p> + +<p>"Won't you go down to the paddock, dear," +hastily interposed the Mistress, "and see if the sheep +are all right? Take Lad along with you."</p> + +<p>Lad, alone of all The Place's dogs, had the run +of the house, night and day, of the sacred dining-room. +During the rest of that day he did not +avail himself of his high privilege. He kept out +of the way—perplexed, woe-begone, his burns still +paining him despite the Master's ministrations.</p> + +<p>After talking long and loudly all evening of his +sheep's peerless quality and of their certain victory +over all comers in the fair the Wall Street Farmer +consented at last to go to bed. And silence settled +over The Place.</p> + +<p>In the black hour before dawn, that same silence +was split in a score of places—split into a most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +horrible cacophony of sound that sent sleep scampering +to the winds.</p> + +<p>It was the mingling of yells and bleats and barks +and the scurry of many feet. It burst out all at +once in full force, lasting for some seconds with +increasing clangor; then died to stillness.</p> + +<p>By that time every human on The Place was out +of bed. In more or less rudimentary attire the +house's inhabitants trooped down into the lower +hall. There the Wall Street Farmer was raving +noisily and was yanking at a door bolt whose secret +he could not fathom.</p> + +<p>"It's my sheep!" he shouted. "That accursed +dog of yours has gotten at them. He's slaughtering +them. I heard the poor things bleating and I +heard him snarling among them. They cost +me——"</p> + +<p>"If you're speaking of Lad," blazed the Master, +"he's——"</p> + +<p>"Here are the flashlights," interposed the Mistress. +"Let me open that door for you. I understand +the bolt."</p> + +<p>Out into the dark they went, all but colliding +with McGillicuddy. The Scot, awakened like the +rest, had gone to the paddock. He had now come +back to report the paddock empty and all the sheep +gone.</p> + +<p>"It's the collie tike!" sputtered McGillicuddy. +"I'll tak' oath to it. I ken it's him. I suspeecioned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +him a' long, from how he garred at oor sheep the +day. He——"</p> + +<p>"I said so!" roared the Wall Street Farmer. "The +murderous brute! First, he tries to kill Morty. +And now he slaughters my sheep. You——"</p> + +<p>The Master started to speak. But a white little +hand, in the darkness, was laid gently across his +mouth.</p> + +<p>"You told me he always slept under the piano +in your music room!" accused the guest as the four +made their way paddock-ward, lighting a path with +the electric flashlights. "Well, I looked there just +now. He isn't under the piano. He—— He——"</p> + +<p>"Lad!" called the Master; then at the top of his +lungs. "<i>Lad!</i>"</p> + +<p>A distant growl, a snarl, a yelp, a scramble—and +presently Lad appeared in the farthest radius of +the flashlight flare.</p> + +<p>For only a moment he stood there. Then he +wheeled about and vanished in the dark. Nor had +the Master the voice to call him back. The momentary +glimpse of the great collie, in the merciless +gleam of the lights, had stricken the whole party +into an instant's speechlessness.</p> + +<p>Vividly distinct against the darkness they had +seen Lad. His well-groomed coat was rumpled. +His eyes were fire-balls. And—his jaws were red +with blood. Then he had vanished.</p> + +<p>A groan from the Master—a groan of heartbreak<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>—was +the first sound from the four. The dog he +loved was a killer.</p> + +<p>"It isn't true! It isn't true!" stoutly declared +the Mistress.</p> + +<p>The Wall Street Farmer and McGullicuddy had +already broken into a run. The shepherd had found +the tracks of many little hoofs on the dewy ground. +And he was following the trail. The guest, swearing +and panting, was behind him. The Mistress and +the Master brought up the rear.</p> + +<p>At every step they peered fearfully around them +for what they dreaded to see—the mangled body of +some slain sheep. But they saw none. And they +followed the trail.</p> + +<p>In a quarter mile they came to its end.</p> + +<p>All four flashlights played simultaneously upon +a tiny hillock that rose from the meadow at the +forest edge. The hillock was usually green. Now +it was white.</p> + +<p>Around its short slopes was huddled a flock of +sheep, as close-ringed as though by a fence. At +the hillock's summit sat Lad. He was sitting there +in a queer attitude, one of his snowy forepaws pinning +something to the ground—something that +could not be clearly distinguished through the +huddle but which, evidently, was no sheep.</p> + +<p>The Wall Street Farmer broke the tense silence +with a gobbled exclamation.</p> + +<p>"Whisht!" half reverently interrupted the shepherd, +who had been circling the hillock on census<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +duty. "There's na a sheep gone, nor—so far's I can +see—a sheep hurted. The fu' twenty is there."</p> + +<p>The Master's flashlight found a gap through +which its rays could reach the hillock crest. The +light revealed, under Lad's gently pinioning forepaw, +the crouching and badly scared Melisande—the +$1100 Prussian sheep dog.</p> + +<p>McGullicuddy, with a grunt, was off on another +and longer tour of inspection. Presently he came +back. He was breathing hard.</p> + +<p>Even before McGillicuddy made his report the +Master had guessed at the main points of the mystery's +solution.</p> + +<p>Melisande, weary of captivity, had gnawed +through her leash. Seeking sport, she had gone to +the paddock. There she had easily worried loose +the crazy gate latch. Just as she was wriggling +through, Lad appeared from the veranda.</p> + +<p>He had tried to drive back the would-be killer +from her prey. Lad was a veteran of several battles. +But, apart from her sex, Melisande was no +opponent for him. And he had treated her accordingly. +Melisande had snapped at him, cutting him +deeply in the underjaw. During the scrimmage the +panic-urged sheep had bolted out of the paddock +and had scattered.</p> + +<p>Remember, please, that Lad, ten hours earlier, +had never in his life seen a sheep. But remember, +too, that a million of his ancestors had won their +right to a livelihood by their almost supernatural<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +skill at herding flocks. Let this explain what +actually happened—the throwback of a great collie's +instinct.</p> + +<p>Driving the scared and subdued Melisande before +him—and ever hampered by her unwelcome presence—Lad +proceeded to round up the scattered +sheep. He was in the midst of the process when +the Master called him. Merely galloping back for +an instant, and finding the summons was not repeated, +he returned to his atavistic task.</p> + +<p>In less than five minutes the twenty scampering +runaways were "ringed" on the hillock. And, still +keeping the Prussian sheep dog out of mischief, Lad +established himself in the ring's center.</p> + +<p>Further than that, and the keeping of the ring +intact, his primal instincts did not serve him. Having +rounded up his flock Lad had not the remotest +idea what to do with them. So he merely held +them there until the noisily gabbling humans +should decide to take the matter out of his care.</p> + +<p>McGillicuddy examined every sheep separately +and found not a scratch or a stain on any of them. +Then he told in effect what has here been set down +as to Lad's exploit.</p> + +<p>As he finished his recital McGillicuddy looked +shamefacedly around him as though gathering +courage for an irksome task. A sickly yellow +dawn was crawling over the eastern mountains, +throwing a ghostly glow on the shepherd's dour +and craggy visage. Drawing a long breath of re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>solve +he advanced upon Lad. Dropping on one +knee, his eyes on a level with the unconcernedly +observant collie's, McGillicuddy intoned:</p> + +<p>"Laddie, ye're a braw, braw dog. Ou, a canny +dog! A sonsie dog, Laddie! I hae na met yer +match this side o' Kirkcaldy Brae. Gin ye'll tak' +an auld fule's apology for wrangin' ye, an' an auld +fule's hand in gude fellowship, 'twill pleasure me, +Laddie. Winna ye let bygones be bygones, an' +shake?"</p> + +<p>Yes, the speech was ridiculous, but no one felt +like laughing, not even the Wall Street Farmer. +The shepherd was gravely sincere and he knew that +Lad would understand his burring words.</p> + +<p>And Lad did understand. Solemnly he sat up. +Solemnly he laid one white forepaw in the gnarled +palm the kneeling shepherd outstretched to him. +His eyes glinted in wise friendliness as they met +the admiring gaze of the old man. Two born +shepherds were face to face. Deep was calling unto +deep.</p> + +<p>Presently McGillicuddy broke the spell by rising +abruptly to his feet. Gruffly he turned to the +Master.</p> + +<p>"There's na wit, sir," he growled, "in speirin' +will ye sell him. But—but I compliment ye on him, +nanetheless."</p> + +<p>"That's right; McGillicuddy's right!" boomed +the Wall Street Farmer, catching but part of his +shepherd's mumbled words. "Good idea! He is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +fine dog. I see that now. I was prejudiced. I +freely admit it. A remarkable dog. What'll you +take for him? Or—better yet, how would you like +to swap, even, for Melisande?"</p> + +<p>The Master's mouth again flew ajar, and many +sizzling words jostled each other in his throat. +Before any of these could shame his hospitality by +escaping, the Mistress hurriedly interposed:</p> + +<p>"Dear, we left all the house doors wide open. +Would you mind hurrying back ahead of us and +seeing that everything is safe? And—will you take +Lad with you?"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /> +THE GOLD HAT</h2> + + +<p>The Place was in the North Jersey hinterland, +backed by miles of hill and forest, facing +the lake that divided it from the village and +the railroad and the other new-made smears which +had been daubed upon Mother Nature's smiling face +in the holy name of Civilization. The lonely situation +of The Place made Lad's self-appointed guardianship +of its acres no sinecure at all. The dread +of his name spread far—carried by hobo and by +less harmless intruder.</p> + +<p>Ten miles to northward of The Place, among the +mountains of this same North Jersey hinterland, a +man named Glure had bought a rambling old wilderness +farm. By dint of much money, more zeal +and most dearth of taste, he had caused the wilderness +to blossom like the Fifth Proposition of Euclid. +He had turned bosky wildwood into chaste picnic-grove +plaisaunces, lush meadows into sunken gardens, +a roomy colonial farmstead into something +between a feudal castle and a roadhouse. And, +looking on his work, he had seen that it was good.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + +<p>This Beautifier of the Wilderness was a financial +giantlet, who had lately chosen to amuse himself, +after work-hours, by what he called "farming." +Hence the purchase and renovation of the five hundred-acre +tract, the building of model farms, the +acquisition of priceless livestock, and the hiring of +a battalion of skilled employees. Hence, too, his +dearly loved and self-given title of "Wall Street +Farmer." His name, I repeat, was Glure.</p> + +<p>Having established himself in the region, the +Wall Street Farmer undertook most earnestly to +reproduce the story-book glories of the life supposedly +led by mid-Victorian country gentlemen. +Not only in respect to keeping open-house and in +alternately patronizing and bullying the peasantry, +but in filling his gun-room shelves with cups and +other trophies won by his livestock.</p> + +<p>To his "open house" few of the neighboring families +came. The local peasantry—Jersey mountaineers +of Revolutionary stock, who had not the faintest +idea they were "peasantry" and who, indeed, had +never heard of the word—alternately grinned and +swore at the Wall Street Farmer's treatment of +them, and mulcted him of huge sums for small +services. But Glure's keenest disappointment—a +disappointment that crept gradually up toward the +monomania point—was the annoyingly continual +emptiness of his trophy-shelves.</p> + +<p>When, for instance, he sent to the Paterson Livestock +Show a score of his pricelessly imported me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>rino +sheep, under his more pricelessly imported +Scotch shepherd, Mr. McGillicuddy—the sheep came +ambling back to Glure Towers Farm bearing no +worthier guerdon than a single third-prize yellow +silk rosette and a "Commended" ribbon. First and +second prizes, as well as the challenge cup had gone +to flocks owned by vastly inferior folk—small farmers +who had no money wherewith to import the pick +of the Scottish moors—farmers who had bred and +developed their own sheep, with no better aid than +personal care and personal judgment.</p> + +<p>At the Hohokus Fair, too, the Country Gentleman's +imported Holstein bull, Tenebris, had had to +content himself with a measly red rosette in token +of second prize, while the silver cup went to a bull +owned by an elderly North Jerseyman of low manners, +who had bred his own entry and had bred +the latter's ancestors for forty years back.</p> + +<p>It was discouraging, it was mystifying. There +actually seemed to be a vulgar conspiracy among +the down-at-heel rural judges—a conspiracy to +boost second-rate stock and to turn a blind eye +to the virtues of overpriced transatlantic importations.</p> + +<p>It was the same in the poultry shows and in hog +exhibits. It was the same at the County Fair horse-trots. +At one of these trots the Wall Street Farmer, +in person, drove his $9000 English colt. And a +rangy Hackensack gelding won all three heats. In +none of the three did Glure's colt get within hailing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +distance of the wire before at least two other trotters +had clattered under it.</p> + +<p>(Glure's English head-groom was called on the +carpet to explain why a colt that could do a neat +2.13 in training was beaten out in a 2.17 trot. The +groom lost his temper and his place. For he +grunted, in reply, "The colt was all there. It was +the driving did it.")</p> + +<p>The gun-room's glassed shelves in time were gay +with ribbon. But only two of the three primary +colors were represented there—blue being conspicuously +absent. As for cups—the burglar who should +break into Glure Towers in search of such booty +would find himself the worse off by a wageless +night's work.</p> + +<p>Then it was that the Wall Street Farmer had his +Inspiration. Which brings us by easy degrees to +the Hampton Dog Show.</p> + +<p>Even as the Fiery Cross among the Highland +crags once flashed signal of War, so, when the +World War swirl sucked nation after nation into its +eddy, the Red Cross flamed from one end of +America to the other, as the common rallying point +for those who, for a time, must do their fighting +on the hither side of the gray seas. The country +bristled with a thousand money-getting functions +of a thousand different kinds; with one objective—the +Red Cross.</p> + +<p>So it happened at last that North Jersey was +posted, on state road and byway, with flaring pla<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>cards +announcing a Mammoth Outdoor Specialty +Dog show, to be held under the auspices of the +Hampton Branch of the American National Red +Cross, on Labor Day.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hamilcar Q. Glure, the announcement continued, +had kindly donated the use of his beautiful +grounds for the Event, and had subscribed three +hundred dollars towards its running expenses and +prizes.</p> + +<p>Not only were the usual dog classes to be judged, +but an added interest was to be supplied by the +awarding of no less than fifteen Specialty +Trophies.</p> + +<p>Mr. Glure, having offered his grounds and the +initial three hundred dollars, graciously turned over +the details of the Show to a committee, whose duty +it was to suggest popular Specialties and to solicit +money for the cups.</p> + +<p>Thus, one morning, an official letter was received +at The Place, asking the Master to enter all his +available dogs for the Show—at one dollar apiece +for each class—and to contribute, if he should so desire, +the sum of fifteen dollars, besides, for the purchase +of a Specialty Cup.</p> + +<p>The Mistress was far more excited over the coming +event than was the Master. And it was she who +suggested the nature of the Specialty for which the +fifteen-dollar cup should be offered.</p> + +<p>The next outgoing mail bore the Master's check<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +for a cup. "To be awarded to the oldest and best-cared-for +dog, of any breed, in the Show."</p> + +<p>It was like the Mistress to think of that, and to +reward the dog-owner whose pet's old age had been +made happiest. Hers was destined to be the most +popular Specialty of the entire Show.</p> + +<p>The Master, at first, was disposed to refuse the +invitation to take any of his collies to Hampton. +The dogs were, for the most part, out of coat. The +weather was warm. At these amateur shows—as +at too many professional exhibits—there was always +danger of some sick dog spreading epidemic. Moreover, +the living-room trophy-shelf at The Place was +already comfortably filled with cups; won at similar +contests. Then, too, the Master had somehow +acquired a most causeless and cordial dislike for +the Wall Street Farmer.</p> + +<p>"I believe I'll send an extra ten dollars," he told +the Mistress, "and save the dogs a day of torment. +What do you think?"</p> + +<p>By way of answer, the Mistress sat down on the +floor where Lad was sprawled, asleep. She ran her +fingers through his forest of ruff. The great dog's +brush pounded drowsily against the floor at the +loved touch; and he raised his head for further +caress.</p> + +<p>"Laddie's winter coat is coming in beautifully," +she said at last. "I don't suppose there'll be another +dog there with such a coat. Besides, it's to be outdoors, +you see. So he won't catch any sickness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +If it were a four-day show—if it were anything +longer than a one-day show—he shouldn't go a step. +But, you see, I'd be right there with him all the +time. And I'd take him into the ring myself, as +I did at Madison Square Garden. And he won't be +unhappy or lonely or—or anything. And I always +love to have people see how splendid he is. And +those Specialty Trophies are pretty, sometimes. So—so +we'll do just whatever you say about it."</p> + +<p>Which, naturally, settled the matter, once and +for all.</p> + +<p>When a printed copy of the Specialty Lists arrived, +a week later, the Mistress and the Master +scanned eagerly its pages.</p> + +<p>There were cups offered for the best tri-color +collie, for the best mother-and-litter, for the collie +with the finest under-and-outer coat, for the best +collie exhibited by a woman, for the collie whose +get had won most prizes in other shows. At the +very bottom of the section, and in type six points +larger than any other announcement on the whole +schedule, were the words:</p> + +<p>"<i>Presented, by the Hon. Hugh Lester Maury of +New York City—18-KARAT GOLD SPECIALTY +CUP, FOR COLLIES (conditions announced +later).</i>"</p> + +<p>"A gold cup!" sighed the Mistress, yielding to +Delusions of Grandeur, "A <i>gold</i> cup! I never +heard of such a thing, at a dog show. And—and +won't it look perfectly gorgeous in the very center<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +of our Trophy Shelf, there—with the other cups +radiating from it on each side? And——"</p> + +<p>"Hold on!" laughed the Master, trying to mask +his own thrill, man-fashion, by wetblanketing his +wife's enthusiasm. "Hold on! We haven't got it, +yet. I'll enter Lad for it, of course. But so will +every other collie-owner who reads that. Besides, +even if Lad should win it, we'd have to buy a +microscope to see the thing. It will probably be +about half the size of a thimble. Gold cups cost +gold money, you know. And I don't suppose this +'Hon. Hugh Lester Maury of New York City' is +squandering more than ten or fifteen dollars at +most on a country dog show. Even for the Red +Cross. I suppose he's some Wall Street chum that +Glure has wheedled into giving a Specialty. He's +a novelty to me. I never heard of him before. Did +you?"</p> + +<p>"No," admitted the Mistress. "But I feel I'm +beginning to love him. Oh, Laddie," she confided +to the dog, "I'm going to give you a bath in naphtha +soap every day till then; and brush you, two hours +every morning; and feed you on liver and——"</p> + +<p>"'Conditions announced later,'" quoted the Master, +studying the big-type offer once more. "I wonder +what that means. Of course, in a Specialty +Show, anything goes. But——"</p> + +<p>"I don't care what the conditions are," interrupted +the Mistress, refusing to be disheartened. +"Lad can come up to them. Why, there isn't a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +greater dog in America than Lad. And you +know it."</p> + +<p>"I know it," assented the pessimistic Master. +"But will the Judge? You might tell him so."</p> + +<p>"Lad will tell him," promised the Mistress. +"Don't worry."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>On Labor Day morning a thousand cars, from a +radius of fifty miles, were converging upon the +much-advertised village of Hampton; whence, by +climbing a tortuous first-speed hill, they presently +chugged into the still-more-advertised estate of +Hamilcar Q. Glure, Wall Street Farmer.</p> + +<p>There, the sylvan stillness was shattered by barks +in every key, from Pekingese falsetto to St. Bernard +bass-thunder. An open stretch of shaded +sward—backed by a stable that looked more like a +dissolute cathedral—had been given over to ten +double rows of "benches," for the anchorage of +the Show's three hundred exhibits. Above the central +show-ring a banner was strung between two +tree tops. It bore a blazing red cross at either end. +In its center was the legend:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<i>WELCOME TO GLURE TOWERS!</i>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>The Wall Street Farmer, as I have hinted, was +a man of much taste—of a sort.</p> + +<p>Lad had enjoyed the ten-mile spin through the +cool morning air, in the tonneau of The Place's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +only car—albeit the course of baths and combings +of the past week had long since made him morbidly +aware that a detested dog show was somewhere at +hand. Now, even before the car entered the fearsome +feudal gateway of Glure Towers, the collie's +ears and nose told him the hour of ordeal was at +hand.</p> + +<p>His zest in the ride vanished. He looked reproachfully +at the Mistress and tried to bury his +head under her circling arm. Lad loathed dog +shows; as does every dog of high-strung nerves +and higher intelligence. The Mistress, after one experience, +had refrained from breaking his heart by +taking him to those horrors known as "two-or-more-day +Shows." But, as she herself took such +childish delight in the local one-day contests, she had +schooled herself to believe Lad must enjoy them, +too.</p> + +<p>Lad, as a matter of fact, preferred these milder +ordeals, merely as a man might prefer one day +of jail or toothache to two or more days of the +same misery. But—even as he knew many lesser +things—he knew the adored Mistress and Master +reveled in such atrocities as dog shows; and that he, +for some reason, was part of his two gods' pleasure +in them. Therefore, he made the best of the +nuisance. Which led his owners to a certainty +that he had grown to like it.</p> + +<p>Parking the car, the Mistress and Master led +the unhappy dog to the clerk's desk; received his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +number tag and card, and were shown where to +bench him. They made Lad as nearly comfortable +as possible, on a straw-littered raised stall; between +a supercilious Merle and a fluffily disconsolate sable-and-white +six-month puppy that howled ceaselessly +in an agony of fright.</p> + +<p>The Master paused for a moment in his quest of +water for Lad, and stared open-mouthed at the +Merle.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord!" he mumbled, touching the Mistress' +arm and pointing to the gray dog. "That's +the most magnificent collie I ever set eyes on. It's +farewell to poor old Laddie's hopes, if he is in any +of the same classes with that marvel. Say goodby, +right now, to your hopes of the Gold Cup; and to +'Winners' in the regular collie division."</p> + +<p>"I won't say goodby to it," refused the Mistress. +"I won't do anything of the sort. Lad's every bit +as beautiful as that dog. Every single bit."</p> + +<p>"But not from the show-judge's view," said the +Master. "This Merle's a gem. Where in blazes did +he drop from, I wonder? These 'no-point' out-of-town +Specialty Shows don't attract the stars of the +Kennel Club circuits. Yet, this is as perfect a dog +as ever Grey Mist was. It's a pleasure to see such +an animal. Or," he corrected himself, "it would +be, if he wasn't pitted against dear old Lad. I'd +rather be kicked than take Lad to a show to be +beaten. Not for my sake or even for yours. But +for his. Lad will be sure to know. He knows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +everything. Laddie, old friend, I'm sorry. Dead-<i>sorry</i>."</p> + +<p>He stooped down and patted Lad's satin head. +Both Master and Mistress had always carried their +fondness for Lad to an extent that perhaps was +absurd. Certainly absurd to the man or woman +who has never owned such a super-dog as Lad. +As not one man or woman in a thousand has.</p> + +<p>Together, the Mistress and the Master made +their way along the collie section, trying to be interested +in the line of barking or yelling entries.</p> + +<p>"Twenty-one collies in all," summed up the Master, +as they reached the end. "Some quality dogs +among them, too. But not one of the lot, except +the Merle, that I'd be afraid to have Lad judged +against. The Merle's our Waterloo. Lad is due +for his first defeat. Well, it'll be a fair one. That's +one comfort."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't comfort <i>me</i>, in the very least," returned +the Mistress, adding:</p> + +<p>"Look! There is the trophy table. Let's go over. +Perhaps the Gold Cup is there. If it isn't too +precious to leave out in the open."</p> + +<p>The Gold Cup was there. It was plainly—or, +rather, flamingly—visible. Indeed, it smote the eye +from afar. It made the surrounding array of pretty +silver cups and engraved medals look tawdrily insignificant. +Its presence had, already, drawn a +goodly number of admirers—folk at whom the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +guardian village constable, behind the table, stared +with sour distrust.</p> + +<p>The Gold Cup was a huge bowl of unchased +metal, its softly glowing surface marred only by the +script words:</p> + +<p>"<i>Maury Specialty Gold Cup. Awarded to——</i>"</p> + +<p>There could be no shadow of doubt as to the genuineness +of the claim that the trophy was of eighteen-karat +gold. Its value spoke for itself. The vessel +was like a half melon in contour and was supported +by four severely plain claws. Its rim flared +outward in a wide curve.</p> + +<p>"It's—it's all the world like an inverted derby +hat!" exclaimed the Mistress, after one long dumb +look at it. "And it's every bit as big as a derby +hat. Did you ever see anything so ugly—and so +Croesusful? Why, it must have cost—it must have +cost——"</p> + +<p>"Just sixteen hundred dollars, Ma'am," supplemented +the constable, beginning to take pride in his +office of guardian to such a treasure. "Sixteen hundred +dollars, flat. I heard Mr. Glure sayin' so myself. +Don't go handlin' it, please."</p> + +<p>"Handling it?" repeated The Mistress. "I'd as +soon think of handling the National Debt!"</p> + +<p>The Superintendent of the Show strolled up and +greeted the Mistress and the Master. The latter +scarce heard the neighborly greeting. He was +scowling at the precious trophy as at a personal +foe.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I see you've entered Lad for the Gold Cup," said +the Superintendent. "Sixteen collies, in all, are entered +for it. The conditions for the Gold Cup contest +weren't printed till too late to mail them. So +I'm handing out the slips this morning. Mr. Glure +took charge of their printing. They didn't get here +from the job shop till half an hour ago. And I +don't mind telling you they're causing a lot of kicks. +Here's one of the copies. Look it over, and see +what Lad's up against."</p> + +<p>"Who's the Hon. Hugh Lester Maury, of New +York?" suddenly demanded the Master, rousing +himself from his glum inspection of the Cup. "I +mean the man who donated that—that Gold Hat?"</p> + +<p>"Gold Hat!" echoed the Superintendent, with a +chuckle of joy. "Gold Hat! Now you say so, I +can't make it look like anything else. A derby, +upside down, with four——"</p> + +<p>"Who's Maury?" insisted the Master.</p> + +<p>"He's the original Man of Mystery," returned +the Superintendent, dropping his voice to exclude +the constable. "I wanted to get in touch with him +about the delayed set of conditions. I looked him +up. That is, I tried to. He is advertised in the +premium list, as a New Yorker. You'll remember +that, but his name isn't in the New York City +Directory or in the New York City telephone book +or in the suburban telephone book. He can afford +to give a sixteen hundred dollar-cup for charity, +but it seems he isn't important enough to get his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +name in any directory. Funny, isn't it? I asked +Glure about him. That's all the good it did me."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean——?" began the Mistress, excitedly.</p> + +<p>"I don't mean anything," the Superintendent hurried +to forestall her. "I'm paid to take charge of +this Show. It's no affair of mine if——"</p> + +<p>"If Mr. Glure chooses to invent Hugh Lester +Maury and make him give a Gold Hat for a collie +prize?" suggested the Mistress. "But——"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say so," denied the superintendent. +"And it's none of my business, anyhow. +Here's——"</p> + +<p>"But why should Mr. Glure do such a thing?" +asked the Mistress, in wonder. "I never heard of +his shrinking coyly behind another name when he +wanted to spend money. I don't understand why +he——"</p> + +<p>"Here is the conditions-list for the Maury Specialty +Cup," interposed the superintendent with +extreme irrelevance, as he handed her a pink slip +of paper. "Glance over it."</p> + +<p>The Mistress took the slip and read aloud for +the benefit of the Master who was still glowering +at the Gold Hat:</p> + +<p>"<i>Conditions of Contest for Hugh Lester Maury +Gold Cup:</i></p> + +<p>"'<i>First.—No collie shall be eligible that has not +already taken at least one blue ribbon at a licensed +American or British Kennel Club Show.</i>'"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That single clause has barred out eleven of the +sixteen entrants," commented the Superintendent. +"You see, most of the dogs at these local Shows +are pets, and hardly any of them have been to +Madison Square Garden or to any of the other +A. K. C. shows. The few that have been to them +seldom got a Blue."</p> + +<p>"Lad did!" exclaimed the Mistress joyfully. +"He took two Blues at the Garden last year; and +then, you remember, it was so horrible for him +there we broke the rules and brought him home +without waiting for——"</p> + +<p>"I know," said the Superintendent, "but read the +rest."</p> + +<p>"'<i>Second</i>,'" read the Mistress. "'<i>Each contestant +must have a certified five-generation pedigree, +containing the names of at least ten champions.</i>' +Lad had twelve in his pedigree," she added, +"and it's certified."</p> + +<p>"Two more entrants were killed out by <i>that</i> +clause," remarked the Superintendent, "leaving only +three out of the original sixteen. Now go ahead +with the clause that puts poor old Lad and one +other out of the running. I'm sorry."</p> + +<p>"'<i>Third</i>,'" the Mistress read, her brows crinkling +and her voice trailing as she proceeded. "'<i>Each +contestant must go successfully through the preliminary +maneuvers prescribed by the Kirkaldie +Association, Inc., of Great Britain, for its Working +Sheepdog Trials.</i>'—But," she protested, "Lad isn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +a 'working' sheepdog! Why, this is some kind of +a joke! I never heard of such a thing—even in a +Specialty Show."</p> + +<p>"No," agreed the Superintendent, "nor anybody +else. Naturally, Lad isn't a 'working' sheepdog. +There probably haven't been three 'working' sheepdogs +born within a hundred miles of here, and it's +a mighty safe bet that no 'working' sheepdog has +ever taken a 'Blue' at an A. K. C. Show. A 'working' +dog is almost never a show dog. I know of +only one either here or in England; and he's a freak—a +miracle. So much so, that he's famous all over +the dog-world."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean Champion Lochinvar III?" asked +the Mistress. "The dog the Duke of Hereford used +to own?"</p> + +<p>"That's the dog. The only——"</p> + +<p>"We read about him in the <i>Collie Folio</i>," said +the Mistress. "His picture was there, too. He was +sent to Scotland when he was a puppy, the <i>Folio</i> +said, and trained to herd sheep before ever he was +shown. His owner was trying to induce other +collie-fanciers to make their dogs useful and not +just Show-exhibits. Lochinvar is an international +champion, too, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>The Superintendent nodded.</p> + +<p>"If the Duke of Hereford lived in New Jersey," +pursued the Mistress, trying to talk down her keen +chagrin over Lad's mishap, "Lochinvar might have +a chance to win a nice Gold Hat."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He has," replied the superintendent. "He has +every chance, and the only chance."</p> + +<p>"<i>Who</i> has?" queried the puzzled Mistress.</p> + +<p>"Champion Lochinvar III," was the answer. +"Glure bought him by cable. Paid $7000 for him. +That eclipses Untermeyer's record price of $6500 +for old Squire of Tytton. The dog arrived last +week. He's here. A big Blue Merle. You ought +to look him over. He's a wonder. He——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Oh!</i>" exploded the Mistress. "You can't mean +it. You <i>can't!</i> Why, it's the most—the most +hideously unsportsmanlike thing I ever heard of +in my life! Do you mean to tell me Mr. Glure +put up this sixteen hundred-dollar cup and then sent +for the only dog that could fulfill the Trophy's +conditions? It's unbelievable!"</p> + +<p>"It's Glure," tersely replied the Superintendent. +"Which perhaps comes to the same thing."</p> + +<p>"Yes!" spoke up the Master harshly, entering the +talk for the first time, and tearing his disgusted +attention from the Gold Hat. "Yes, it's Glure, +and it's unbelievable! And it's worse than either +of those, if anything can be. Don't you see the +full rottenness of it all? Half the world is starving +or sick or wounded. The other half is working +its fingers off to help the Red Cross make Europe +a little less like hell; and, when every cent counts +in the work, this—this Wall Street Farmer spends +sixteen hundred precious dollars to buy himself a +Gold Hat; and he does it under the auspices of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +the Red Cross, in the holy name of charity. The +unsportsmanlikeness of it is nothing to that. It's—it's +an Unpardonable Sin, and I don't want to +endorse it by staying here. Let's get Lad and go +home."</p> + +<p>"I wish to heaven we could!" flamed the Mistress, +as angry as he. "I'd do it in a minute if we +were able to. I feel we're insulting loyal old Lad +by making him a party to it all. But we can't go. +Don't you see? Mr. Glure is unsportsmanlike, but +that's no reason we should be. You've told me, +again and again, that no true sportsman will back +out of a contest just because he finds he has no +chance of winning it."</p> + +<p>"She's right," chimed in the Superintendent. +"You've entered the dog for the contest, and by +all the rules he'll have to stay in it. Lad doesn't +know the first thing about 'working.' Neither does +the only other local entrant that the first two rules +have left in the competition. And Lochinvar is perfect +at every detail of sheep-work. Lad and the +other can't do anything but swell his victory. It's +rank bad luck, but——"</p> + +<p>"All right! All right!" growled the Master. +"We'll go through with it. Does anyone know the +terms of a 'Kirkaldie Association's Preliminaries,' +for 'Working Sheepdog Trials?' My own early +education was neglected."</p> + +<p>"Glure's education wasn't," said the Superintendent. +"He has the full set of rules in his brand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +new Sportsman Library. That's, no doubt, where +he got the idea. I went to him for them this morning, +and he let me copy the laws governing the +preliminaries. They're absurdly simple for a +'working' dog and absurdly impossible for a non-worker. +Here, I'll read them over to you."</p> + +<p>He fished out a folded sheet of paper and read +aloud a few lines of pencil-scribblings:</p> + +<p>"Four posts shall be set up, at ninety yards apart, +at the corners of a square enclosure. A fifth post +shall be set in the center. At this fifth post the +owner or handler of the contestant shall stand with +his dog. Nor shall such owner or handler move +more than three feet from the post until his dog +shall have completed the trial.</p> + +<p>"Guided only by voice and by signs, the dog +shall go alone from the center-post to the post +numbered '1.' He shall go thence, in the order +named, to Posts 2, 3 and 4, without returning to +within fifteen feet of the central post until he shall +have reached Post 4.</p> + +<p>"Speed and form shall count as seventy points in +these evolutions. Thirty points shall be added to +the score of the dog or dogs which shall make the +prescribed tour of the posts directed wholly by +signs and without the guidance of voice."</p> + +<p>"There," finished the superintendent, "you see it +is as simple as a kindergarten game. But a child +who had never been taught could not play Puss-in-the-Corner.' +I was talking to the English<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +trainer that Glure bought along with the dog. The +trainer tells me Lochinvar can go through those +maneuvers and a hundred harder ones without a +word being spoken. He works entirely by gestures. +He watches the trainer's hand. Where the hand +points he goes. A snap of the fingers halts him. +Then he looks back for the next gesture. The +trainer says it's a delight to watch him."</p> + +<p>"The delight is all his," grumbled the Master. +"Poor, poor Lad! He'll get bewildered and unhappy. +He'll want to do whatever we tell him to, +but he can't understand. It was different the time +he rounded up Glure's flock of sheep—when he'd +never seen a sheep before. That was ancestral +instinct. A throwback. But ancestral instinct +won't teach him to go to Post 1 and 2 and 3 and +4. He——"</p> + +<p>"Hello, people!" boomed a jarringly cordial +voice. "Welcome to the Towers!"</p> + +<p>Bearing down upon the trio was a large person, +round and yellow of face and clad elaborately in +a morning costume that suggested a stud-groom +with ministerial tendencies. He was dressed for +the Occasion. Mr. Glure was always dressed for +the Occasion.</p> + +<p>"Hello, people!" repeated the Wall Street +Farmer, alternately pump-handling the totally unresponsive +Mistress and Master. "I see you've been +admiring the Maury Trophy. Magnificent, eh? +Oh, Maury's a prince, I tell you! A prince! A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +bit eccentric, perhaps—as you'll have guessed by +the conditions he's put up for the cup. But a prince. +A prince! We think everything of him on the +Street. Have you seen my new dog? Oh, you +must go and take a look at Lochinvar! I'm entering +him for the Maury Trophy, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented the Master dully, as Mr. Glure +paused to breathe. "I know."</p> + +<p>He left his exultant host with some abruptness, +and piloted the Mistress back to the Collie Section. +There they came upon a scene of dire wrath. Disgruntled +owners were loudly denouncing the Maury +conditions-list, and they redoubled their plaint at +sight of the two new victims of the trick.</p> + +<p>Folk who had bathed and brushed and burnished +their pets for days, in eager anticipation of a +neighborhood contest, gargled in positive hatred at +the glorious Merle. They read the pink slips over +and over with more rage at each perusal.</p> + +<p>One pretty girl had sat down on the edge of a +bench, gathering her beloved gold-and-white collie's +head in her lap, and was crying unashamed. The +Master glanced at her. Then he swore softly, and +set to work helping the Mistress in the task of +fluffing Lad's glossy coat to a final soft shagginess.</p> + +<p>Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to +say; but Lad realized more keenly than could a +human that both his gods were wretchedly unhappy, +and his great heart yearned pathetically to +comfort them.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There's one consolation," said a woman at work +on a dog in the opposite bench, "Lochinvar's not +entered for anything except the Maury Cup. The +clerk told me so."</p> + +<p>"Little good that will do any of us!" retorted +her bench-neighbor. "In an all-specialty show, the +winner of the Maury Trophy will go up for the +'Winners Class,' and that means Lochinvar will +get the cup for the 'Best Collie,' as well as the +Maury Cup and probably the cup for 'Best Dog of +any Breed,' too. And——"</p> + +<p>"The Maury Cup is the first collie event on the +programme," lamented the other. "It's slated to be +called before even the Puppy and the Novice classes. +Mr. Glure has——"</p> + +<p>"Contestants for the Maury Trophy—all out!" +bawled an attendant at the end of the section.</p> + +<p>The Master unclasped the chain from Lad's +collar, snapped the light show-ring leash in its place +and handed the leash to the Mistress.</p> + +<p>"Unless you'd rather have me take him in?" he +whispered. "I hate to think of your handling a +loser."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather take Lad to defeat than any other +dog to—a Gold Hat," she answered, sturdily. +"Come along, Laddie!"</p> + +<p>The Maury contest, naturally, could not be decided +in the regular show-ring. Mr. Glure had +thoughtfully set aside a quadrangle of greensward +for the Event—a quadrangle bounded by four white<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +and numbered posts, and bearing a larger white +post in its center.</p> + +<p>A throng of people was already banked deep +on all four sides of the enclosure when the Mistress +arrived. The collie judge standing by the +central post declaimed loudly the conditions of the +contest. Then he asked for the first entrant.</p> + +<p>This courtier of failure chanced to be the only +other local dog besides Lad that had survived the +first two clauses of the conditions. He chanced +also to be the dog over which the pretty girl had +been crying.</p> + +<p>The girl's eyes were still red through a haze of +powder as she led her slender little gold-and-snow +collie into the ring. She had put on a filmy white +muslin dress with gold ribbons that morning with +the idea of matching her dog's coloring. She looked +very sweet and dainty—and heartsore.</p> + +<p>At the central post she glanced up hopelessly at +the judge who stood beside her. The judge indicated +Post No. 1 with a nod. The girl blinked +at the distant post, then at her collie, after which +she pointed to the post.</p> + +<p>"Run on over there, Mac!" she pleaded. "That's +a good boy!"</p> + +<p>The little collie wagged his tail, peered expectantly +at her, and barked. But he did not stir. He +had not the faintest idea what she wanted him to +do, although he would have been glad to do it. +Wherefore, the bark.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<p>Presently (after several more fruitless entreaties +which reduced the dog to a paroxysm of barking) +she led her collie out of the enclosure, strangling +her sobs as she went. And again the Master swore +softly, but with much venomous ardor.</p> + +<p>And now, at the judge's command, the Mistress +led Lad into the quadrangle and up to the central +post. She was very pale, but her thoroughbred +nerves were rocklike in their steadiness. She, like +Lad, was of the breed that goes down fighting. +Lad walked majestically beside her, his eyes dark +with sorrow over his goddess' unhappiness, which +he could not at all understand and which he so +longed to lighten. Hitherto, at dog shows, Lad had +been the only representative of The Place to grieve.</p> + +<p>He thrust his nose lovingly into the Mistress' +hand, as he moved along with her to the post; and +he whined, under his breath.</p> + +<p>Ranging up beside the judge, the Mistress took +off Lad's leash and collar. Stroking the dog's upraised +head, she pointed to the No. 1 Post.</p> + +<p>"Over there," she bade him.</p> + +<p>Lad looked in momentary doubt at her, and then +at the post. He did not see the connection, nor +know what he was expected to do. So, again he +looked at the sorrowing face bent over him.</p> + +<p>"Lad!" said the Mistress gently, pointing once +more to the Post. "Go!"</p> + +<p>Now, there was not one dog at The Place that +had not known from puppy-hood the meaning of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +the word "Go!" coupled with the pointing of a +finger. Fingers had pointed, hundreds of times, +to kennels or to the open doorways or to canoe-bottoms +or to car tonneaus or to whatsoever spot +the dog in question was desired to betake himself. +And the word "Go!" had always accompanied the +motion.</p> + +<p>Lad still did not see why he was to go where the +steady finger indicated. There was nothing of interest +over there; no one to attack at command. +But he went.</p> + +<p>He walked for perhaps fifty feet; then he turned +and looked back.</p> + +<p>"Go on!" called the voice that was his loved Law.</p> + +<p>And he went on. Unquestionably, as uncomprehendingly, +he went, because the Mistress told him +to! Since she had brought him out before this annoying +concourse of humans to show off his obedience +all he could do was to obey. The knowledge +of her mysterious sadness made him the more +anxious to please her.</p> + +<p>So on he went. Presently, as his progress +brought him alongside a white post, he heard the +Mistress call again. He wheeled and started toward +her at a run. Then he halted again, almost +in mid-air.</p> + +<p>For her hand was up in front of her, palm forward, +in a gesture that had meant "Stop!" from +the time he had been wont to run into the house +with muddy feet, as a puppy.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lad stood, uncertain. And now the Mistress was +pointing another way and calling:</p> + +<p>"Go on! Lad! Go on!"</p> + +<p>Confused, the dog started in the new direction. +He went slowly. Once or twice he stopped and +looked back in perplexity at her; but, as often, came +the steady-voiced order:</p> + +<p>"Go on! Lad! Go <i>on!</i>"</p> + +<p>On plodded Lad. Vaguely, he was beginning to +hate this new game played without known rules +and in the presence of a crowd. Lad abominated a +crowd.</p> + +<p>But it was the Mistress' bidding, and in her +dear voice his quick hearing could read what no +human could read—a hard-fought longing to cry. +It thrilled the big dog, this subtle note of grief. +And all he could do to ease her sorrow, apparently, +was to obey this queer new whim of hers as best +he might.</p> + +<p>He had continued his unwilling march as far as +another post when the welcome word of recall came—the +recall that would bring him close again to +his sorrowing deity. With a bound he started back +to her.</p> + +<p>But, for the second time, came that palm-forward +gesture and the cry of "Stop! Go <i>back!</i>"</p> + +<p>Lad paused reluctantly and stood panting. This +thing was getting on his fine-strung nerves. And +nervousness ever made him pant.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Mistress pointed in still another direction, +and she was calling almost beseechingly:</p> + +<p>"Go on, Lad! Go <i>on!</i>"</p> + +<p>Her pointing hand waved him ahead and, as before, +he followed its guidance. Walking heavily, +his brain more and more befogged, Lad obeyed. +This time he did not stop to look to her for instructions. +From the new vehemence of the Mistress' +gesture she had apparently been ordering him +off the field in disgrace, as he had seen puppies +ordered from the house. Head and tail down, he +went.</p> + +<p>But, as he passed by the third of those silly posts, +she recalled him. Gleeful to know he was no longer +in disgrace he galloped toward the Mistress; only +to be halted again by that sharp gesture and sharper +command before he had covered a fifth of the +distance from the post to herself.</p> + +<p>The Mistress was actually pointing again—more +urgently than ever—and in still another direction. +Now her voice had in it a quiver that even the +humans could detect; a quiver that made its sweetness +all but sharp.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Lad! Go <i>on!</i>"</p> + +<p>Utterly bewildered at his usually moodless Mistress' +crazy mood and spurred by the sharp reprimand +in her voice Lad moved away at a crestfallen +walk. Four times he stopped and looked back at +her, in piteous appeal, asking forgiveness of the +unknown fault for which she was ordering him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +away; but always he was met by the same fierce +"Go <i>on!</i>"</p> + +<p>And he went.</p> + +<p>Of a sudden, from along the tight-crowded edges +of the quadrangle, went up a prodigious handclapping +punctuated by such foolish and ear-grating +yells as "Good <i>boy!</i>" "<i>Good</i> old Laddie!" "He +<i>did</i> it!"</p> + +<p>And through the looser volume of sound came +the Mistress' call of:</p> + +<p>"Laddie! Here, <i>Lad!</i>"</p> + +<p>In doubt, Lad turned to face her. Hesitatingly +he went toward her expecting at every step that +hateful command of "Go <i>back!</i>"</p> + +<p>But she did not send him back. Instead, she was +running forward to meet him. And out of her face +the sorrow—but not the desire to cry—had been +swept away by a tremulous smile.</p> + +<p>Down on her knees beside Lad the Mistress +flung herself, and gathered his head in her arms +and told him what a splendid, dear dog he was and +how proud she was of him.</p> + +<p>All Lad had done was to obey orders, as any dog +of his brain and heart and home training might +have obeyed them. Yet, for some unexplained reason, +he had made the Mistress wildly happy. And +that was enough for Lad.</p> + +<p>Forgetful of the crowd, he licked at her caressing +hands in puppylike ecstasy; then he rolled in +front of her; growling ferociously and catching one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +of her little feet in his mighty jaws, as though to +crush it. This foot-seizing game was Lad's favorite +romp with the Mistress. With no one else +would he condescend to play it, and the terrible +white teeth never exerted the pressure of a tenth +of an ounce on the slipper they gripped.</p> + +<p>"Laddie!" the Mistress was whispering to him, +"<i>Laddie!</i> You did it, old friend. You did it terribly +badly I suppose, and of course we'll lose. But +we'll 'lose right.' We've made the contest. You +<i>did</i> it!"</p> + +<p>And now a lot of noisy and bothersome humans +had invaded the quadrangle and wanted to paw +him and pat him and praise him. Wherefore Lad +at once got to his feet and stood aloofly disdainful +of everything and everybody. He detested pawing; +and, indeed, any outsider's handling.</p> + +<p>Through the congratulating knot of folk the +Wall Street Farmer elbowed his way to the Mistress.</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" he boomed. "I must compliment +you on Lad! A really intelligent dog. I was surprised. +I didn't think any dog could make the +round unless he'd been trained to it. Quite a dog! +But, of course, you had to call to him a good many +times. And you were signaling pretty steadily +every second. Those things count heavily against +you, you know. In fact, they goose-egg your +chances if another entrant can go the round without +so much coaching. Now my dog Lochinvar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +never needs the voice at all and he needs only one +slight gesture for each manœuver. Still, Lad did +very nicely. He—why does the sulky brute pull +away when I try to pat him?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," ventured the Mistress, "perhaps he +didn't catch your name."</p> + +<p>Then she and the Master led Lad back to his +bench where the local contingent made much of +him, and where—after the manner of a high-bred +dog at a Show—he drank much water and would +eat nothing.</p> + +<p>When the Mistress went again to the quadrangle, +the crowd was banked thicker than ever, for Lochinvar +III was about to compete for the Maury +Trophy.</p> + +<p>The Wall Street Farmer and the English trainer +had delayed the Event for several minutes while +they went through a strenuous dispute. As the +Mistress came up she heard Glure end the argument +by booming:</p> + +<p>"I tell you that's all rot. Why shouldn't he +'work' for me just as well as he'd 'work' for you? +I'm his Master, ain't I?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir," replied the trainer, glumly. "Only his +<i>owner</i>."</p> + +<p>"I've had him a whole week," declared the Wall +Street Farmer, "and I've put him through those +rounds a dozen times. He knows me and he goes +through it all like clockwork for me. Here! Give +me his leash!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>He snatched the leather cord from the protesting +trainer and, with a yank at it, started with +Lochinvar toward the central post. The aristocratic +Merle resented the uncalled-for tug by a +flash of teeth. Then he thought better of the +matter, swallowed his resentment and paced along +beside his visibly proud owner.</p> + +<p>A murmur of admiration went through the +crowd at sight of Lochinvar as he moved forward. +The dog was a joy to look on. Such a dog as one +sees perhaps thrice in a lifetime. Such a dog for +perfect beauty, as were Southport Sample, Grey +Mist, Howgill Rival, Sunnybank Goldsmith or +Squire of Tytton. A dog, for looks, that was the +despair of all competing dogdom.</p> + +<p>Proudly perfect in carriage, in mist-gray coat, in +a hundred points—from the noble pale-eyed head +to the long massy brush—Lochinvar III made +people catch their breath and stare. Even the Mistress' +heart went out—though with a tinge of +shame for disloyalty to Lad—at his beauty.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the central post, the Wall Street +Farmer unsnapped the leash. Then, one hand on +the Merle's head and the other holding a half-smoked +cigar between two pudgy fingers, he smiled +upon the tense onlookers.</p> + +<p>This was his Moment. This was the supreme +moment which had cost him nearly ten thousand +dollars in all. He was due, at last, to win a trophy +that would be the talk of all the sporting universe.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +These country-folk who had won lesser prizes from +under his very nose—how they would stare, after +this, at his gun-room treasures!</p> + +<p>"Ready, Mr. Glure?" asked the Judge.</p> + +<p>"All ready!" graciously returned the Wall Street +Farmer.</p> + +<p>Taking a pull at his thick cigar, and replacing +it between the first two fingers of his right hand, +he pointed majestically with the same hand to the +first post.</p> + +<p>No word of command was given; yet Lochinvar +moved off at a sweeping run directly in the line +laid out by his owner's gesture.</p> + +<p>As the Merle came alongside the post the Wall +Street Farmer snapped his fingers. Instantly +Lochinvar dropped to a halt and stood moveless, +looking back for the next gesture.</p> + +<p>This "next gesture" was wholly impromptu. In +snapping his fingers the Wall Street Farmer had +not taken sufficient account of the cigar stub he +held. The snapping motion had brought the fire-end +of the stub directly between his first and second +fingers, close to the palm. The red coal bit deep +into those two tenderest spots of all the hand.</p> + +<p>With a reverberating snort the Wall Street +Farmer dropped the cigar-butt and shook his +anguished hand rapidly up and down, in the first +sting of pain. The loose fingers slapped together +like the strands of an obese cat-of-nine-tails.</p> + +<p>And this was the gesture which Lochinvar beheld,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +as he turned to catch the signal for his next move.</p> + +<p>Now, the frantic St. Vitus shaking of the hand +and arm, accompanied by a clumsy step-dance and +a mouthful of rich oaths, forms no signal known to +the very cleverest of "working" collies. Neither +does the inserting of two burned fingers into the +signaler's mouth—which was the second motion the +Merle noted.</p> + +<p>Ignorant as to the meaning of either of these +unique signals the dog stood, puzzled. The Wall +Street Farmer recovered at once from his fit of +babyish emotion, and motioned his dog to go on to +the next post.</p> + +<p>The Merle did not move. Here, at last, was a +signal he understood perfectly well. Yet, after the +manner of the best-taught "working" dogs, he had +been most rigidly trained from earliest days to finish +the carrying out of one order before giving heed +to another.</p> + +<p>He had received the signal to go in one direction. +He had obeyed. He had then received the +familiar signal to halt and to await instructions. +Again he had obeyed. Next, he had received a +wildly emphatic series of signals whose meaning +he could not read. A long course of training told +him he must wait to have these gestures explained +to him before undertaking to obey the simple signal +that had followed.</p> + +<p>This, in his training kennel, had been the rule. +When a pupil did not understand an order he must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +stay where he was until he could be made to understand. +He must not dash away to carry out a +later order that might perhaps be intended for some +other pupil.</p> + +<p>Wherefore, the Merle stood stock still. The Wall +Street Farmer repeated the gesture of pointing +toward the next post. Inquiringly, Lochinvar +watched him. The Wall Street Farmer made the +gesture a third time—to no purpose other than to +deepen the dog's look of inquiry. Lochinvar was +abiding, steadfastly, by his hard-learned lessons of +the Scottish moorland days.</p> + +<p>Someone in the crowd tittered. Someone else +sang out delightedly:</p> + +<p>"Lad wins!"</p> + +<p>The Wall Street Farmer heard. And he proceeded +to mislay his easily-losable self control. +Again, these inferior country folk seemed about to +wrest from him a prize he had deemed all his own, +and to rejoice in the prospect.</p> + +<p>"You mongrel cur!" he bellowed. "Get along +there!"</p> + +<p>This diction meant nothing to Lochinvar, except +that his owner's temper was gone—and with it his +scanty authority.</p> + +<p>Glure saw red—or he came as near to seeing it +as can anyone outside a novel. He made a plunge +across the quadrangle, seized the beautiful Merle by +the scruff of the neck and kicked him.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now, here was something the dog could understand +with entire ease. This loud-mouthed vulgarian +giant, whom he had disliked from the first, +was daring to lay violent hands on him—on Champion +Lochinvar III, the dog-aristocrat that had +always been handled with deference and whose ugly +temper had never been trained out of him.</p> + +<p>As a growl of hot resentment went up from the +onlookers, a far more murderously resentful growl +went up from the depths of Lochinvar's furry +throat.</p> + +<p>In a flash, the Merle had wrenched free from his +owner's neck-grip. And, in practically the same +moment, his curved eye-teeth were burying themselves +deep in the calf of the Wall Street Farmer's +leg.</p> + +<p>Then the trainer and the judge seized on the +snarlingly floundering pair. What the outraged +trainer said, as he ran up, would have brought a +blush to the cheek of a waterside bartender. What +the judge said (in a tone of no regret, whatever) +was:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Glure, you have forfeited the match by moving +more than three feet from the central post. +But your dog had already lost it by refusing to +'work' at your command. Lad wins the Maury +Trophy."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>So it was that the Gold Hat, as well as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +modest little silver "Best Collie" cup, went to The +Place that night. Setting the golden monstrosity on +the trophy shelf, the Master surveyed it for a moment; +then said:</p> + +<p>"That Gold Hat is even bigger than it looks. +It is big enough to hold a thousand yards of surgical +dressings; and gallons of medicine and broth, +besides. And that's what it is going to hold. To-morrow +I'll send it to Vanderslice, at the Red Cross +Headquarters."</p> + +<p>"Good!" applauded the Mistress. "Oh, <i>good!</i> +send it in Lad's name."</p> + +<p>"I shall. I'll tell Vanderslice how it was won; +and I'll ask him to have it melted down to buy hospital +supplies. If that doesn't take off its curse +of unsportsmanliness, nothing will. I'll get you +something to take its place, as a trophy."</p> + +<p>But there was no need to redeem that promise. A +week later, from Headquarters, came a tiny scarlet +enamel cross, whose silver back bore the inscription:</p> + +<p>"<i>To SUNNYBANK LAD; in memory of a +generous gift to Humanity.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Its face-value is probably fifty cents, Lad, +dear," commented the Mistress, as she strung the +bit of scarlet on the dog's shaggy throat. "But its +heart value is at least a billion dollars. Besides—you +can wear it. And nobody, outside a nightmare,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +could possibly have worn kind, good Mr. Hugh Lester +Maury's Gold Hat. I must write to Mr. Glure +and tell him all about it. How tickled he'll be! +Won't he, Laddie?"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX<br /> +SPEAKING OF UTILITY</h2> + + +<p>The man huddled frowzily in the tree crotch, +like a rumpled and sick raccoon. At times +he would crane his thin neck and peer about +him, but more as if he feared rescue than as though +he hoped for it.</p> + +<p>Then, before slumping back to his sick-raccoon +pose, he would look murderously earthward and +swear with lurid fervor.</p> + +<p>At the tree foot the big dog wasted neither time +nor energy in frantic barking or in capering excitedly +about. Instead, he lay at majestic ease, gazing +up toward the treed man with grave attentiveness.</p> + +<p>Thus, for a full half-hour, the two had remained—the +treer and the treed. Thus, from present +signs, they would continue to remain until +Christmas.</p> + +<p>There is, by tradition, something intensely comic +in the picture of a man treed by a dog. The man, +in the present case, supplied the only element of +comedy in the scene. The dog was anything but +comic, either in looks or in posture.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<p>He was a collie, huge of bulk, massive of +shoulder, deep and shaggy of chest. His forepaws +were snowy and absurdly small. His eyes were seal-dark +and sorrowful—eyes that proclaimed not only +an uncannily wise brain, but a soul as well. In +brief, he was Lad; official guard of The Place's +safety.</p> + +<p>It was in this rôle of guard that he was now +serving as jailer to the man he had seen slouching +through the undergrowth of the forest which grew +close up to The Place's outbuildings.</p> + +<p>From his two worshipped deities—the Mistress +and the Master—Lad had learned in puppyhood the +simple provisions of the Guest Law. He knew, for +example, that no one openly approaching the house +along the driveway from the furlong-distant highroad +was to be molested. Such a visitor's advent—especially +at night—might lawfully be greeted by a +salvo of barks. But the barks were a mere announcement, +not a threat.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, the Law demanded the instant +halting of all prowlers, or of anyone seeking to +get to the house from road or lake by circuitous +and stealthy means. Such roundabout methods +spell Trespass. Every good watchdog knows that. +But wholly good watchdogs are far fewer than most +people—even their owners—realize. Lad was one +of the few.</p> + +<p>To-day's trespasser had struck into The Place's +grounds from an adjoining bit of woodland. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +had moved softly and obliquely and had made little +furtive dashes from one bit of cover to another, +as he advanced toward the outbuildings a hundred +yards north of the house.</p> + +<p>He had moved cleverly and quietly. No human +had seen or heard him. Even Lad, sprawling half-asleep +on the veranda, had not seen him. For, in +spite of theory, a dog's eye by daylight is not so +keen or so far-seeing as is a human's. But the +wind had brought news of a foreign presence on +The Place—a presence which Lad's hasty glance at +driveway and lake edge did not verify.</p> + +<p>So the dog had risen to his feet, stretched himself, +collie-fashion, fore and aft, and trotted quickly +away to investigate. Scent, and then sound, taught +him which way to go.</p> + +<p>Two minutes later he changed his wolf trot to +a slow and unwontedly stiff-legged walk, advancing +with head lowered, and growling softly far down +in his throat. He was making straight for a patch +of sumac, ten feet in front of him and a hundred +feet behind the stables.</p> + +<p>Now, when a dog bounds toward a man, barking +and with head up, there is nothing at all to be +feared from his approach. But when the pace +slackens to a stiff walk and his head sinks low, that +is a very good time, indeed, for the object of his +attentions to think seriously of escape or of defense.</p> + +<p>Instinct or experience must have imparted this +useful truth to the lurker in the sumac patch, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +as the great dog drew near the man incontinently +wheeled and broke cover. At the same instant Lad +charged.</p> + +<p>The man had a ten-foot start. This vantage he +utilized by flinging himself bodily at a low-forked +hickory tree directly in his path.</p> + +<p>Up the rough trunk to the crotch he shinned with +the speed of a chased cat. Lad arrived at the tree +bole barely in time to collect a mouthful of cloth +from the climber's left trouser ankle.</p> + +<p>After which, since he was not of the sort to +clamor noisily for what lurked beyond his reach, +the dog yawned and lay down to keep guard on +his arboreal prisoner. For half an hour he lay +thus, varying his vigil once or twice by sniffing +thoughtfully at a ragged scrap of trouser cloth between +his little white forepaws. He sniffed the +thing as though trying to commit its scent to +memory.</p> + +<p>The man did not seek help by shouting. Instead, +he seemed oddly willing that no other human +should intrude on his sorry plight. A single loud +yell would have brought aid from the stables or +from the house or even from the lodge up by the +gate. Yet, though the man must have guessed this, +he did not yell. Instead, he cursed whisperingly at +intervals and snarled at his captor.</p> + +<p>At last, his nerve going, the prisoner drew out +a jackknife, opened a blade at each end of it and +hurled the ugly missile with all his force at the dog.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +As the man had shifted his position to get at the +knife, Lad had risen expectantly to his feet with +some hope that his captive might be going to +descend.</p> + +<p>It was lucky for Lad that he was standing when +the knife was thrown for the aim was not bad, and +a dog lying down cannot easily dodge. A dog +standing on all fours is different, especially if he +is a collie.</p> + +<p>Lad sprang to one side instinctively as the +thrower's arm went back. The knife whizzed, +harmless, into the sumac patch. Lad's teeth bared +themselves in something that looked like a smile +and was not. Then he lay down again on guard.</p> + +<p>A minute later he was up with a jump. From +the direction of the house came a shrill whistle +followed by a shout of "Lad! <i>La-ad!</i>" +It was the Master calling him. The summons +could not be ignored. Usually it was obeyed with +eager gladness, but now—Lad looked worriedly +up into the tree. Then, coming to a decision, he +galloped away at top speed.</p> + +<p>In ten seconds he was at the veranda where the +Master stood talking with a newly arrived guest. +Before the Master could speak to the dog, Lad +rushed up to him, whimpering in stark appeal, then +ran a few steps toward the stables, paused, looked +back and whimpered again.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with him?" loudly demanded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +the guest—an obese and elderly man, right sportily +attired. "What ails the silly dog?"</p> + +<p>"He's found something," said the Master. +"Something he wants me to come and see—and he +wants me to come in a hurry."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" asked the guest.</p> + +<p>"Because I know his language as well as he knows +mine," retorted the Master.</p> + +<p>He set off in the wake of the excited dog. The +guest followed in more leisurely fashion complaining:</p> + +<p>"Of all the idiocy! To let a measly dog drag +you out of the shade on a red-hot day like this +just to look at some dead chipmunk he's found!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," stiffly agreed the Master, not slackening +his pace. "But if Lad behaves like that, +unless it's pretty well worth while, he's changed a +lot in the past hour. A man can do worse sometimes +than follow a tip his dog gives him."</p> + +<p>"Have it your own way," grinned the guest. +"Perhaps he may lead us to a treasure cave or to +a damsel in distress. I'm with you."</p> + +<p>"Guy me if it amuses you," said the Master.</p> + +<p>"It does," his guest informed him. "It amuses +me to see any grown man think so much of a dog +as you people think of Lad. It's maudlin."</p> + +<p>"My house is the only one within a mile on this +side of the lake that has never been robbed," was +the Master's reply. "My stable is the only one in +the same radius that hasn't been rifled by harness-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>and-tire +thieves. Thieves who seem to do their +work in broad daylight, too, when the stables +won't be locked. I have Lad to thank for all that. +He——"</p> + +<p>The dog had darted far ahead. Now he was +standing beneath a low-forked hickory tree staring +up into it.</p> + +<p>"He's treed a cat!" guffawed the guest, his laugh +as irritating as a kick. "Extra! Come out and get +a nice sunstroke, folks! Come and see the cat Lad +has treed!"</p> + +<p>The Master did not answer. There was no cat +in the tree. There was nothing visible in the tree. +Lad's aspect shrank from hope to depression. He +looked apologetically at the Master. Then he began +to sniff once more at a scrap of cloth on the +ground.</p> + +<p>The Master picked up the cloth and presently +walked over to the tree. From a jut of bark +dangled a shred of the same cloth. The Master's +hand went to Lad's head in approving caress.</p> + +<p>"It was not a cat," he said. "It was a man. +See the rags of——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, piffle!" snorted the guest. "Next you'll be +reconstructing the man's middle name and favorite +perfume from the color of the bark on the tree. +You people are always telling about wonderful +stunts of Lad's. And that's all the evidence there +generally is to it."</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Glure," denied the Master, taking a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +strangle hold on his temper. "No. That's not +quite all the evidence that we have for our brag +about Lad. For instance, we had the evidence of +your own eyes when he herded that flock of +stampeded prize sheep for you last spring, and of +your own eyes again when he won the 'Gold Hat' +cup at the Labor Day Dog Show. No, there's +plenty of evidence that Lad is worth his salt. Let +it go at that. Shall we get back to the house? It's +fairly cool on the veranda. By the way, what was +it you wanted me to call Lad for? You asked to +see him. And——"</p> + +<p>"Why, here's the idea," explained Glure, as they +made their way through the heat back to the shade +of the porch. "It's what I drove over here to talk +with you about. I'm making the rounds of all this +region. And, say, I didn't ask to see Lad. I asked +if you still had him. I asked because——"</p> + +<p>"Oh," apologized the Master. "I thought you +wanted to see him. Most people ask to if he +doesn't happen to be round when they call. +We——"</p> + +<p>"I asked you if you still had him," expounded +Mr. Glure, "because I hoped you hadn't. I hoped +you were more of a patriot."</p> + +<p>"Patriot?" echoed the Master, puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Yes. That's why I'm making this tour of the +country: to rouse dog owners to a sense of their +duty. I've just formed a local branch of the Food +Conservation League and——"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's a splendid organization," warmly approved +the Master, "but what have dog owners to——"</p> + +<p>"To do with it?" supplemented Glure. "They +have nothing to do with it, more's the pity. But +they ought to. That's why I volunteered to make +this canvass. It was my own idea. Some of the +others were foolish enough to object, but as I had +founded and financed this Hampton branch of the +League——"</p> + +<p>"What 'canvass' are you talking about?" asked +the Master, who was far too familiar with Glure's +ways to let the man become fairly launched on a +pæan of self-adulation. "You say it's 'to rouse +dog owners to a sense of their duty.' Along what +line? We dog men have raised a good many +thousand dollars this past year by our Red Cross +shows and by our subscriptions to all sorts of war +funds. The Blue Cross, too, and the Collie Ambulance +Fund have——"</p> + +<p>"This is something better than the mere giving +of surplus coin," broke in Glure. "It is something +that involves sacrifice. A needful sacrifice for our +country. A sacrifice that may win the war."</p> + +<p>"Count me in on it, then!" cordially approved +the Master. "Count in all real dog men. What +is the 'sacrifice'?"</p> + +<p>"It's my own idea," modestly boasted Glure, +adding: "That is, of course, it's been agitated by +other people in letters to newspapers and all that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +but I'm the first to go out and put it into actual +effect."</p> + +<p>"Shoot!" suggested the weary Master.</p> + +<p>"That's the very word!" exclaimed Glure. +"That's the very thing I want dog owners to combine +in doing. To shoot!"</p> + +<p>"To—what?"</p> + +<p>"To shoot—or poison—or asphyxiate," expounded +Glure, warming to his theme. "In short, +to get rid of every dog."</p> + +<p>The Master's jaw swung ajar and his eyes bulged. +His face began to assume an unbecoming bricky +hue. Glure went on:</p> + +<p>"You see, neighbor, our nation is up against it. +When war was declared last month it found us +unprepared. We've got to pitch in and economize. +Every mouthful of food wasted here is a new lease +of life to the Kaiser. We're cutting down on sugar +and meat and fat, but for every cent we save that +way we're throwing away a dollar in feeding our +dogs. Our dogs that are a useless, senseless, costly +luxury! They serve no utilitarian end. They eat +food that belongs to soldiers. I'm trying to +brighten the corner where I am by persuading my +neighbors to get rid of their dogs. When I've +proved what a blessing it is I'm going to inaugurate +a nation-wide campaign from California to New +York, from——"</p> + +<p>"Hold on!" snapped the Master, finding some of +his voice and, in the same effort, mislaying much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +of his temper. "What wall-eyed idiocy do you +think you're trying to talk? How many dog men +do you expect to convert to such a crazy doctrine? +Have you tried any others? Or am I the first +mark?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry you take it this way," reproved Glure. +"I had hoped you were more broad-minded, but +you are as pig-headed as the rest."</p> + +<p>"The 'rest,' hey?" the Master caught him up. +"The 'rest?' Then I'm not the first? I'm glad +they had sense enough to send you packing."</p> + +<p>"They were blind animal worshipers, both of +them," said Glure aggrievedly, "just as you are. +One of them yelled something after me that I sincerely +hope I didn't hear aright. If I did, I have +a strong action for slander against him. The other +chucklehead so far forgot himself as to threaten +to take a shotgun to me if I didn't get off his land."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry!" sighed the Master. "For both of +them seem to have covered the ground so completely +that there isn't anything unique for me to +say—or do. Now listen to me for two minutes. +I've read a few of those anti-dog letters in the +newspapers, but you're the first person I've met in +real life who backs such rot. And I'm going——"</p> + +<p>"It is not a matter for argument," loftily began +Glure.</p> + +<p>"Yes it is," asserted the Master. "Everything +is, except religion and love and toothache. You +say dogs ought to be destroyed as a patriotic duty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +because they aren't utilitarian. There's where +you're wrong at the very beginning. Dead wrong. +I'm not talking about the big kennels where one +man keeps a hundred dogs as he'd herd so many +prize hogs. Though look what the owners of such +kennels did for the country at the last New York +show at Madison Square Garden! Every penny +of the thousands and thousands of dollars in profits +from the show went to the Red Cross. I'm speaking +of the man who keeps one dog or two or even +three dogs, and keeps them as pets. I'm speaking +of myself, if you like. Do you know what it costs +me per week to feed my dogs?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not looking for statistics in——"</p> + +<p>"No, I suppose not. Few fanatics are. Well, I +figured it out a few weeks ago, after I read one +of those anti-dog letters. The total upkeep of all +my dogs averages just under a dollar a week. A +bare fifty dollars a year. That's true. And——"</p> + +<p>"And that fifty dollars," interposed Glure +eagerly, "would pay for a soldier's——"</p> + +<p>"It would not!" contradicted the Master, trying +to keep some slight grip on his sliding temper. +"But I can tell you what it <i>would</i> do: Part of it +would go for burglar insurance, which I don't need +now, because no stranger dares to sneak up to my +house at night. Part of it would go to make up +for things stolen around The Place. For instance, +in the harness room of my stable there are five sets +of good harness and two or three extra automobile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +tires. Unless I'm very much mistaken, the best +of those would be gone now if Lad hadn't just +treed the man who was after them."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw!" exploded Glure in fine scorn. "We +saw no man there. There was no proof of——"</p> + +<p>"There was proof enough for me," continued +the Master. "And if Lad hadn't scented the +fellow one of the other dogs would. As I told +you, mine is the only house—and mine is the only +stable—on this side of the lake that has never +been looted. Mine is the only orchard—and mine +is the only garden—that is never robbed. And +this is the only place, on our side of the lake, where +dogs are kept at large for twelve months of the +year. My dogs' entry fees at Red Cross shows +have more than paid for their keep, and those fees +went straight to charity."</p> + +<p>"But——"</p> + +<p>"The women of my family are as safe here, day +and night, as if I had a machine-gun company +on guard. That assurance counts for more than +a little, in peace of mind, back here in the North +Jersey hinterland. I'm not taking into account +the several other ways the dogs bring in cash income +to us. Not even the cash Lad turned over +to the Red Cross when we sent that $1600 'Gold +Hat' cup he won, to be melted down. And I'm +not speaking of our dogs' comradeship, and what +that means to us. Our dogs are an asset in every +way—not a liability. They aren't deadheads either.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +For I pay the state tax on them every year. +They're true, loyal, companionable chums, and +they're an ornament to The Place as well as its +best safeguard. All in return for table scraps and +skim milk and less than a weekly dollar's worth +of stale bread and cast-off butcher-shop bones. +Where do you figure out the 'saving' for the war +chest if I got rid of them?"</p> + +<p>"As I said," repeated Glure with cold austerity, +"it's not a matter for argument. I came here hoping +to——"</p> + +<p>"I'm not given to mawkish sentiment," went on +the Master shamefacedly, "but on the day your +fool law for dog exterminating goes into effect +there'll be a piteous crying of little children all +over the whole world—of little children mourning +for the gentle protecting playmates they loved. +And there'll be a million men and women whose +lives have all at once become lonely and empty and +miserable. Isn't this war causing enough crying +and loneliness and misery without your adding to +it by killing our dogs? For the matter of that, +haven't the army dogs over in Europe been doing +enough for mankind to warrant a square deal for +their stay-at-home brothers? Haven't they?"</p> + +<p>"That's a mass of sentimental bosh," declared +Glure. "All of it."</p> + +<p>"It is," willingly confessed the Master. "So are +most of the worth-while things in life, if you reduce +them to their lowest terms."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You know what a fine group of dogs I had," +said Glure, starting off on a new tack. "I had a +group that cost me, dog for dog, more than any +other kennel in the state. Grand dogs too. You +remember my wonderful Merle, for instance, +and——"</p> + +<p>"And your rare 'Prussian sheep dog'—or was it +a prune-hound?—that a Chicago man sold to you +for $1100," supplemented the Master, swallowing +a grin. "I remember. I remember them all. +What then?"</p> + +<p>"Well," resumed Glure, "no one can accuse me +of not practicing what I preach. I began this +splendid campaign by getting rid of every dog I +owned. So I——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," agreed the Master. "I read all about +that last month in your local paper. Distemper had +run through your kennel, and you tried doctoring +the dogs on a theory of your own instead of sending +for a vet. So they all died. Tough luck! Or +perhaps you got rid of them that way on purpose? +For the good of the Cause? I'm sorry about the +Merle. He was——"</p> + +<p>"I see there's no use talking to you," sighed +Glure in disgust, ponderously rising and waddling +toward his car. "I'm disappointed; because I hoped +you were less bone-brained and more patriotic than +these yokels round here."</p> + +<p>"I'm not," cheerily conceded the Master. "I'm +not, I'm glad to say. Not a bit."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then," pursued Glure, climbing into the car, +"since you feel that way about it, I suppose there's +no use asking you to come to the little cattle show +I'm organizing for week after next, because that's +for the Food Conservation League too. And since +you're so out of sympathy with——"</p> + +<p>"I'm not out of sympathy with the League," asserted +the Master. "Its card is in our kitchen +window. We've signed its pledge and we're boosting +it in every way we know how, except by killing +our dogs; and that's no part of the League's programme, +as you know very well. Tell me more +about the cattle show."</p> + +<p>"It's a neighborhood affair," said Glure sulkily, +yet eager to secure any possible entrants. "Just +a bunch of home-raised cattle. Cup and rosette +for best of each recognized breed, and the usual +ribbons for second and third. Three dollars an +entry. Only one class for each breed. Every entrant +must have been raised by the exhibitor. +Gate admission fifty cents. Red Cross to get the +gross proceeds. I've offered the use of my south +meadow at Glure Towers—just as I did for the +specialty dog show. I've put up a hundred dollars +toward the running expenses too. Micklesen's to +judge."</p> + +<p>"I don't go in for stock raising," said the Master. +"My little Alderney heifer is the only head of +quality stock I ever bred. I doubt if she is worth +taking up there, but I'll be glad to take her if only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +to swell the competition list. Send me a blank, +please."</p> + +<p>Lad trotted dejectedly back to the house as +Glure's car chugged away up the drive. Lad was +glumly unhappy. He had had no trouble at all in +catching the scent of the man he had treed. He +had followed the crashingly made trail through +undergrowth and woodland until it had emerged +into the highroad.</p> + +<p>And there, perforce, Lad had paused. For, +taught from puppyhood, he knew the boundaries +of The Place as well as did the Mistress or the +Master, and he knew equally well that his own +jurisdiction ended at those boundaries. Beyond +them he might not chase even the most loathed intruder. +The highroad was sanctuary.</p> + +<p>Wherefore at the road edge he stopped and +turned slowly back. His pursuit was ended, but +not his anger, nor his memory of the marauder's +scent. The man had trespassed slyly on The Place. +He had gotten away unpunished. These things +rankled in the big dog's mind....</p> + +<p>It was a pretty little cattle show and staged in +a pretty setting withal—at Glure Towers, two +weeks later. The big sunken meadow on the verge +of the Ramapo River was lined on two sides with +impromptu sheds. The third side was blocked by +something between a grand stand and a marquee. +The tree-hung river bordered the fourth side. In the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +field's center was the roped-off judging inclosure +into which the cattle, class by class, were to be led.</p> + +<p>Above the pastoral scene brooded the architectural +crime, known as The Towers—homestead +and stronghold of Hamilcar Q. Glure, Esquire.</p> + +<p>Glure had made much money in Wall Street—a +crooked little street that begins with a graveyard +and ends in a river. Having waxed indecently +rich, he had erected for himself a hideously +expensive estate among the Ramapo Mountains +and had settled down to the task of patronizing +his rural neighbors. There he elected to be known +as the "Wall Street Farmer," a title that delighted +not only himself but everyone else in the region.</p> + +<p>There was, in this hinterland stretch, a friendly +and constant rivalry among the natives and other +old residents in the matter of stock raising. Horses, +cattle, pigs, chickens, even a very few sheep were +bred for generations along lines which their divers +owners had laid out—lines which those owners +fervently believed must some day produce perfection.</p> + +<p>Each owner or group of owners had his own +special ideas as to the best way to produce this +super-stock result. The local stock shows formed +the only means of proving or disproving the excellence +of the varied theories. Hence these shows +were looked upon as barnyard supreme courts.</p> + +<p>Mr. Glure had begun his career in the neighborhood +with a laudable aim of excelling everybody<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +else in everything. He had gone, heart and soul, +into stock producing and as he had no breeding +theories of his own he proceeded to acquire a set. +As it would necessarily take years to work out +these beliefs, he bridged the gap neatly by purchasing +and importing prize livestock and by entering +it against the home-raised products of his +neighbors.</p> + +<p>Strangely enough, this did not add to the popularity +which he did not possess. Still more +strangely, it did not add materially to his prestige +as an exhibitor, for the judges had an exasperating +way of handing him a second or third prize +ribbon and then of awarding the coveted blue +rosette to the owner and breeder of some local +exhibit.</p> + +<p>After a long time it began to dawn upon Glure +that narrow neighborhood prejudice deemed it unsportsmanlike +to buy prize stock and exhibit it as +one's own. At approximately the same time three +calves were born to newly imported prize cows in +the two-acre model barns of Glure Towers, and +with them was born Glure's newest idea.</p> + +<p>No one could deny he had bred these calves himself. +They were born on his own place and of +his own high-pedigreed cattle. Three breeds were +represented among the trio of specimens. By +points and by lineage they were well-nigh peerless. +Wherefore the plan for a show of neighborhood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +"home-raised" cattle. At length Glure felt he was +coming into his own.</p> + +<p>The hinterland folk had fought shy of Glure +since the dog show wherein he had sought to win +the capital prize by formulating a set of conditions +that could be filled by no entrant except a newly +imported champion Merle of his own.</p> + +<p>But the phrase "home-raised" now proved a bait +that few of the region's stock lovers could resist; +and on the morning of the show no fewer than +fifty-two cattle of standard breeds were shuffling +or lowing in the big impromptu sheds.</p> + +<p>A farm hand, the day before, had led to the +show ground The Place's sole entrant—the pretty +little Alderney heifer of which the Master had +spoken to Glure and which, by the way, was destined +to win nothing higher than a third-prize +ribbon.</p> + +<p>For that matter, to end the suspense, the best +of the three Glure calves won only a second prize, +all the first for their three breeds going to two +nonplutocratic North Jerseymen who had bred the +ancestors of their entrants for six generations.</p> + +<p>The Mistress and the Master motored over to +Glure Towers on the morning of the show in their +one car. Lad went with them. He always went +with them.</p> + +<p>Not that any dog could hope to find interest in +a cattle show, but a dog would rather go anywhere +with his Master than to stay at home without him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +Witness the glad alacrity wherewith the weariest +dog deserts a snug fireside in the vilest weather for +the joy of a master-accompanying walk.</p> + +<p>A tire puncture delayed the trip. The show was +about to begin when the car was at last parked +behind the sunken meadow. The Mistress and the +Master, with Lad at their heels, started across the +meadow afoot toward the well-filled grand-stand.</p> + +<p>Several acquaintances in the stand waved to them +as they advanced. Also, before they had traversed +more than half the meadow's area their host bore +down upon them.</p> + +<p>Mr. Glure (dressed, as usual, for the Occasion) +looked like a blend of Landseer's "<i>Edinburgh +Drover</i>" and a theater-program picture of "<i>What +the Man Will Wear</i>."</p> + +<p>He had been walking beside a garishly liveried +groom who was leading an enormous Holstein +bull toward the judging enclosure. The bull was +steered by a five-foot bar, the end snapped to a +ring in his nose.</p> + +<p>"Hello, good people!" Mr. Glure boomed, pump-handling +the unenthusiastic Mistress' right hand +and bestowing a jarringly annoying slap upon the +Master's shoulder. "Glad to see you! You're late. +Almost too late for the best part of the show. +Before judging begins, I'm having some of my +choicest European stock paraded in the ring. Just +for exhibition, you know. Not for a contest. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> +like to give a treat to some of these farmers who +think they know how to breed cattle."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" queried the Master, who could think of +nothing cleverer to say.</p> + +<p>"Take that bull, Tenebris, of mine, for instance," +proclaimed Glure, with a wave toward the approaching +Holstein and his guide. "Best ton of +livestock that ever stood on four legs. Look how +he——"</p> + +<p>Glure paused in his lecture for he saw that both +the Mistress and the Master were staring, not at +the bull, but at the beast's leader. The spectacle +of a groom in gaudy livery, on duty at a cattle +show, was all but too much for their gravity.</p> + +<p>"You're looking at that boy of mine, hey? +Fine, well-set-up chap, isn't he? A faithful boy. +Devoted to me. Slavishly devoted. Not like most +of these grumpy, independent Jersey rustics. Not +much. He's a treasure, Winston is. Used to be +chief handler for some of the biggest cattle breeders +in the East he tells me. I got hold of him by +chance, and just by the sheerest good luck, a week +or so ago. Met him on the road and he asked for +a lift. He——"</p> + +<p>It was then that Lad disgraced himself and his +deities, and proved himself all unworthy to appear +in so refined an assembly. The man in livery had +convoyed the bull to within a few feet of the +proudly exhorting Glure. Now, without growl or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +other sign of warning, the hitherto peaceable dog +changed into a murder machine.</p> + +<p>In a single mighty bound he cleared the narrowing +distance between himself and the advancing +groom.</p> + +<p>The leap sent him hurtling through the air, an +eighty-pound furry catapult, straight for the man's +throat.</p> + +<p>Over and beyond the myriad cattle odors, Lad +had suddenly recognized a scent that spelt deathless +hatred. The scent had been verified by a single +glance at the brilliantly clad man in livery. Wherefore +the mad charge.</p> + +<p>The slashing jaws missed their mark in the man's +throat by a bare half inch. That they missed it +at all was because the man also recognized Lad, +and shrank back in mortal terror.</p> + +<p>Even before the eighty-pound weight, smashing +against his chest, sent the groom sprawling backward +to the ground, Lad's slashing jaws had found +a hold in place of the one they had missed.</p> + +<p>This grip was on the liveried shoulder, into which +the fangs sank to their depth. Down went the man, +screaming, the dog atop of him.</p> + +<p>"Lad!" cried the Mistress, aghast. "<i>Lad!</i>" +Through the avenging rage that misted his brain +the great dog heard. With a choking sound that +was almost a sob he relinquished his hold and turned +slowly from his prey.</p> + +<p>The Master and Glure instinctively took a step<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +toward the approaching dog and the writhingly +prostrate man. Then, still more instinctively, and +without even coming to a standstill before going +into reverse, they both sprang back. They would +have sprung further had not the roped walls of the +show ring checked them.</p> + +<p>For Tenebris had taken a sudden and active part +in the scene.</p> + +<p>The gigantic Holstein during his career in +Europe had trebly won his title to champion. And +during the three years before his exportation to +America he had gored to death no fewer than three +over-confident stable attendants. The bull's homicidal +temper, no less than the dazzling price offered +by Glure, had caused his owner to sell him to the +transatlantic bidder.</p> + +<p>A bull's nose is the tenderest spot of his anatomy. +Next to his eyes, he guards its safety most zealously. +Thus, with a stout leading-bar between him and his +conductor, Tenebris was harmless enough.</p> + +<p>But the conductor just now had let go of that +bar, as Lad's weight had smitten him. Freed, Tenebris +had stood for an instant in perplexity.</p> + +<p>Fiercely he flung his gnarled head to one side +to see the cause of the commotion. The gesture +swung the heavy leading-bar, digging the nose ring +cruelly into his sensitive nostrils. The pain maddened +Tenebris. A final plunging twist of the head—and +the bar's weight tore the nose ring free from +the nostrils.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> + +<p>Tenebris bellowed thunderously at the climax of +pain. Then he realized he had shaken off the only +thing that gave humans a control over him. A second +bellow—a furious pawing of the earth—and +the bull lowered his head. His evil eyes glared +about him in search of something to kill.</p> + +<p>It was the sight of this motion which sent the +Master and Glure recoiling against the show-ring +ropes.</p> + +<p>In almost the same move the Master caught up +his wife and swung her over the top rope, into the +ring. He followed her into that refuge's fragile +safety with a speed that held no dignity whatever. +Glure, seeing the action, wasted no time in wriggling +through the ropes after him.</p> + +<p>Tenebris did not follow them.</p> + +<p>One thing and only one his red eyes saw: On the +ground, not six feet away, rolled and moaned a +man. The man was down. He was helpless. Tenebris +charged.</p> + +<p>A bull plunging at a near-by object shuts both +eyes. A cow does not. Which may—or may not—explain +the Spanish theory that bullfights are +safer than cow-fights. To this eye-closing trait +many a hard-pressed matador has owed his life.</p> + +<p>Tenebris, both eyes screwed shut, hurled his +2000-pound bulk at the prostrate groom. Head +down, nose in, short horns on a level with the +earth and barely clearing it, he made his rush.</p> + +<p>But at the very first step he became aware that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +something was amiss with his pleasantly anticipated +charge. It did not follow specifications or +precedent.</p> + +<p>All because a heavy something had flung its +weight against the side of his lowered head, and a +new and unbearable pain was torturing his blood-filled +nostrils.</p> + +<p>Tenebris swerved. He veered to one side, +throwing up his head to clear it of this unseen torment.</p> + +<p>As a result, the half-lifted horns grazed the +fallen man. The pointed hoofs missed him altogether. +At the same moment the weight was gone +from against the bull's head, and the throbbing stab +from his nostrils.</p> + +<p>Pausing uncertainly, Tenebris opened his eyes +and glared about him. A yard or two away a +shaggy dog was rising from the tumble caused by +the jerky uptossing of the bull's head.</p> + +<p>Now, were this a fiction yarn, it would be interesting +to devise reasons why Lad should have flown +to the rescue of a human whom he loathed, and +arrayed himself against a fellow-beast toward +which he felt no hatred at all.</p> + +<p>To dogs all men are gods. And perhaps Lad +felt the urge of saving even a detested god from +the onslaught of a beast. Or perhaps not. One can +go only by the facts. And the facts were that the +collie had checked himself in the reluctant journey<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +toward the Mistress and had gone to his foe's +defense.</p> + +<p>With a flash of speed astonishing in so large and +sedate a dog, he had flown at the bull in time—in +the barest time—to grip the torn nostrils and +turn the whirlwind charge.</p> + +<p>And now Tenebris shifted his baleful glare from +the advancing dog to the howling man. The dog +could wait. The bull's immediate pleasure and purpose +were to kill the man.</p> + +<p>He lowered his head again. But before he could +launch his enormous bulk into full motion—before +he could shut his eyes—the dog was between him +and his quarry.</p> + +<p>In one spring Lad was at the bull's nose. And +again his white eye teeth slashed the ragged nostrils. +Tenebris halted his own incipient rush and strove +to pin the collie to the ground. It would have been +as easy to pin a whizzing hornet.</p> + +<p>Tenebris thrust at the clinging dog, once more +seeking to smash Lad against the sod with his battering-ram +forehead and his short horns. But Lad +was not there. Instead, he was to the left, his +body clean out of danger, his teeth in the bull's left +ear.</p> + +<p>A lunge of the tortured head sent Lad rolling +over and over. But by the time he stopped rolling +he was on his feet again. Not only on his feet, +but back to the assault. Back, before his unwieldy +foe could gauge the distance for another rush at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +man. And a keen nip in the bleeding nostrils balked +still one more charge.</p> + +<p>The bull, snorting with rage, suddenly changed +his plan of campaign. Apparently his first ideas +had been wrong. It was the man who could wait, +and the dog that must be gotten out of the way.</p> + +<p>Tenebris wheeled and made an express-train rush +at Lad. The collie turned and fled. He did not flee +with tail down, as befits a beaten dog. Brush wavingly +aloft, he gamboled along at top speed, just +a stride or two ahead of the pursuing bull. He +even looked back encouragingly over his shoulder +as he went.</p> + +<p>Lad was having a beautiful time. Seldom had +he been so riotously happy. All the pent-up mischief +in his soul was having a glorious airing.</p> + +<p>The bull's blind charge was short, as a bull's +charge always is. When Tenebris opened his eyes +he saw the dog, not ten feet in front of him, scampering +for dear life toward the river. And again +Tenebris charged.</p> + +<p>Three such charges, one after another, brought +pursuer and pursued to within a hundred feet of +the water.</p> + +<p>Tenebris was not used to running. He was getting +winded. He came to a wavering standstill, +snorting loudly and pawing up great lumps of sod.</p> + +<p>But he had not stood thus longer than a second +before Lad was at him. Burnished shaggy coat +a-bristle, tail delightedly wagging, the dog bounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +forward. He set up an ear-splitting fanfare of +barking.</p> + +<p>Round and round the bull he whirled, never letting +up on that deafening volley of barks; nipping +now at ears, now at nose, now at heels; dodging +in and out under the giant's clumsy body; easily +avoiding the bewilderingly awkward kicks and +lunges of his enemy. Then, forefeet crouching and +muzzle close to the ground, like a playful puppy, +he waved his plumed tail violently and, in a new +succession of barks, wooed his adversary to the +attack.</p> + +<p>It was a pretty sight. And it set Tenebris into +active motion at once.</p> + +<p>The bull doubtless thought he himself was doing +the driving, by means of his panting rushes, and +by his lurches to one side or another to keep away +from the dog's sharp bites. But he was not. It +was Lad who chose the direction in which they +went. And he chose it deliberately.</p> + +<p>Presently the two were but fifteen feet away +from the river, at a point where the bank shelved, +cliff-like, for two or three yards, down to a wide +pool.</p> + +<p>Feinting for the nose, Lad induced Tenebris to +lower his tired head. Then he sprang lightly over +the threatening horns, and landed, a-scramble, with +all four feet, on the bull's broad shoulders.</p> + +<p>Scurrying along the heaving back, the dog nipped +Tenebris on the hip, and dropped to earth again.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> + +<p>The insult, the fresh pain, the astonishment combined +to make Tenebris forget his weariness. Beside +himself with maniac wrath, he shut both eyes and +launched himself forward. Lad slipped, eel-like, +to one side. Carried by his own blind momentum, +Tenebris shot over the bank edge.</p> + +<p>Too late the bull looked. Half sliding, half +scrambling, he crashed down the steep sides of the +bank and into the river.</p> + +<p>Lad, tongue out, jogged over to the top of the +bank, where, with head to one side and ears cocked, +he gazed interestedly down into the wildly churned +pool.</p> + +<p>Tenebris had gotten to his feet after the ducking; +and he was floundering pastern-deep in stickily soft +mud. So tightly bogged down that it later took +the efforts of six farm-hands to extricate him, the +bull continued to flounder and to bellow.</p> + +<p>A stream of people were running down the +meadow toward the river. Lad hated crowds. He +made a loping detour of the nearest runners and +sought to regain the spot where last he had seen +the Mistress and Master. Also, if his luck held +good, he might have still another bout with the man +he had once treed. Which would be an ideal climax +to a perfect day.</p> + +<p>He found all the objects of his quest together. +The groom, hysterical, was swaying on his feet, supported +by Glure.</p> + +<p>At sight of the advancing collie the bitten man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +cried aloud in fear and clutched his employer for +protection.</p> + +<p>"Take him away, sir!" he babbled in mortal +terror. "He'll kill me! He hates me, the ugly +hairy devil! He <i>hates</i> me. He tried to kill me +once before! He——"</p> + +<p>"H'm!" mused the Master. "So he tried to kill +you once before, eh? Aren't you mistaken?"</p> + +<p>"No, I ain't!" wept the man. "I'd know him in +a million! That's why he went for me again to-day. +He remembered me. I seen he did. That's no dog. +It's a <i>devil!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Glure," asked the Master, a light dawning, +"when this chap applied to you for work, did he +wear grayish tweed trousers? And were they in +bad shape?"</p> + +<p>"His trousers were in rags," said Glure. "I remember +that. He said a savage dog had jumped +into the road from a farmhouse somewhere and +gone for him. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Those trousers," answered the Master, "weren't +entire strangers to you. You'd seen the missing +parts of them—on a tree and on the ground near it, +at The Place. Your 'treasure' is the harness thief +Lad treed the day you came to see me. So——"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" fumed Glure. "Why, how absurd! +He——"</p> + +<p>"I hadn't stolen nothing!" blubbered the man. "I +was coming cross-lots to a stable to ask for work.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +And the brute went for me. I had to run up a +tree and——"</p> + +<p>"And it didn't occur to you to shout for help?" +sweetly urged the Master. "I was within call. So +was Mr. Glure. So was at least one of my men. +An honest seeker for work needn't have been afraid +to halloo. A thief would have been afraid to. In +fact, a thief <i>was!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Get out of here, you!" roared Glure, convinced +at last. "You measly sneak thief! Get out or I'll +have you jailed! You're an imposter! A pan-handler! +A——"</p> + +<p>The thief waited to hear no more. With an apprehensive +glance to see that Lad was firmly held, +he bolted for the road.</p> + +<p>"Thanks for telling me," said Glure. "He might +have stolen everything at Glure Towers if I hadn't +found out. He——"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He might even have stolen more than +the cost of our non-utilitarian Lad's keep," unkindly +suggested the Master. "For that matter, if it hadn't +been for a non-utilitarian dog, that mad bull's horns, +instead of his nostrils, would be red by this time. +At least one man would have been killed. Perhaps +more. So, after all——"</p> + +<p>He stopped. The Mistress was tugging surreptitiously +at his sleeve. The Master, in obedience to +his wife's signal, stepped aside, to light a cigar.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't say any more, dear, if I were you," +the Mistress was whispering. "You see, if it hadn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> +been for Lad, the bull would never have broken +loose in the first place. By another half-hour that +fact may dawn on Mr. Glure, if you keep rubbing +it in. Let's go over to the grand stand. Come, +Lad!"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br /> +THE KILLER</h2> + + +<p>One of the jolliest minutes in Lad's daily +cross-country tramp with the Mistress and +the Master was his dash up Mount Pisgah. +This "mount" was little more than a foothill. It +was treeless, and covered with short grass and mullein; +a slope where no crop but buckwheat could +be expected to thrive. It rose out of the adjoining +mountain forests in a long and sweeping ascent.</p> + +<p>Here, with no trees or undergrowth to impede +him, Lad, from puppyhood, had ordained a racecourse +of his own. As he neared the hill he would +always dash forward at top speed; flying up the +rise like a tawny whirlwind, at unabated pace, until +he stopped, panting and gloriously excited, on the +summit; to await his slower-moving human escorts.</p> + +<p>One morning in early summer, Lad, as usual, +bounded ahead of the Mistress and the Master, as +they drew near to the treeless "mount." And, as +ever, he rushed gleefully forward for his daily +breather, up the long slope. But, before he had +gone fifty yards, he came to a scurrying halt, and +stood at gaze. His back was bristling and his lips<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +curled back from his white teeth in sudden annoyance.</p> + +<p>His keen nostrils, even before his eyes, told him +something was amiss with his cherished race-track. +The eddying shift of the breeze, from west to north, +had brought to his nose the odor which had checked +his onrush; an odor that wakened all sorts of +vaguely formless memories far back in Lad's brain; +and which he did not at all care for.</p> + +<p>Scent is ten times stronger, to a dog, than is +sight. The best dog is near sighted. And the +worst dog has a magic sense of smell. Wherefore, +a dog almost always uses his nose first and his eyes +last. Which Lad now proceeded to do.</p> + +<p>Above him was the pale green hillside, up which +he loved to gallop. But its surface was no longer +smoothly unencumbered. Instead, it was dotted +and starred—singly or in groups—with fluffy grayish-white +creatures.</p> + +<p>Lad was almost abreast of the lowest group of +sheep when he paused. Several of the feeding +animals lifted their heads, snortingly, from the short +herbage, at sight of him; and fled up the hill. The +rest of the flock joined them in the silly stampede.</p> + +<p>The dog made no move to follow. Instead, his +forehead creased and his eyes troubled, he stared +after the gray-white surge that swept upward toward +the summit of his favored coursing ground. +The Mistress and the Master, too, at sight of the +woolly avalanche, stopped and stared.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> + +<p>From over the brow of Mount Pisgah appeared +the non-picturesque figure of a man in blue denim +overalls—one Titus Romaine, owner of the sparse-grassed +hill. Drawn by the noisy multiple patter +of his flock's hoofs, he emerged from under a hilltop +boulder's shade; to learn the cause of their +flight.</p> + +<p>Now, in all his life, Lad had seen sheep just once +before. That one exception had been when Hamilcar +Q. Glure, "the Wall Street Farmer," had corralled +a little herd of his prize Merinos, overnight, +at The Place, on the way to the Paterson Livestock +Show. On that occasion, the sheep had broken from +the corral, and Lad, acting on ancestral instinct, +had rounded them up, without injuring or scaring +one of them.</p> + +<p>The memory was not pleasing to Lad, and he +wanted nothing more to do with such stupid creatures. +Indeed, as he looked now upon the sheep +that were obstructing his run, he felt a distinct aversion +to them. Whining a little, he trotted back to +where stood the Mistress and the Master. And, as +they waited, Titus Romaine bore wrathfully down +upon them.</p> + +<p>"I've been expectin' something like that!" announced +the land-owner. "Ever since I turned +these critters out here, this mornin'. I ain't surprised +a bit. I——"</p> + +<p>"What is it you've been expecting, Romaine?" +asked the Master. "And how long have you been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> +a sheep-raiser? A sheep, here in the North Jersey +hinterland, is as rare as——"</p> + +<p>"I been expectin' some savage dog would be +runnin' 'em," retorted the farmer. "Just like I've +read they do. An' now I've caught him at it!"</p> + +<p>"Caught <i>whom?</i>—at <i>what?</i>" queried the perplexed +Mistress; failing to note the man's baleful +glower at the contemptuous Lad.</p> + +<p>"That big ugly brute of your'n, of course," declared +Romaine. "I caught him, red-handed, runnin' +my sheep. He——"</p> + +<p>"Lad did nothing of the kind," denied the Mistress. +"The instant he caught sight of them he +stopped running. Lad wouldn't hurt anything that +is weak and helpless. Your sheep saw him and they +ran away. He didn't follow them an inch."</p> + +<p>"I seen what I seen," cryptically answered the +man. "An' I give you fair warnin', if any of my +sheep is killed, I'll know right where to come to look +for the killer."</p> + +<p>"If you mean Lad——" began the Master, hotly.</p> + +<p>But the Mistress intervened.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you have decided to raise sheep, Mr. +Romaine," she said. "Everyone ought to, who can. +I read, only the other day, that America is using +up more sheep than it can breed; and that the price +of fodder and the scarcity of pasture were doing +terrible things to the mutton-and-wool supply. I +hope you'll have all sorts of good luck. And you +are wise to watch your sheep so closely. But don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +be afraid of Lad harming any of them. He +wouldn't, for worlds, I know. Because I know +Lad. Come along, Laddie!" she finished, as she +turned to go away.</p> + +<p>But Titus Romaine stopped her.</p> + +<p>"I've put a sight of money into this flock of +sheep," he declared. "More'n I could reely afford. +An' I've been readin' up on sheep, too. I've been +readin' that the worst en'my to sheep is 'pred'tory +dogs.' An' if that big dog of your'n ain't 'pred'tory,' +then I never seen one that was. So I'm +warnin' you, fair——"</p> + +<p>"If your sheep come to any harm, Mr. Romaine," +returned the Mistress, again forestalling an untactful +outbreak from her husband, "I'll guarantee Lad +will have nothing to do with it."</p> + +<p>"An' I'll guarantee to have him shot an' have +you folks up in court, if he does," chivalrously +retorted Mr. Titus Romaine.</p> + +<p>With which exchange of goodfellowship, the +two groups parted, Romaine returning to his scattered +sheep, while the Mistress, Lad at her heels, +lured the Master away from the field of encounter. +The Master was fuming.</p> + +<p>"Here's where good old Mr. Trouble drops in on +us for a nice long visit!" he grumbled, as they +moved homeward. "I can see how it is going to +turn out. Because a few stray curs have chased +or killed sheep, now and then, every decent dog +is under suspicion as a sheep-killer. If one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +Romaine's wethers gets a scratch on its leg, from +a bramble, Lad will be blamed. If one of the mongrels +from over in the village should chase his +sheep, Lad will be accused. And we'll be in the +first 'neighborhood squabble' of our lives."</p> + +<p>The Master spoke with a pessimism his wife +did not share, and which he, himself, did not really +believe. The folk at The Place had always lived +in goodfellowship and peace with their few rural +neighbors, as well as with the several hundred inhabitants +of the mile-distant village, across the +lake. And, though livestock is the foundation of +ninety rustic feuds out of ninety-one, the dogs of +The Place had never involved their owners in any +such row.</p> + +<p>Yet, barely three days later, Titus Romaine bore +down upon The Place, before breakfast, breathing +threatenings and complaining of slaughter.</p> + +<p>He was waiting on the veranda in blasphemous +converse with The Place's foreman, when the Master +came out. At Titus's heels stood his "hired +man"—a huge and sullen person named Schwartz, +who possessed a scarce-conquered accent that fitted +the name.</p> + +<p>"Well!" orated Romaine, in glum greeting, as he +sighted the Master. "Well, I guessed right! He +done it, after all! He done it. We all but caught +him, red-handed. Got away with four of my best +sheep! Four of 'em. The cur!"</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about?" demanded the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +Master, as the Mistress, drawn by the visitor's plangent +tones, joined the veranda-group. "'Bout that +ugly big dog of your'n!" answered Romaine. "I +knew what he'd do, if he got the chance. I knew +it, when I saw him runnin' my poor sheep, last +week. I warned you then. The two of you. An' +now he's done it!"</p> + +<p>"Done what?" insisted the Master, impatient of +the man's noise and fury.</p> + +<p>"What dog?" asked the Mistress, at the same +time.</p> + +<p>"Are you talking about Lad? If you are——"</p> + +<p>"I'm talkin' about your big brown collie cur!" +snorted Titus. "He's gone an' killed four of my +best sheep. Did it in the night an' early this mornin'. +My man here caught him at the last of 'em, +an' drove him off, just as he was finishin' the poor +critter. He got away with the rest of 'em."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" denied the Master. "You're talking +rot. Lad wouldn't touch a sheep. And——"</p> + +<p>"That's what all folks say when their dogs or +their children is charged with doin' wrong!" scoffed +Romaine. "But this time it won't do no good +to——"</p> + +<p>"You say this happened last night?" interposed +the Mistress.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it did. Last night an' early in the mornin', +too. Schwartz, here——"</p> + +<p>"But Lad sleeps in the house, every night," objected +the Mistress. "He sleeps under the piano,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +in the music room. He has slept there every night +since he was a puppy. The maid who dusts the +downstairs rooms before breakfast lets him out, +when she begins work. So he——"</p> + +<p>"Bolster it up any way you like!" broke in Romaine. +"He was out last night, all right. An' early +this morning, too."</p> + +<p>"How early?" questioned the Master.</p> + +<p>"Five o'clock," volunteered Schwartz, speaking +up, from behind his employer. "I know, because +that's the time I get up. I went out, first thing, +to open the barnyard gate and drive the sheep to +the pasture. First thing I saw was that big dog +growling over a sheep he'd just killed. He saw +me, and he wiggled out through the barnyard bars—same +way he had got in. Then I counted the +sheep. One was dead,—the one he had just killed—and +three were gone. We've been looking for their +bodies ever since, and we can't find them."</p> + +<p>"I suppose Lad swallowed them," ironically put +in The Place's foreman. "That makes about as +much sense as the rest of the yarn. The Old Dog +would no sooner——"</p> + +<p>"Do you really mean to say you saw Lad—saw +and <i>recognized</i> him—in Mr. Titus's barnyard, +growling over a sheep he had just killed?" demanded +the Mistress.</p> + +<p>"I sure do," affirmed Schwartz. "And I——"</p> + +<p>"An' he's ready to go on th' stand an' take oath +to it!" supplemented Titus. "Unless you'll pay me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +the damages out of court. Them sheep cost me +exac'ly $12.10 a head, in the Pat'son market, one +week ago. An' sheep on the hoof has gone up a +full forty cents more since then. You owe me for +them four sheep exac'ly——"</p> + +<p>"I owe you not one red cent!" denied the Master. +"I hate law worse than I hate measles. But I'll +fight that idiotic claim all the way up to the Appellate +Division before I'll——"</p> + +<p>The Mistress lifted a little silver whistle that +hung at her belt and blew it. An instant later +Lad came galloping gaily up the lawn from the lake, +adrip with water from his morning swim. Straight, +at the Mistress' summons, he came, and stood, expectant, +in front of her, oblivious of others.</p> + +<p>The great dog's mahogany-and-snow coat shone +wetly in the sunshine. Every line of his splendid +body was tense. His eyes looked up into the face +of the loved Mistress in eager anticipation. For +a whistle-call usually involved some matter of more +than common interest.</p> + +<p>"That's the dog!" cried Schwartz, his thick voice +betraying a shade more of its half-lost German +accent, in the excitement of the minute. "That's the +one. He has washed off the blood. But that is +the one. I could know him anywhere at all. And +I knew him, already. And Mr. Romaine told me +to be looking out for him, about the sheep, too. +So I——"</p> + +<p>The Master had bent over Lad, examining the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +dog's mouth. "Not a trace of blood or of wool!" +he announced. "And look how he faces us! If +he had anything to be ashamed of——"</p> + +<p>"I got a witness to prove he killed my sheep," +cut in Romaine. "Since you won't be honest +enough to square the case out of court, then the +law'll take a tuck in your wallet for you. The law +will look after a poor man's int'rest. I don't wonder +there's folks who want all dogs done 'way with. +Pesky curs! Here, the papers say we are short on +sheep, an' they beg us to raise 'em, because mutton +is worth double what it used to be, in open market. +Then, when I buy sheep, on that sayso, your dog +gets four of 'em the very first week. Think what +them four sheep would 'a meant to——"</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry you lost them," the Master interrupted. +"Mighty sorry. And I'm still sorrier if +there is a sheep-killing dog at large anywhere in +this region. But Lad never——"</p> + +<p>"I tell ye, he <i>did!</i>" stormed Titus. "I got proof +of it. Proof good enough for any court. An' the +court is goin' to see me righted. It's goin' to do +more. It's goin' to make you shoot that killer, +there, too. I know the law. I looked it up. An' +the law says if a sheep-killin' dog——"</p> + +<p>"Lad is not a sheep-killing dog!" flashed the Mistress.</p> + +<p>"That's what he is!" snarled Romaine. "An', +by law, he'll be shot as sech. He——"</p> + +<p>"Take your case to law, then!" retorted the Mas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>ter, +whose last shred of patience went by the board, +at the threat. "And take it and yourself off my +Place! Lad doesn't 'run' sheep. But, at the word +from me, he'll ask nothing better than to 'run' you +and your German every step of the way to your own +woodshed. Clear out!"</p> + +<p>He and the Mistress watched the two irately +mumbling intruders plod out of sight up the drive. +Lad, at the Master's side, viewed the accusers' departure +with sharp interest. Schooled in reading +the human voice, he had listened alertly to the +Master's speech of dismissal. And, as the dog +listened, his teeth had come slowly into view from +beneath a menacingly upcurled lip. His eyes, half +shut, had been fixed on Titus with an expression +that was not pretty.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" sighed the Mistress miserably, as +she and her husband turned indoors and made their +way toward the breakfast room. "You were right +about 'good old Mr. Trouble dropping in on us.' +Isn't it horrible? But it makes my blood boil to +think of Laddie being accused of such a thing. +It is crazily absurd, of course. But——"</p> + +<p>"Absurd?" the Master caught her up. "It's the +most absurd thing I ever heard of. If it was +about any other dog than Lad, it would be good +for a laugh. I mean, Romaine's charge of the +dog's doing away with no less than four sheep +and not leaving a trace of more than one of them. +That, alone, would get his case laughed out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +court. I remember, once in Scotland, I was stopping +with some people whose shepherd complained +that three of the sheep had fallen victim to a +'killer.' We all went up to the moor-pasture to +look at them. They weren't a pretty sight, but +they were all <i>there</i>. A dog doesn't devour a sheep +he kills. He doesn't even lug it away. Instead, he +just——"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you'd rather describe it <i>after</i> breakfast," +suggested the Mistress, hurriedly. "This +wretched business has taken away all of my appetite +that I can comfortably spare."</p> + +<p>At about mid-morning of the next day, the +Master was summoned to the telephone.</p> + +<p>"This is Maclay," said the voice at the far end.</p> + +<p>"Why, hello, Mac!" responded the Master, +mildly wondering why his old fishing-crony, the +village's local Peace Justice, should be calling him +up at such an hour. "If you're going to tell me +this is a good day for small-mouth bass to bite I'm +going to tell you it isn't. It isn't because I'm up +to my neck in work. Besides, it's too late for the +morning fishing, and too early for the bass to get +up their afternoon appetites. So don't try to tempt +me into——"</p> + +<p>"Hold on!" broke in Maclay. "I'm not calling +you up for that. I'm calling up on business; rotten +unpleasant business, too."</p> + +<p>"What's wrong?" asked the Master.</p> + +<p>"I'm hoping Titus Romaine is," said the Justice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +"He's just been here—with his North Prussian +hired man as witness—to make a complaint about +your dog, Lad. Yes, and to get a court order to +have the old fellow shot, too."</p> + +<p>"What!" sputtered the Master. "He hasn't +actually——"</p> + +<p>"That's just what he's done," said Maclay. "He +claims Lad killed four of his new sheep night before +last, and four more of them this morning or +last night. Schwartz swears he caught Lad at the +last of the killed sheep both times. It's hard luck, +old man, and I feel as bad about it as if it were +my own dog. You know how strong I am for +Lad. He's the greatest collie I've known, but the +law is clear in such——"</p> + +<p>"You speak as if you thought Lad was guilty!" +flamed the Master. "You ought to know better +than that. He——"</p> + +<p>"Schwartz tells a straight story," answered +Maclay, sadly, "and he tells it under oath. He +swears he recognized Lad first time. He says he +volunteered to watch in the barnyard last night. +He had had a hard day's work and he fell asleep +while he was on watch. He says he woke up in +gray dawn to find the whole flock in a turmoil, and +Lad pinning one of the sheep to the ground. He +had already killed three. Schwartz drove him +away. Three of the sheep were missing. One Lad +had just downed was dying. Romaine swears he +saw Lad 'running' his sheep last week. It——"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What did you do about the case?" asked the +dazed Master.</p> + +<p>"I told them to be at the courtroom at three this +afternoon with the bodies of the two dead sheep +that aren't missing, and that I'd notify you to be +there, too."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll be there!" snapped the Master. "Don't +worry. And it was decent of you to make them +wait. The whole thing is ridiculous! It——"</p> + +<p>"Of course," went on Maclay, "either side can +easily appeal from any decision I make. That is +as regards damages. But, by the township's new +sheep-laws, I'm sorry to say there isn't any appeal +from the local Justice's decree that a sheep-killing +dog must be shot at once. The law leaves me no +option if I consider a dog guilty of sheep-killing. +I have to order such a dog put to death at once. +That's what's making me so blue. I'd rather lose +a year's pay than have to order old Lad killed."</p> + +<p>"You won't have to," declared the Master, +stoutly; albeit he was beginning to feel a nasty +sinking in the vicinity of his stomach.</p> + +<p>"We'll manage to prove him innocent. I'll stake +anything you like on that."</p> + +<p>"Talk the case over with Dick Colfax or any +other good lawyer before three o'clock," suggested +Maclay. "There may be a legal loophole out of +the muddle. I hope to the Lord there is."</p> + +<p>"We're not going to crawl out through any +'loopholes,' Lad and I," returned the Master.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +"We're going to come through, <i>clean</i>. See if we +don't!"</p> + +<p>Leaving the telephone, he went in search of the +Mistress, and more and more disheartened told her +the story.</p> + +<p>"The worst of it is," he finished, "Romaine and +Schwartz seem to have made Maclay believe their +fool yarn."</p> + +<p>"That is because they believe it, themselves," said +the Mistress, "and because, just as soon as even +the most sensible man is made a Judge, he seems +to lose all his common sense and intuition and become +nothing but a walking statute-book. But +you—you think for a moment, do you, that they +can persuade Judge Maclay to have Lad shot?"</p> + +<p>She spoke with a little quiver in her sweet voice +that roused all the Master's fighting spirit.</p> + +<p>"This Place is going to be in a state of siege +against the entire law and militia of New Jersey," +he announced, "before one bullet goes into Lad. +You can put your mind to rest on that. But that +isn't enough. I want to <i>clear</i> him. In these days +of 'conservation' and scarcity, it is a grave offense +to destroy any meat-animal. And the loss of eight +sheep in two days—in a district where there has +been such an effort made to revive sheep raising——"</p> + +<p>"Didn't you say they claim the second lot of +sheep were killed in the night and at dawn, just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +as they said the first were?" interposed the Mistress.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes. But——"</p> + +<p>"Then," said the Mistress, much more comfortably, +"we can prove Lad's alibi just as I said yesterday +we could. Marie always lets him out in +the morning when she comes downstairs to dust these +lower rooms. She's never down before six o'clock; +and the sun, nowadays, rises long before that. +Schwartz says he saw Lad both times in the early +dawn. We can prove, by Marie, that Lad was safe +here in the house till long after sunrise."</p> + +<p>Her worried frown gave way to a smile of positive +inspiration. The Master's own darkling face +cleared.</p> + +<p>"Good!" he approved. "I think that cinches it. +Marie's been with us for years. Her word is certainly +as good as a Boche farmhand's. Even +Maclay's 'judicial temperament' will have to admit +that. Send her in here, won't you?"</p> + +<p>When the maid appeared at the door of the +study a minute later, the Master opened the examination +with the solemn air of a legal veteran.</p> + +<p>"You are the first person down here in the mornings, +aren't you, Marie?" he began.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, sir," replied the wondering maid. +"Yes, always, except when you get up early to go +fishing or when——"</p> + +<p>"What time do you get down here in the mornings," +pursued the Master.</p> + +<p>"Along about six o'clock, sir, mostly," said the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +maid, bridling a bit as if scenting a criticism of +her work-hours.</p> + +<p>"Not earlier than six?" asked the Master.</p> + +<p>"No, sir," said Marie, uncomfortably. "Of +course, if that's not early enough, I suppose I +could——"</p> + +<p>"It's quite early enough," vouchsafed the Master. +"There is no complaint about your hours. You always +let Lad out as soon as you come into the +music room?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," she answered, "as soon as I get downstairs. +Those were the orders, you remember."</p> + +<p>The Master breathed a silent sigh of relief. The +maid did not get downstairs until six. The dog, +then, could not get out of the house until that +hour. If Schwartz had seen any dog in the Romaine +barnyard at daybreak, it assuredly was not +Lad. Yet, racking his brain, the Master could not +recall any other dog in the vicinity that bore even +the faintest semblance to his giant collie. And +he fell to recalling—from his happy memories of +"<i>Bob, Son of Battle</i>"—that "Killers" often travel +many miles from home to sate their mania for +sheep-slaying.</p> + +<p>In any event, it was no concern of his if some +distant collie, drawn to the slaughter by the queer +"sixth" collie-sense, was killing Romaine's new +flock of sheep. Lad was cleared. The maid's very +evidently true testimony settled that point.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," rambled on Marie, beginning to take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +a faint interest in the examination now that it +turned upon Lad whom she loved. "Yes, sir, +Laddie always comes out from under his piano the +minute he hears my step in the hall outside. And +he always comes right up to me and wags that big +plume of a tail of his, and falls into step alongside +of me and walks over to the front door, right beside +me all the way. He knows as much as many +a human, that dog does, sir."</p> + +<p>Encouraged by the Master's approving nod, the +maid ventured to enlarge still further upon the +theme.</p> + +<p>"It always seems as if he was welcoming me +downstairs, like," she resumed, "and glad to see +me. I've really missed him quite bad this past few +mornings." The approving look on the Master's +face gave way to a glare of utter blankness.</p> + +<p>"This past few mornings?" he repeated, blitheringly. +"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Why," she returned, flustered afresh by the +quick change in her interlocutor's manner. "Ever +since those French windows are left open for the +night—same as they always are when the hot +weather starts in, you know, sir. Since then, +Laddie don't wait for me to let him out. When +he wakes up he just goes out himself. He used +to do that last year, too, sir. He——"</p> + +<p>"Thanks," muttered the Master, dizzily. "That's +all. Thanks."</p> + +<p>Left alone, he sat slumped low in his chair, try<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>ing +to think. He was as calmly convinced as ever +of his dog's innocence, but he had staked everything +on Marie's court testimony. And, now, that +testimony was rendered worse than worthless.</p> + +<p>Crankily he cursed his own fresh-air mania +which had decreed that the long windows on the +ground floor be left open on summer nights. With +Lad on duty, the house was as safe from successful +burglary in spite of these open windows, as if +guarded by a squad of special policemen. And the +night-air, sweeping through, kept it pleasantly cool +against the next day's heat. For this same coolness, +a heavy price was now due.</p> + +<p>Presently the daze of disappointment passed +leaving the Master pulsing with a wholesome fighting-anger. +Rapidly he revised his defense and, +with the Mistress' far cleverer aid, made ready for +the afternoon's ordeal. He scouted Maclay's suggestion +of hiring counsel and vowed to handle the +defense himself. Carefully he and his wife went +over their proposed line of action.</p> + +<p>Peace Justice Maclay's court was held daily in +a rambling room on an upper floor of the village's +Odd Fellows' Hall. The proceedings there were +generally marked by shrewd sanity rather than by +any effort at formalism. Maclay, himself, sat at +a battered little desk at the room's far end; his +clerk using a corner of the same desk for the +scribbling of his sketchy notes.</p> + +<p>In front of the desk was a rather long deal table<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +with kitchen chairs around it. Here, plaintiffs and +defendants and prisoners and witnesses and lawyers +were wont to sit, with no order of precedent +or of other formality. Several other chairs were +ranged irregularly along the wall to accommodate +any overflow of the table's occupants.</p> + +<p>Promptly at three o'clock that afternoon, the +Mistress and the Master entered the courtroom. +Close at the Mistress' side—though held by no +leash—paced Lad. Maclay and Romaine and +Schwartz were already on hand. So were the clerk +and the constable and one or two idle spectators. +At a corner of the room, wrapped in burlap, were +huddled the bodies of the two slain sheep.</p> + +<p>Lad caught the scent of the victims the instant +he set foot in the room, and he sniffed vibrantly +once or twice. Titus Romaine, his eyes fixed +scowlingly on the dog, noted this, and he nudged +Schwartz in the ribs to call the German's attention +to it.</p> + +<p>Lad turned aside in fastidious disgust from the +bumpy burlap bundle. Seeing the Judge and recognizing +him as an old acquaintance, the collie wagged +his plumed tail in gravely friendly greeting and +stepped forward for a pat on the head.</p> + +<p>"Lad!" called the Mistress, softly.</p> + +<p>At the word the dog paused midway to the embarrassed +Maclay's desk and obediently turned +back. The constable was drawing up a chair at +the deal table for the Mistress. Lad curled down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +beside her, resting one snowy little forepaw protectingly +on her slippered foot. And the hearing +began.</p> + +<p>Romaine repeated his account of the collie's +alleged depredations, starting with Lad's first view +of the sheep. Schwartz methodically retold his +own story of twice witnessing the killing of sheep +by the dog.</p> + +<p>The Master did not interrupt either narrative, +though, on later questioning he forced the sulkily +truthful Romaine to admit he had not actually seen +Lad chase the sheep-flock that morning on Mount +Pisgah, but had merely seen the sheep running, and +the dog standing at the hill-foot looking upward +at their scattering flight. Both the Mistress and +the Master swore that the dog on that occasion, had +made no move to pursue or otherwise harass the +sheep.</p> + +<p>Thus did Lad win one point in the case. But, +in view of the after-crimes wherewith he was +charged, the point was of decidedly trivial value. +Even if he had not attacked the flock on his first +view of them he was accused of killing no less than +eight of their number on two later encounters. +And Schwartz was an eye-witness to this—Schwartz, +whose testimony was as clear and as +simple as daylight.</p> + +<p>With a glance of apology at the Mistress, Judge +Maclay ordered the sheep-carcasses taken from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +their burlap cerements and laid on the table for +court-inspection.</p> + +<p>While he and Schwartz arranged the grisly exhibits +for the judge's view, Titus Romaine expatiated +loudly on the value of the murdered sheep +and on the brutally useless wastage in their slaying. +The Master said nothing, but he bent over +each of the sheep, carefully studying the throat-wounds. +At last he straightened himself up from +his task and broke in on Romaine's Antony-like +funeral-oration by saying quietly:</p> + +<p>"Your honor, these sheep's throats were not cut +by a dog. Neither by Lad nor by any 'killer.' Look +for yourself. I've seen dog-killed sheep. The +wounds were not at all like these."</p> + +<p>"Not killed by a dog, hey?" loudly scoffed +Romaine. "I s'pose they was chewed by lightnin', +then? Or, maybe they was bit by a skeeter? +Huh!"</p> + +<p>"They were not bitten at all," countered the +Master. "Still less, were they chewed. Look! +Those gashes are ragged enough, but they are as +straight as if they were made by a machine. If +ever you have seen a dog worry a piece of +meat——"</p> + +<p>"Rubbish!" grunted Titus. "You talk like a +fool! The sheeps' throats is torn. Schwartz seen +your cur tear 'em. That's all there is to it. +Whether he tore 'em straight or whether he tore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +'em crooked don't count in Law. He <i>tore</i> 'em. +An' I got a reli'ble witness to prove it."</p> + +<p>"Your Honor," said the Master, suddenly. "May +I interrogate the witness?"</p> + +<p>Maclay nodded. The Master turned to Schwartz, +who faced him in stolid composure.</p> + +<p>"Schwartz," began the Master, "you say it was +light enough for you to recognize the sheep-killing +dog both mornings in Romaine's barnyard. How +near to him did you get?"</p> + +<p>Schwartz pondered for a second, then made careful +answer:</p> + +<p>"First time, I ran into the barnyard from the +house side and your dog cut and run out of it from +the far side when he saw me making for him. +That time, I don't think I got within thirty feet +of him. But I was near enough to see him plain, +and I'd seen him often enough before on the road +or in your car; so I knew him all right. The next +time—this morning, Judge—I was within five feet +of him, or even nearer. For I was near enough to +hit him with the stick I'd just picked up and to +land a kick on his ribs as he started away. I saw +him then as plain as I see you. And nearer than +I am to you. And the light was 'most good enough +to read by, too."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" queried the Master. "If I remember +rightly you told Judge Maclay that you were on +watch last night in the cowshed, just alongside the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +barnyard where the sheep were; and you fell +asleep; and woke just in time to see a dog——"</p> + +<p>"To see your dog——" corrected Schwartz.</p> + +<p>"To see a dog growling over a squirming and +bleating sheep he had pulled down. How far away +from you was he when you awoke?"</p> + +<p>"Just outside the cowshed door. Not six feet +from me. I ups with the stick I had with me and +ran out at him and——"</p> + +<p>"Were he and the sheep making much noise?"</p> + +<p>"Between 'em they was making enough racket +to wake a dead man," replied Schwartz. "What +with your dog's snarling and growling, and the +poor sheep's bl'ats. And all the other sheep——"</p> + +<p>"Yet, you say he had killed three sheep while +you slept there—had killed them and carried or +dragged their bodies away and come back again; +and, presumably started a noisy panic in the flock +every time. And none of that racket waked you +until the fourth sheep was killed?"</p> + +<p>"I was dog-tired," declared Schwartz. "I'd been +at work in our south-mowing for ten hours the +day before, and up since five. Mr. Romaine can +tell you I'm a hard man to wake at best. I sleep +like the dead."</p> + +<p>"That's right!" assented Titus. "Time an' +again, I have to bang at his door an' holler myself +hoarse, before I can get him to open his eyes. My +wife says he's the sleepin'est sleeper——"</p> + +<p>"You ran out of the shed with your stick," re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>sumed +the Master, "and struck the dog before he +could get away? And as he turned to run you +kicked him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. That's what I did."</p> + +<p>"How hard did you hit him?"</p> + +<p>"A pretty good lick," answered Schwartz, with +reminiscent satisfaction. "Then I——"</p> + +<p>"And when you hit him he slunk away like a +whipped cur? He made no move to resent it? I +mean, he did not try to attack you?"</p> + +<p>"Not him!" asserted Schwartz, "I guess he was +glad enough to get out of reach. He slunk away +so fast, I hardly had a chance to land fair on him, +when I kicked."</p> + +<p>"Here is my riding-crop," said the Master. +"Take it, please, and strike Lad with it just as you +struck him—or the sheep-killing dog—with your +stick. Just as hard. Lad has never been struck +except once, unjustly, by me, years ago. He has +never needed it. But if he would slink away like +a whipped mongrel when a stranger hits him, the +sooner he is beaten to death the better. Hit him +exactly as you hit him this morning."</p> + +<p>Judge Maclay half-opened his lips to protest. +He knew the love of the people of The Place for +Lad, and he wondered at this invitation to a farmhand +to thrash the dog publicly. He glanced at +the Mistress. Her face was calm, even a little +amused. Evidently the Master's request did not +horrify or surprise her.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> + +<p>Schwartz's stubby fingers gripped the crop the +Master forced into his hand.</p> + +<p>With true Teutonic relish for pain-inflicting, he +swung the weapon aloft and took a step toward +the lazily recumbent collie, striking with all his +strength.</p> + +<p>Then, with much-increased speed, Schwartz took +three steps backward. For, at the menace, Lad had +leaped to his feet with the speed of a fighting +wolf, eluding the descending crop as it swished +past him and launching himself straight for the +wielder's throat. He did not growl; he did not +pause. He merely sprang for his assailant with a +deadly ferocity that brought a cry from Maclay.</p> + +<p>The Master caught the huge dog midway in his +throatward flight.</p> + +<p>"Down, Lad!" he ordered, gently.</p> + +<p>The collie, obedient to the word, stretched himself +on the floor at the Mistress' feet. But he kept +a watchful and right unloving eye on the man who +had struck at him.</p> + +<p>"It's a bit odd, isn't it," suggested the Master, +"that he went for you, like that, just now; when, +this morning, he slunk away from your blow, in +cringing fear?"</p> + +<p>"Why wouldn't he?" growled Schwartz, his +stolid nerve shaken by the unexpected onslaught. +"His folks are here to back him up, and everything. +Why wouldn't he go for me! He was +slinky enough when I whaled him, this morning."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> + +<p>"H'm!" mused the Master. "You hit a strong +blow, Schwartz. I'll say that, for you. You +missed Lad, with my crop. But you've split the +crop. And you scored a visible mark on the +wooden floor with it. Did you hit as hard as that +when you struck the sheep-killer, this morning?"</p> + +<p>"A sight harder," responded Schwartz. "My +mad was up. I——"</p> + +<p>"A dog's skin is softer than a pine floor," said +the Master. "Your Honor, such a blow would +have raised a weal on Lad's flesh, an inch high. +Would your Honor mind passing your hand over +his body and trying to locate such a weal?"</p> + +<p>"This is all outside the p'int!" raged the annoyed +Titus Romaine. "You're a-dodgin' the issue, I tell +ye. I——"</p> + +<p>"If your Honor please!" insisted the Master.</p> + +<p>The judge left his desk and whistled Lad across +to him. The dog looked at his Master, doubtfully. +The Master nodded. The collie arose and walked +in leisurely fashion over to the waiting judge. +Maclay ran an exploring hand through the magnificent +tawny coat, from head to haunch; then along +the dog's furry sides. Lad hated to be handled +by anyone but the Mistress or the Master. But at +a soft word from the Mistress, he stood stock still +and submitted to the inspection.</p> + +<p>"I find no weal or any other mark on him," +presently reported the Judge.</p> + +<p>The Mistress smiled happily. The whole investi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>gation, +up to this point, and further, was along +eccentric lines she herself had thought out and had +suggested to her husband. Lines suggested by her +knowledge of Lad.</p> + +<p>"Schwartz," went on the Master, interrupting +another fuming outbreak from Romaine, "I'm +afraid you didn't hit quite as hard as you thought +you did, this morning; or else some other dog is +carrying around a big welt on his flesh, to-day. +Now for the kick you say you gave the collie. +I——"</p> + +<p>"I won't copy <i>that</i>, on your bloodthirsty dog!" +vociferated Schwartz. "Not even if the Judge +jails me for contempt, I won't. He'd likely kill +me!"</p> + +<p>"And yet he ran from you, this morning," the +Master reminded him. "Well, I won't insist on +your kicking Lad. But you say it was a light +kick; because he was running away when it landed. +I am curious to know just how hard a kick it was. +In fact, I'm so curious about it that I am going to +offer myself as a substitute for Lad. My riding +boot is a good surface. Will you kindly kick me +there, Schwartz; as nearly as possible with the same +force (no more, no less) than you kicked the dog?"</p> + +<p>"I protest!" shouted Romaine. "This measly +tomfoolishness is——"</p> + +<p>"If your Honor please!" appealed the Master +sharply; turning from the bewildered Schwartz to +the no less dismayed Judge.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> + +<p>Maclay was on his feet to overrule so strange a +request. But there was keen supplication in the +Master's eye that made the Judge pause. Maclay +glanced again at the Mistress. In spite of the prospect +of seeing her husband kicked, her face wore a +most pleased smile. The Judge noted, though, that +she was stroking Lad's head and that she was unobtrusively +turning that head so that the dog faced +Schwartz.</p> + +<p>"Now, then!" adjured the Master. "Whenever +you're ready, Schwartz! A German doesn't get a +chance, like this, every day, to kick an American. +And I'll promise not to go for your throat, as Laddie +tried to. Kick away!"</p> + +<p>Awkwardly, shamblingly, Schwartz stepped forward. +Urged on by his racial veneration for the +Law—and perhaps not sorry to assail the man +whose dog had tried to throttle him—he drew back +his broganed left foot and kicked out in the general +direction of the calf of the Master's thick riding +boot.</p> + +<p>The kick did not land. Not that the Master +dodged or blocked it. He stood moveless, and +grinning expectantly.</p> + +<p>But the courtroom shook with a wild-beast yell—a +yell of insane fury. And Schwartz drew back +his half-extended left foot in sudden terror; as a +great furry shape came whizzing through the air +at him.</p> + +<p>The sight of the half-delivered kick, at his wor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>shipped +master, had had precisely the effect on Lad +that the Mistress had foreseen when she planned +the manœuver. Almost any good dog will attack +a man who seeks to strike its owner. And Lad +seemed to comprehend that a kick is a more contemptuous +affront than is a blow.</p> + +<p>Schwartz's kick at the Master had thrown the +adoring dog into a maniac rage against this defiler +of his idol. The memory of Schwartz's blow at +himself was as nothing to it. It aroused in the +collie's heart a deathless blood-feud against the +man. As the Mistress had known it would.</p> + +<p>The Mistress' sharp command, and the Master's +hastily outflung arm barely sufficed to deflect Lad's +charge. He writhed in their dual grasp, snarling +furiously, his eyes red; his every giant muscle +strained to get at the cowering Schwartz.</p> + +<p>"We've had enough of this!" imperatively ordained +Maclay, above the babel of Titus Romaine's +protests. "In spite of the informality of hearing, +this is a court of law: not a dog-kennel. I——"</p> + +<p>"I crave your Honor's pardon," apologized the +Master. "I was merely trying to show that Lad is +not the sort of dog to let a stranger strike and kick +him as this man claims to have done with impunity. +I think I have shown, from Lad's own regrettable +actions, that it was some other dog—if <i>any</i>—which +cheered Romaine's barnyard, this morning, +and yesterday morning.</p> + +<p>"It was <i>your</i> dog!" cried Schwartz, getting his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +breath, in a swirl of anger. "Next time I'll be on +watch with a shotgun and not a stick. I'll——"</p> + +<p>"There ain't going to be no 'next time,'" asserted +the equally angry Romaine. "Judge, I call on you +to order that sheep-killer shot; an' to order his +master to indemnify me for th' loss of my eight +killed sheep!"</p> + +<p>"Your Honor!" suavely protested the Master, +"may I ask you to listen to a counter-proposition? +A proposition which I think will be agreeable to +Mr. Romaine, as well as to myself?"</p> + +<p>"The only prop'sition <i>I'll</i> agree to, is the shootin' +of that cur and the indemnifyin' of me for my +sheep!" persisted Romaine.</p> + +<p>Maclay waved his hand for order; then, turning +to the Master, said:</p> + +<p>"State your proposition."</p> + +<p>"I propose," began the Master, "that Lad be +paroled, in my custody, for the space of twenty-four +hours. I will deposit with the court, here and +now, my bond for the sum of one thousand dollars; +to be paid, on demand, to Titus Romaine; if one or +more of his sheep are killed by any dog, during that +space of time."</p> + +<p>The crass oddity of the proposal set Titus's +leathery mouth ajar. Even the Judge gasped aloud +at its bizarre terms. Schwartz looked blank, until, +little by little, the purport of the words sank into +his slow mind. Then he permitted himself the rare +luxury of a chuckle.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do I und'stand you to say," demanded Titus +Romaine, of the Master, "that if I'll agree to hold +up this case for twenty-four hours you'll give me +one thousan' dollars, cash, for any sheep of mine +that gets killed by dogs in that time?"</p> + +<p>"That is my proposition," returned the Master. +"To cinch it, I'll let you make out the written arrangement, +your self. And I'll give the court a bond +for the money, at once, with instructions that the +sum is to be paid to you, if you lose one sheep, +through dogs, in the next day. I furthermore agree +to shoot Lad, myself, if you lose one or more sheep +in that time, and in that way, I'll forfeit another +thousand if I fail to keep that part of my contract. +How about it?"</p> + +<p>"I agree!" exclaimed Titus.</p> + +<p>Schwartz's smile, by this time, threatened to split +his broad face across. Maclay saw the Mistress' +cheek whiten a little; but her aspect betrayed no +worry over the possible loss of a thousand dollars +and the far more painful loss of the dog she loved.</p> + +<p>When Romaine and Schwartz had gone, the Master +tarried a moment in the courtroom.</p> + +<p>"I can't make out what you're driving at," Maclay +told him. "But you seem to me to have done a +mighty foolish thing. To get a thousand dollars +Romaine is capable of scouring the whole country +for a sheep-killing dog. So is Schwartz—if only +to get Lad shot. Did you see the way Schwartz +looked at Lad as he went out? He hates him."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Master. "And I saw the way +Lad looked at <i>him</i>. Lad will never forget that +kick at me. He'll attack Schwartz for it, if they +come together a year from now. That's why we +arranged it. Say, Mac; I want you to do me a +big favor. A favor that comes within the square +and angle of your work. I want you to go fishing +with me, to-night. Better come over to dinner and +be prepared to spend the night. The fishing won't +start till about twelve o'clock."</p> + +<p>"Twelve o'clock!" echoed Maclay. "Why, man, +nothing but catfish will bite at that hour. +And I——"</p> + +<p>"You're mistaken," denied the Master. "Much +bigger fish will bite. <i>Much</i> bigger. Take my word +for that. My wife and I have it all figured out. +I'm not asking you in your official capacity; but +as a friend. I'll need you, Mac. It will be a big +favor to me. And if I'm not wrong, there'll be +sport in it for you, too. I'm risking a thousand +dollars and my dog, on this fishing trip. Won't you +risk a night's sleep? I ask it as a worthy and distressed——"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," assented the wholly perplexed Judge, +impressed, "but I don't get your idea at all. I——"</p> + +<p>"I'll explain it before we start," promised the +Master. "All I want, now, is for you to commit +yourself to the scheme. If it fails, you won't lose +anything, except your sleep. Thanks for saying +you'll come."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> + +<p>At a little after ten o'clock that night the last +light in Titus Romaine's farmhouse went out. A +few moments later the Master got up from a rock +on Mount Pisgah's summit, on which he and +Maclay had been sitting for the past hour. Lad, +at their feet, rose expectantly with them.</p> + +<p>"Come on, old Man," said the Master. "We'll +drop down there, now. It probably means a long +wait for us. But it's better to be too soon than +too late; when I've got so much staked. If we're +seen, you can cut and run. Lad and I will cover +your retreat and see you aren't recognized. Steady, +there, Lad. Keep at heel."</p> + +<p>Stealthily the trio made their way down the hill +to the farmstead at its farther base. Silently they +crept along the outer fringe of the home-lot, until +they came opposite the black-gabled bulk of the +barn. Presently, their slowly cautious progress +brought them to the edge of the barnyard, and to +the rail fence which surrounds it. There they +halted.</p> + +<p>From within the yard, as the huddle of drowsy +sheep caught the scent of the dog, came a slight +stirring. But, after a moment, the yard was quiet +again.</p> + +<p>"Get that?" whispered the Master, his mouth +close to Maclay's ear. "Those sheep are supposed +to have been raided by a killer-dog, for the past +two nights. Yet the smell of a dog doesn't even +make them bleat. If they had been attacked by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +<i>any</i> dog, last night, the scent of Lad would throw +them into a panic."</p> + +<p>"I get something else, too," replied Maclay, in +the same all-but soundless whisper. "And I'm +ashamed I didn't think of it before. Romaine said +the dog wriggled into the yard through the bars, +and out again the same way. Well, if those bars +were wide enough apart for an eighty-pound collie, +like Lad, to get through, what would there be to +prevent all these sheep from escaping, the same way, +any time they wanted to? I'll have a look at those +bars before I pass judgment on the case. I begin +to be glad you and your wife coerced me into this +adventure."</p> + +<p>"Of course, the sheep could have gotten through +the same bars that the dog did," answered the +Master. "For, didn't Romaine say the dog not only +got through, but dragged three dead sheep through, +after him, each night, and hid them somewhere, +where they couldn't be found? No man would keep +sheep in a pen as open as all that. The entire +story is full of air-holes."</p> + +<p>Lad, at a touch from his Master, had lain softly +down at the men's feet, beside the fence. And so, +for another full hour, the three waited there.</p> + +<p>The night was heavily overcast; and, except for +the low drone of distant tree-toads and crickets, +it was deathly silent. Heat lightning, once in a +while, played dimly along the western horizon.</p> + +<p>"Lucky for us that Romaine doesn't keep a dog!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +whispered Maclay. "He'd have raised the alarm +before we got within a hundred yards of here."</p> + +<p>"He told my foreman he gave his mongrel dog +away, when he stocked himself with sheep. And +he's been reading a lot of rot about dogs being non-utilitarian, +too. His dog would have been anything +but non-utilitarian, to-night."</p> + +<p>A touch on the sleeve from Maclay silenced the +rambling whisper. Through the stillness, a house +door shut very softly, not far away. An instant +later, Lad growled throatily, and got to his feet, +tense and fiercely eager.</p> + +<p>"He's caught Schwartz's scent!" whispered the +Master, exultantly. "Now, maybe you understand +why I made the man try to kick me? Down, Lad! +<i>Quiet!</i>"</p> + +<p>At the stark command in the Master's whisper, +Lad dropped to earth again; though he still rumbled +deeply in his throat, until a touch from the Master's +fingers and a repeated "<i>Quiet</i>" silenced him.</p> + +<p>The hush of the night was disturbed, once more—very +faintly. This time, by the muffled padding of +a man's bare feet, drawing closer to the barnyard. +Lad as he heard it made as if to rise. The Master +tapped him lightly on the head, and the dog sank +to the ground again, quivering with hard-held rage.</p> + +<p>The clouds had piled thicker. Only by a dim +pulsing of far-away heat lightning could the watchers +discern the shadowy outline of a man, moving +silently between them and the far side of the yard.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +By the tiny glow of lightning they saw his silhouette.</p> + +<p>By Lad's almost uncontrollable trembling they +knew who he must be.</p> + +<p>There was another drowsy stirring of the sheep; +checked by the reassuring mumble of a voice the +animals seemed to know. And, except for the +stealthy motion of groping feet, the barnyard +seemed as empty of human life as before.</p> + +<p>Perhaps a minute later another sulphur-gleam of +lightning revealed the intruder to the two men who +crouched behind the outer angle of the fence. He +had come out of the yard, and was shuffling away. +But he was fully a third wider of shoulder now, +and he seemed to have two heads, as his silhouette +dimly appeared and then vanished.</p> + +<p>"See that?" whispered the Master. "He has a +sheep slung over his back. Probably with a cloth +wrapped around its head to keep it quiet. We will +give him twenty seconds' start and then——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Good!</i>" babbled Maclay, in true buck-ague fever +of excitement. "It's worked out, to a charm! But +how in the blazes can we track him through this +dark? It's as black as the inside of a cow. And +if we show the flashlights——"</p> + +<p>"Trust Lad to track him," rejoined the Master, +who had been slipping a leash around the dog's low-growling +throat. "That's what the old fellow's +here for. He has a kick to punish. He would fol<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>low +Schwartz through the Sahara desert, if he had +to. Come on."</p> + +<p>Lad, at a word from the Master, sprang to the +end of the leash, his mighty head and shoulders +straining forward. The Master's reiterated +"Quiet!" alone kept him from giving tongue. And +thus the trio started the pursuit.</p> + +<p>Lad went in a geometrically straight line, swerving +not an inch; with much difficulty held back to +the slow walk on which the Master insisted. There +was more than one reason for this insistence. Not +only did the two men want to keep far enough +behind Schwartz to prevent him from hearing their +careful steps; but Lad's course was so uncompromisingly +straight that it led them over a hundred +obstacles and gullies which required all sorts of skill +to negotiate.</p> + +<p>For at least two miles, the snail-like progress continued; +most of the way through woods. At last, +with a gasp, the Master found himself wallowing +knee-deep in a bog. Maclay, a step behind him, also +plunged splashingly into the soggy mire.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with the dog?" grumpily demanded +the Judge. "He's led us into the Pancake +Hollow swamp. Schwartz never in the world carried +a ninety pound sheep through here."</p> + +<p>"Maybe not," puffed the Master. "But he has +carried it over one of the half-dozen paths that lead +through this marsh. Lad is in too big a hurry to +bother about paths. He——"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> + +<p>Fifty feet above them, on a little mid-swamp +knoll, a lantern shone. Apparently, it had just been +lighted. For it waxed brighter in a second or so. +The men saw it and strode forward at top speed. +The third step caused Maclay to stumble over a +hummock and land, noisily, on all fours, in a mud-pool. +As he fell, he swore—with a loud distinctness +that rang through the swampy stillnesses, like +a pistol shot.</p> + +<p>Instantly, the lantern went out. And there was a +crashing in among the bushes of the knoll.</p> + +<p>"After him!" yelled Maclay, floundering to his +feet. "He'll escape! And we have no real proof +who he is or——"</p> + +<p>The Master, still ankle-high in sticky mud, saw +the futility of trying to catch a man who, unimpeded, +was running away, along a dry-ground path. +There was but one thing left to do. And the Master +did it.</p> + +<p>Loosening the leash from the dog's collar he +shouted:</p> + +<p>"Get him, Laddie! <i>Get</i> him!"</p> + +<p>There was a sound as of a cavalry regiment galloping +through shallow water. That and a queerly +ecstatic growl. And the collie was gone.</p> + +<p>As fast as possible the two men made for the +base of the knoll. They had drawn forth their +electric torches; and these now made the progress +much swifter and easier.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, before the Master had set foot on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +the first bit of firm ground, all pandemonium burst +forth amid the darkness, above and in front of him.</p> + +<p>The turmoil's multiple sounds were indescribable, +blending into one wild cacophony the yells +and stamping of a fear-demented man, the bleats +of sheep, the tearing of underbrush—through and +above and under all—a hideous subnote as of a +rabid beast worrying its prey.</p> + +<p>It was this undercurrent of sound which put +wings on the tired feet of Maclay and the Master, +as they dashed up the knoll and into the path leading +east from it. It spoke of unpleasant—not to +say gruesome—happenings. So did the swift +change of the victim's yells from wrath to mortal +terror.</p> + +<p>"Back Lad!" called the Master, pantingly, as he +ran. "Back! Let him <i>alone!</i>"</p> + +<p>And as he cried the command he rounded a turn +in the wooded path.</p> + +<p>Prone on the ground, writhing like a cut snake +and frantically seeking to guard his throat with +his slashed forearm, sprawled Schwartz. Crouching +above him—right unwillingly obeying the Master's +belated call—was Lad.</p> + +<p>The dog's great coat was a-bristle. His bared +teeth glinted white and blood-flecked in the electric +flare. His soft eyes were blazing.</p> + +<p>"Back!" repeated the Master. "Back here!"</p> + +<p>Absolute obedience was the first and foremost of +The Place's few simple dog-rules. Lad had learned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +it from earliest puppyhood. The collie, still shaking +all over with the effort of repressing his fury, +turned slowly and came over to his Master. There +he stood stonily awaiting further orders.</p> + +<p>Maclay was on his knees beside the hysterically +moaning German roughly telling him that the dog +would do him no more damage, and at the same +time making a quick inspection of the injuries +wrought by the slashing white fangs in the shielding +arm and its shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Get up!" he now ordered. "You're not too +badly hurt to stand. Another minute and he'd have +gotten through to your throat, but your clothes +saved you from anything worse than a few ugly +flesh-cuts. Get up! Stop that yowling and get +up!"</p> + +<p>Schwartz gradually lessened his dolorous plaints +under the stern authority of Maclay's exhortations. +Presently he sat up nursing his lacerated forearm +and staring about him. At sight of Lad he shuddered. +And recognizing Maclay he broke into +violent and fatly-accented speech.</p> + +<p>"Take witness, Judge!" he exclaimed. "I +watched the barnyard to-night and I saw that +schweinhund steal another sheep. I followed him +and when he got here he dropped the sheep and +went for me. He——"</p> + +<p>"Very bad, Schwartz!" disgustedly reproved +Maclay. "Very bad, indeed. You should have +waited a minute longer and thought up a better<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +one. But since this is the yarn you choose to tell, +we'll look about and try to verify it. The sheep, +for instance—the one you say Lad carried all the +way here and then dropped to attack you. I seem +to have heard a sheep bleating a few moments ago. +Several sheep in fact. We'll see if we can't find +the one Lad stole."</p> + +<p>Schwartz jumped nervously to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Stay where you are!" Maclay bade him. "We +won't bother a tired and injured man to help in +our search."</p> + +<p>Turning to the Master, he added:</p> + +<p>"I suppose one of us will have to stand guard +over him while the other one hunts up the sheep. +Shall I——"</p> + +<p>"Neither of us need do that," said the Master. +"Lad!"</p> + +<p>The collie started eagerly forward, and Schwartz +started still more eagerly backward.</p> + +<p>"Watch him!" commanded the Master. "<i>Watch</i> +him!"</p> + +<p>It was an order Lad had learned to follow in +the many times when the Mistress and the Master +left him to guard the car or to do sentry duty +over some other article of value. He understood. +He would have preferred to deal with this enemy +according to his own lights. But the Master had +spoken. So, standing at view, the collie looked +longingly at Schwartz's throat.</p> + +<p>"Keep perfectly still!" the Master warned the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +prisoner, "and perhaps he won't go for you. Move, +and he most surely will. <i>Watch</i> him, Laddie!"</p> + +<p>Maclay and the Master left the captive and his +guard, and set forth on a flashlight-illumined tour +of the knoll. It was a desolate spot, far back in +the swamp and more than a mile from any road; +a place visited not three times a year, except in +the shooting season.</p> + +<p>In less than a half-minute the plaintive ba-a-a +of a sheep guided the searchers to the left of the +knoll where stood a thick birch-and-alder copse. +Around this they circled until they reached a narrow +opening where the branch-ends, several feet +above ground, were flecked with hanks of wool.</p> + +<p>Squirming through the aperture in single file, +the investigators found what they sought.</p> + +<p>In the tight-woven copse's center was a small +clearing. In this, was a rudely wattled pen some +nine feet square; and in the pen were bunched six +sheep.</p> + +<p>An occasional scared bleat from deeper in the +copse told the whereabouts of the sheep Schwartz +had taken from the barnyard that night and which +he had dropped at Lad's onslaught before he could +put it in the pen. On the ground, just outside the +enclosure, lay the smashed lantern.</p> + +<p>"Sheep on the hoof are worth $12.50 per, at the +Paterson Market," mused the Master aloud, as +Maclay blinked owlishly at the treasure trove. +"There are $75 worth of sheep in that pen, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +there would have been three more of them before +morning if we hadn't butted in on Herr Schwartz's +overtime labors. To get three sheep at night, it +was well worth his while to switch suspicion to +Lad by killing a fourth sheep every time, and +mangling its throat with a stripping-knife. Only, +he mangled it too efficiently. There was too much +<i>Kultur</i> about the mangling. It wasn't ragged +enough. That's what first gave me my idea. That, +and the way the missing sheep always vanished +into more or less thin air. You see, he probably——"</p> + +<p>"But," sputtered Maclay, "why four each night? +Why——"</p> + +<p>"You saw how long it took him to get one of +them here," replied the Master. "He didn't dare +to start in till the Romaines were asleep, and he +had to be back in time to catch Lad at the slaughter +before Titus got out of bed. He wouldn't dare +hide them any nearer home. Titus has spent most +of his time both days in hunting for them. +Schwartz was probably waiting to get the pen nice +and full. Then he'd take a day off to visit his +relatives. And he'd round up this tidy bunch and +drive them over to the Ridgewood road, through +the woods, and so on to the Paterson Market. It +was a pretty little scheme all around."</p> + +<p>"But," urged Maclay, as they turned back to +where Lad still kept his avid vigil, "I still hold +you were taking big chances in gambling $1000<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +and your dog's life that Schwartz would do the +same thing again within twenty-four hours. He +might have waited a day or two, till——"</p> + +<p>"No," contradicted the Master, "that's just what +he mightn't do. You see, I wasn't perfectly sure +whether it was Schwartz or Romaine—or both—who +were mixed up in this. So I set the trap at +both ends. If it was Romaine, it was worth +$1000 to him to have more sheep killed within +twenty-four hours. If it was Schwartz—well, +that's why I made him try to hit Lad and why I +made him try to kick me. The dog went for him +both times, and that was enough to make Schwartz +want him killed for his own safety as well as for +revenge. So he was certain to arrange another +killing within the twenty-four hours if only to force +me to shoot Lad. He couldn't steal or kill sheep +by daylight. I picked the only hours he could do it +in. If he'd gotten Lad killed, he'd probably have +invented another sheep-killer dog to help him swipe +the rest of the flock, or until Romaine decided to +do the watching. We——"</p> + +<p>"It was clever of you," cordially admitted +Maclay. "Mighty clever, old man! I——"</p> + +<p>"It was my wife who worked it out, you know," +the Master reminded him. "I admit my own +cleverness, of course, only (like a lot of men's +money) it's all in my wife's name. Come on, Lad! +You can guard Herr Schwartz just as well by +walking behind him. We're going to wind up the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +evening's fishing trip by tendering a surprise party +to dear genial old Mr. Titus Romaine. I hope the +flashlights will hold out long enough for me to get +a clear look at his face when he sees us."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI<br /> +WOLF</h2> + + +<p>There were but three collies on The Place +in those days. There was a long shelf in +the Master's study whereupon shimmered +and glinted a rank of silver cups of varying sizes +and shapes. Two of The Place's dogs had won +them all.</p> + +<p>Above the shelf hung two huge picture-frames. +In the center of each was the small photograph of +a collie. Beneath each likeness was a certified +pedigree, a-bristle with the red-letter names of +champions. Surrounding the pictures and pedigrees, +the whole remaining space in both frames +was filled with blue ribbons—the very meanest bit +of silk in either was a semi-occasional "Reserve +Winners"—while, strung along the tops of the +frames from side to side, ran a line of medals.</p> + +<p>Cups, medals, and ribbons alike had been won by +The Place's two great collies, Lad and Bruce. +(Those were their "kennel names." Their official +titles on the A. K. C. registry list were high-sounding +and needlessly long.)</p> + +<p>Lad was growing old. His reign on The Place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> +was drawing toward a benignant close. His +muzzle was almost snow-white and his once graceful +lines were beginning to show the oncoming +heaviness of age. No longer could he hope to +hold his own, in form and carriage, with younger +collies at the local dog-shows where once he had +carried all before him.</p> + +<p>Bruce—"Sunnybank Goldsmith"—was six years +Lad's junior. He was tawny of coat, kingly of +bearing; a dog without a fault of body or of disposition; +stately as the boar-hounds that the +painters of old used to love to depict in their portraits +of monarchs.</p> + +<p>The Place's third collie was Lad's son, Wolf. +But neither cup nor ribbon did Wolf have to show +as an excuse for his presence on earth, nor would +he have won recognition in the smallest and least +exclusive collie-show.</p> + +<p>For Wolf was a collie only by courtesy. His +breeding was as pure as was any champion's, but +he was one of those luckless types to be found in +nearly every litter—a throwback to some forgotten +ancestor whose points were all defective. Not even +the glorious pedigree of Lad, his father, could make +Wolf look like anything more than he was—a dog +without a single physical trait that followed the +best collie standards.</p> + +<p>In spite of all this he was beautiful. His gold-and-white +coat was almost as bright and luxuriant +as any prize-winner's. He had, in a general way,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> +the collie head and brush. But an expert, at the +most casual glance, would have noted a shortness +of nose and breadth of jaw and a shape of ear +and shoulder that told dead against him.</p> + +<p>The collie is supposed to be descended direct +from the wolf, and Wolf looked far more like +his original ancestors than like a thoroughbred +collie. From puppyhood he had been the living +image, except in color, of a timber-wolf, and it +was from this queer throw-back trait that he had +won his name.</p> + +<p>Lad was the Mistress' dog. Bruce was the +Master's. Wolf belonged to the Boy, having been +born on the latter's birthday.</p> + +<p>For the first six months of his life Wolf lived +at The Place on sufferance. Nobody except the +Boy took any special interest in him. He was kept +only because his better-formed brothers had died +in early puppyhood and because the Boy, from the +outset, had loved him.</p> + +<p>At six months it was discovered that he was a +natural watch-dog. Also that he never barked except +to give an alarm. A collie is, perhaps, the +most excitable of all large dogs. The veriest trifle +will set him off into a thunderous paroxysm of +barking. But Wolf, the Boy noted, never barked +without strong cause.</p> + +<p>He had the rare genius for guarding that so +few of his breed possess. For not one dog in ten +merits the title of watch-dog. The duties that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> +should go with that office are far more than the +mere clamorous announcement of a stranger's approach, +or even the attacking of such a stranger.</p> + +<p>The born watch-dog patrols his beat once in so +often during the night. At all times he must sleep +with one ear and one eye alert. By day or by +night he must discriminate between the visitor +whose presence is permitted and the trespasser whose +presence is not. He must know what class of +undesirable to scare off with a growl and what class +needs stronger measures. He must also know to +the inch the boundaries of his own master's land.</p> + +<p>Few of these things can be taught; all of them +must be instinctive. Wolf had been born with +them. Most dogs are not.</p> + +<p>His value as a watch-dog gave Wolf a settled +position of his own on The Place. Lad was growing +old and a little deaf. He slept, at night, under the +piano in the music-room. Bruce was worth too +much money to be left at large in the night time +for any clever dog-thief to steal. So he slept in +the study. Rex, a huge mongrel, was tied up at +night, at the lodge, a furlong away. Thus Wolf +alone was left on guard at the house. The piazza +was his sentry-box. From this shelter he was wont +to set forth three or four times a night, in all sorts +of weather, to make his rounds.</p> + +<p>The Place covered twenty-five acres. It ran from +the high-road, a furlong above the house, down to +the lake that bordered it on two sides. On the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> +third side was the forest. Boating-parties, late at +night, had a pleasant way of trying to raid the +lakeside apple-orchard. Tramps now and then +strayed down the drive from the main road. +Prowlers, crossing the woods, sometimes sought to +use The Place's sloping lawn as a short cut to the +turnpike below the falls.</p> + +<p>For each and all of these intruders Wolf had +an ever-ready welcome. A whirl of madly pattering +feet through the dark, a snarling growl far +down in the throat, a furry shape catapulting into +the air—and the trespasser had his choice between +a scurrying retreat or a double set of white fangs +in the easiest-reached part of his anatomy.</p> + +<p>The Boy was inordinately proud of his pet's +watchdog prowess. He was prouder yet of Wolf's +almost incredible sharpness of intelligence, his +quickness to learn, his knowledge of word meaning, +his zest for romping, his perfect obedience, +the tricks he had taught himself without human +tutelage—in short, all the things that were a sign +of the brain he had inherited from Lad.</p> + +<p>But none of these talents overcame the sad fact +that Wolf was not a show dog and that he looked +positively underbred and shabby alongside of his +sire or of Bruce. Which rankled at the Boy's heart; +even while loyalty to his adored pet would not let +him confess to himself or to anyone else that Wolf +was not the most flawlessly perfect dog on earth.</p> + +<p>Under-sized (for a collie), slim, graceful, fierce,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> +affectionate, Wolf was the Boy's darling, and he +was Lad's successor as official guardian of The +Place. But all his youthful life, thus far, had +brought him nothing more than this—while Lad +and Bruce had been winning prize after prize at +one local dog show after another within a radius of +thirty miles.</p> + +<p>The Boy was duly enthusiastic over the winning +of each trophy; but always, for days thereafter, +he was more than usually attentive to Wolf to make +up for his pet's dearth of prizes.</p> + +<p>Once or twice the Boy had hinted, in a veiled, +tentative way, that young Wolf might perhaps win +something, too, if he were allowed to go to a +show. The Master, never suspecting what lay behind +the cautious words, would always laugh in +good-natured derision, or else he would point in +silence to Wolf's head and then to Lad's.</p> + +<p>The Boy knew enough about collies to carry the +subject no further. For even his eyes of devotion +could not fail to mark the difference in aspect between +his dog and the two prize-winners.</p> + +<p>One July morning both Lad and Bruce went +through an hour of anguish. Both of them, one +after the other, were plunged into a bath-tub full of +warm water and naphtha soap-suds and Lux; and +were scrubbed right unmercifully, after which they +were rubbed and curried and brushed for another +hour until their coats shone resplendent. All day,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> +at intervals, the brushing and combing were kept +up.</p> + +<p>Lad was indignant at such treatment, and he +took no pains to hide his indignation. He knew +perfectly well, from the undue attention, that a +dog show was at hand. But not for a year or more +had he himself been made ready for one. His lake +baths and his daily casual brushing at the Mistress' +hands had been, in that time, his only form of +grooming. He had thought himself graduated forever +from the nuisance of going to shows.</p> + +<p>"What's the idea of dolling up old Laddie like +that?" asked the Boy, as he came in for luncheon +and found the Mistress busy with comb and dandy-brush +over the unhappy dog.</p> + +<p>"For the Fourth of July Red Cross Dog Show +at Ridgewood to-morrow," answered his mother, +looking up, a little flushed from her exertions.</p> + +<p>"But I thought you and Dad said last year he +was too old to show any more," ventured the Boy.</p> + +<p>"This time is different," said the Mistress. "It's +a specialty show, you see, and there is a cup offered +for 'the best <i>veteran</i> dog of any recognized breed.' +Isn't that fine? We didn't hear of the Veteran +Cup till Dr. Hooper telephoned to us about it this +morning. So we're getting Lad ready. There <i>can't</i> +be any other veteran as splendid as he is."</p> + +<p>"No," agreed the Boy, dully, "I suppose not."</p> + +<p>He went into the dining-room, surreptitiously +helped himself to a handful of lump-sugar and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +passed on out to the veranda. Wolf was sprawled +half-asleep on the driveway lawn in the sun.</p> + +<p>The dog's wolflike brush began to thump against +the shaven grass. Then, as the Boy stood on the +veranda edge and snapped his fingers, Wolf got +up from his soft resting-place and started toward +him, treading mincingly and with a sort of +swagger, his slanting eyes half shut, his mouth +a-grin.</p> + +<p>"You know I've got sugar in my pocket as well +as if you saw it," said the Boy. "Stop where you +are."</p> + +<p>Though the Boy accompanied his order with no +gesture nor change of tone, the dog stopped dead +short ten feet away.</p> + +<p>"Sugar is bad for dogs," went on the Boy. "It +does things to their teeth and their digestions. +Didn't anybody ever tell you that, Wolfie?"</p> + +<p>The young dog's grin grew wider. His slanting +eyes closed to mere glittering slits. He fidgeted a +little, his tail wagging fast.</p> + +<p>"But I guess a dog's got to have <i>some</i> kind of +consolation purse when he can't go to a show," +resumed the Boy. "Catch!"</p> + +<p>As he spoke he suddenly drew a lump of sugar +from his pocket and, with the same motion, tossed +it in the direction of Wolf. Swift as was the +Boy's action, Wolf's eye was still quicker. Springing +high in air, the dog caught the flung cube of +sugar as it flew above him and to one side. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> +second and a third lump were caught as deftly as +the first.</p> + +<p>Then the Boy took from his pocket the fourth +and last lump. Descending the steps, he put his +left hand across Wolf's eyes. With his right he +flipped the lump of sugar into a clump of shrubbery.</p> + +<p>"Find it!" he commanded, lifting the blindfold +from the eyes of his pet.</p> + +<p>Wolf darted hither and thither, stopped once or +twice to sniff, then began to circle the nearer +stretch of lawn, nose to ground. In less than two +minutes he merged from the shrubbery placidly +crunching the sugar-lump between his mighty jaws.</p> + +<p>"And yet they say you aren't fit to be shown!" +exclaimed the Boy, fondling the dog's ears. "Gee, +but I'd give two years' growth if you could have +a cup! You deserve one, all right; if only those +judges had sense enough to study a collie's brain +as well as the outside of his head!"</p> + +<p>Wolf ran his nose into the cupped palm and +whined. From the tone underlying the words, he +knew the Boy was unhappy, and he wanted to be +of help.</p> + +<p>The Boy went into the house again to find his +parents sitting down to lunch. Gathering his +courage in both hands, he asked:</p> + +<p>"Is there going to be a Novice Class for collies +at Ridgewood, Dad?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, yes," said the Master, "I suppose so. +There always is."</p> + +<p>"Do—do they give cups for the Novice Class?" +inquired the Boy, with studied carelessness.</p> + +<p>"Of course they don't," said the Master, adding +reminiscently, "though the first time we showed +Lad we put him in the Novice Class and he won +the blue ribbon there, so we had to go into the +Winners' Class afterward. He got the Winner's +Cup, you remember. So, indirectly, the Novice +Class won him a cup."</p> + +<p>"I see," said the Boy, not at all interested in +this bit of ancient history. Then speaking very +fast, he went on:</p> + +<p>"Well, a ribbon's better than nothing! Dad, +will you do me a favor? Will you let me enter +Wolfie for the Novice Class to-morrow? I'll pay +the fee out of my allowance. Will you, Dad?"</p> + +<p>The Master looked at his son in blank amazement. +Then he threw back his head and laughed +loudly. The Boy flushed crimson and bit his lips.</p> + +<p>"Why, dear!" hurriedly interposed the Mistress, +noting her son's discomfiture. "You wouldn't +want Wolf to go there and be beaten by a lot of +dogs that haven't half his brains or prettiness! It +wouldn't be fair or kind to Wolf. He's so clever, +he'd know in a moment what was happening. He'd +know he was beaten. Nearly all dogs do. No, it +wouldn't be fair to him."</p> + +<p>"There's a 'mutt' class among the specials, Dr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +Hopper says," put in the Master, jocosely. "You +might——"</p> + +<p>"Wolf's <i>not</i> a mutt!" flashed the Boy, hotly. +"He's no more of a mutt than Bruce or Lad, or +Grey Mist, or Southport Sample, or any of the +best ones. He has as good blood as all of them. +Lad's his father, and Squire of Tytton was his +grandfather, and Wishaw Clinker was his——"</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, son," interposed the Master, catching +his wife's eye and dropping his tone of banter. +"I apologize to you and Wolf. He's not a 'mutt.' +There's no better blood in colliedom than his, on +both sides. But Mother is right. You'd only be +putting him up to be beaten, and you wouldn't +like that. He hasn't a single point that isn't hopelessly +bad from a judge's view. We've never taken +a loser to a show from The Place. You don't +want us to begin now, do you?"</p> + +<p>"He has more brains that any dog alive, except +Lad!" declared the Boy, sullenly. "That ought to +count."</p> + +<p>"It ought to," agreed the Mistress, soothingly, +"and I wish it did. If it did, I know he'd win."</p> + +<p>"It makes me sick to see a bushel of cups go +to dogs that don't know enough to eat their own +dinners," snorted the Boy. "I'm not talking about +Lad and Bruce, but the thoroughbreds that are +brought up in kennels and that have all their sense +sacrificed for points. Why, Wolf's the cleverest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>—best—and +he'll never even have one cup to show +for it. He——"</p> + +<p>He choked, and began to eat at top speed. The +Master and the Mistress looked at each other and +said nothing. They understood their son's chagrin, +as only a dog-lover could understand it. The +Mistress reached out and patted the Boy gently +on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>Next morning, directly after early breakfast, +Lad and Bruce were put into the tonneau of the +car. The Mistress and the Master and the Boy +climbed in, and the twelve-mile journey to Ridgewood +began.</p> + +<p>Wolf, left to guard The Place, watched the departing +show-goers until the car turned out of the +gate, a furlong above. Then, with a sigh, he curled +up on the porch mat, his nose between his snowy +little paws, and prepared for a day of loneliness.</p> + +<p>The Red Cross dog show, that Fourth of July, +was a triumph for The Place.</p> + +<p>Bruce won ribbon after ribbon in the collie +division, easily taking "Winners" at the last, and +thus adding another gorgeous silver cup to his collection. +Then, the supreme event of the day—"Best +dog in the show"—was called. And the +winners of each breed were led into the ring. The +judges scanned and handled the group of sixteen +for barely five minutes before awarding to Bruce +the dark-blue rosette and the "Best Dog" cup.</p> + +<p>The crowd around the ring's railing applauded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +loudly. But they applauded still more loudly a +little later, when, after a brief survey of nine aged +thoroughbreds, the judge pointed to Lad, who was +standing like a mahogany statue at one end of +the ring.</p> + +<p>These nine dogs of various breeds had all been +famed prize-winners in their time. And above all +the rest, Lad was adjudged worthy of the "veteran +cup!" There was a haze of happy tears in the +Mistress' eyes as she led him from the ring. It +seemed a beautiful climax for his grand old life. +She wiped her eyes, unashamed, whispering praise +the while to her stately dog.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you trundle your car into the ring?" +one disgruntled exhibitor demanded of the Mistress. +"Maybe you'd win a cup with <i>that</i>, too. +You seem to have gotten one for everything else +you brought along."</p> + +<p>It was a celebration evening for the two prize +dogs, when they got home, but everybody was tired +from the day's events, and by ten o'clock the house +was dark. Wolf, on his veranda mat, alone of all +The Place's denizens, was awake.</p> + +<p>Vaguely Wolf knew the other dogs had done +some praiseworthy thing. He would have known +it, if for no other reason, from the remorseful hug +the Boy had given him before going to bed.</p> + +<p>Well, some must win honors and petting and the +right to sleep indoors; while others must plod along +at the only work they were fit for, and must sleep<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +out, in thunderstorm or clear, in heat or freezing +cold. That was life. Being only a dog, Wolf was +too wise to complain of life. He took things as he +found them, making the very best of his share.</p> + +<p>He snoozed, now, in the warm darkness. Two +hours later he got up, stretched himself lazily fore +and aft, collie-fashion, and trotted forth for the +night's first patrol of the grounds.</p> + +<p>A few minutes afterward he was skirting the +lake edge at the foot of the lawn, a hundred yards +below the house. The night was pitch dark, except +for pulses of heat-lightning, now and then, far +to westward. Half a mile out on the lake two +men in an anchored scow were cat-fishing.</p> + +<p>A small skiff was slipping along very slowly, not +fifty feet off shore.</p> + +<p>Wolf did not give the skiff a second glance. +Boats were no novelty to him, nor did they interest +him in the least—except when they showed signs +of running ashore somewhere along his beat.</p> + +<p>This skiff was not headed for land, but was +paralleling the shore. It crept along at a snail-pace +and in dead silence. A man, its only occupant, sat +at the oars, scarcely moving them as he kept his +boat in motion.</p> + +<p>A dog is ridiculously near-sighted. More so +than almost any other beast. Keen hearing and +keener scent are its chief guides. At three hundred +yards' distance it cannot, by eye, recognize its +master, nor tell him from a stranger. But at close<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> +quarters, even in the darkest night, a dog's vision +is far more piercing and accurate than man's under +like conditions.</p> + +<p>Wolf thus saw the skiff and its occupant, while +he himself was still invisible. The boat was no concern +of his; so he trotted on to the far end of The +Place, where the forest joined the orchard.</p> + +<p>On his return tour of the lake edge he saw the +skiff again. It had shifted its direction and was +now barely ten feet off shore—so near to the bank +that one of the oars occasionally grated on the +pebbly bottom. The oarsman was looking intently +toward the house.</p> + +<p>Wolf paused, uncertain. The average watchdog, +his attention thus attracted, would have barked. +But Wolf knew the lake was public property. Boats +were often rowed as close to shore as this without +intent to trespass. It was not the skiff that +caught Wolf's attention as he paused there on the +brink, it was the man's furtive scrutiny of the +house.</p> + +<p>A pale flare of heat-lightning turned the world, +momentarily, from jet black to a dim sulphur-color. +The boatman saw Wolf standing, alert and suspicious, +among the lakeside grasses, not ten feet +away. He started slightly, and a soft, throaty +growl from the dog answered him.</p> + +<p>The man seemed to take the growl as a challenge, +and to accept it. He reached into his pocket and +drew something out. When the next faint glow of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +lightning illumined the shore, the man lifted the +thing he had taken from his pocket and hurled it +at Wolf.</p> + +<p>With all the furtive swiftness bred in his wolf-ancestry, +the dog shrank to one side, readily dodging +the missile, which struck the lawn just behind +him. Teeth bared in a ferocious snarl, Wolf +dashed forward through the shallow water toward +the skiff.</p> + +<p>But the man apparently had had enough of the +business. He rowed off with long strokes into deep +water, and, once there, he kept on rowing until distance +and darkness hid him.</p> + +<p>Wolf stood, chest deep in water, listening to the +far-off oar-strokes until they died away. He was +not fool enough to swim in pursuit; well knowing +that a swimming dog is worse than helpless against +a boatman.</p> + +<p>Moreover, the intruder had been scared away. +That was all which concerned Wolf. He turned +back to shore. His vigil was ended for another +few hours. It was time to take up his nap where +he had left off.</p> + +<p>Before he had taken two steps, his sensitive +nostrils were full of the scent of raw meat. There, +on the lawn ahead of him, lay a chunk of beef as +big as a fist. This, then, was what the boatman had +thrown at him!</p> + +<p>Wolf pricked up his ears in appreciation, and his +brush began to vibrate. Trespassers had once or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> +twice tried to stone him, but this was the first time +any of them had pelted him with delicious raw +beef. Evidently, Lad and Bruce were not the only +collies on The Place to receive prizes that day.</p> + +<p>Wolf stooped over the meat, sniffed at it, then +caught it up between his jaws.</p> + +<p>Now, a dog is the easiest animal alive to poison, +just as a cat is the hardest, for a dog will usually +bolt a mouthful of poisoned meat without pausing +to chew or otherwise investigate it. A cat, on the +contrary, smells and tastes everything first and +chews it scientifically before swallowing it. The +slightest unfamiliar scent or flavor warns her to +sheer off from the feast.</p> + +<p>So the average dog would have gulped this toothsome +windfall in a single swallow; but Wolf was +not the average dog. No collie is, and Wolf was +still more like his eccentric forefathers of the wilderness +than are most collies.</p> + +<p>He lacked the reasoning powers to make him +suspicious of this rich gift from a stranger, but a +queer personal trait now served him just as well.</p> + +<p>Wolf was an epicure; he always took three times +as long to empty his dinner dish as did the other +dogs, for instead of gobbling his meal, as they did, +he was wont to nibble affectedly at each morsel, +gnawing it slowly into nothingness; and all the +time showing a fussily dainty relish of it that used +to delight the Boy and send guests into peals of +laughter.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p> + +<p>This odd little trait that had caused so much +ridicule now saved Wolf's life.</p> + +<p>He carried the lump of beef gingerly up to the +veranda, laid it down on his mat, and prepared to +revel in his chance banquet after his own deliberate +fashion.</p> + +<p>Holding the beef between his forepaws, he proceeded +to devour it in mincing little squirrel-bites. +About a quarter of the meat had disappeared when +Wolf became aware that his tongue smarted and +that his throat was sore; also that the interior of +the meat-ball had a ranky pungent odor, very different +from the heavenly fragrance of its outside and +not at all appetizing.</p> + +<p>He looked down at the chunk, rolled it over with +his nose, surveyed it again, then got up and moved +away from it in angry disgust.</p> + +<p>Presently he forgot his disappointment in the +knowledge that he was very, very ill. His tongue +and throat no longer burned, but his body and +brain seemed full of hot lead that weighed a ton. +He felt stupid, and too weak to stir. A great +drowsiness gripped him.</p> + +<p>With a grunt of discomfort and utter fatigue, he +slumped down on the veranda floor to sleep off his +sick lassitude. After that, for a time, nothing +mattered.</p> + +<p>For perhaps an hour Wolf lay sprawling there, +dead to his duty, and to everything else. Then +faintly, through the fog of dullness that enwrapped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> +his brain, came a sound—a sound he had long ago +learned to listen for. The harshly scraping noise +of a boat's prow drawn up on the pebbly shore at +the foot of the lawn.</p> + +<p>Instinct tore through the poison vapors and +roused the sick dog. He lifted his head. It was +strangely heavy and hard to lift.</p> + +<p>The sound was repeated as the prow was pulled +farther up on the bank. Then came the crunch of +a human foot on the waterside grass.</p> + +<p>Heredity and training and lifelong fidelity took +control of the lethargic dog, dragging him to his +feet and down the veranda steps through no volition +of his own.</p> + +<p>Every motion tired him. He was dizzy and +nauseated. He craved sleep; but as he was just a +thoroughbred dog and not a wise human, he did +not stop to think up good reasons why he should +shirk his duty because he did not feel like performing +it.</p> + +<p>To the brow of the hill he trotted—slowly, +heavily, shakily. His sharp powers of hearing told +him the trespasser had left his boat and had taken +one or two stealthy steps up the slope of lawn toward +the house.</p> + +<p>And now a puff of west wind brought Wolf's +sense of smell into action. A dog remembers odors +as humans remember faces. And the breeze bore to +him the scent of the same man who had flung<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> +ashore that bit of meat which had caused all his +suffering.</p> + +<p>He had caught the man's scent an hour earlier, +as he had stood sniffing at the boat ten feet away +from him. The same scent had been on the meat +the man had handled.</p> + +<p>And now, having played such a cruel trick on +him, the joker was actually daring to intrude on +The Place!</p> + +<p>A gust of resentful rage pierced the dullness of +Wolf's brain and sent a thrill of fierce energy +through him. For the moment this carried him out +of his sick self and brought back all his former +zest as a watch-dog.</p> + +<p>Down the hill, like a furry whirlwind, flew Wolf, +every tooth bared, his back a-bristle from neck to +tail. Now he was well within sight of the intruder. +He saw the man pausing to adjust something to +one of his hands. Then, before this could be accomplished, +Wolf saw him pause and stare through +the darkness as the wild onrush of the dog's feet +struck upon his hearing.</p> + +<p>Another instant and Wolf was near enough to +spring. Out of the blackness he launched himself, +straight for the trespasser's face. The man saw +the dim shape hurtling through the air toward him. +He dropped what he was carrying and flung up +both hands to guard his neck.</p> + +<p>At that, he was none too soon, for just as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> +thief's palm reached his own throat, Wolf's teeth +met in the fleshy part of the hand.</p> + +<p>Silent, in agony, the man beat at the dog with +his free hand; but an attacking collie is hard to locate +in the darkness. A bulldog will secure a grip +and will hang on; a collie is everywhere at once.</p> + +<p>Wolf's snapping jaws had already deserted the +robber's mangled hand and slashed the man's left +shoulder to the bone. Then the dog made another +furious lunge for the face.</p> + +<p>Down crashed the man, losing his balance under +the heavy impact; Wolf atop of him. To guard +his throat, the man rolled over on his face, kicking +madly at the dog, and reaching back for his +own hip-pocket. Half in the water and half on the +bank, the two rolled and thrashed and struggled—the +man panting and wheezing in mortal terror; +the dog growling in a hideous, snarling fashion as +might a wild animal.</p> + +<p>The thief's torn left hand found a grip on Wolf's +fur-armored throat. He shoved the fiercely writhing +dog backward, jammed a pistol against Wolf's +head, and pulled the trigger!</p> + +<p>The dog relaxed his grip and tumbled in a huddled +heap on the brink. The man staggered, gasping, +to his feet; bleeding, disheveled, his clothes +torn and mud-coated.</p> + +<p>The echoes of the shot were still reverberating +among the lakeside hills. Several of the house's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> +dark windows leaped into sudden light—then more +windows in another room—and in another.</p> + +<p>The thief swore roundly. His night's work was +ruined. He bent to his skiff and shoved it into the +water; then he turned to grope for what he had +dropped on the lawn when Wolf's unexpected attack +had interfered with his plans.</p> + +<p>As he did so, something seized him by the ankle. +In panic terror the man screamed aloud and jumped +into the water, then, peering back, he saw what had +happened.</p> + +<p>Wolf, sprawling and unable to stand, had reached +forward from where he lay and had driven his +teeth for the last time into his foe.</p> + +<p>The thief raised his pistol again and fired at the +prostrate dog, then he clambered into his boat and +rowed off with frantic speed, just as a salvo of +barks told that Lad and Bruce had been released +from the house; they came charging down the lawn, +the Master at their heels.</p> + +<p>But already the quick oar-beats were growing +distant; and the gloom had blotted out any chance +of seeing or following the boat.</p> + +<p>Wolf lay on his side, half in and half out of +the water. He could not rise, as was his custom, +to meet the Boy, who came running up, close behind +the Master and valorously grasping a target +rifle; but the dog wagged his tail in feeble greeting, +then he looked out over the black lake, and +snarled.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p> + +<p>The bullet had grazed Wolf's scalp and then had +passed along the foreleg; scarring and numbing it. +No damage had been done that a week's good nursing +would not set right.</p> + +<p>The marks in the grass and the poisoned meat +on the porch told their own tale; so did the neat kit +of burglar tools and a rubber glove found near the +foot of the lawn; and then the telephone was put +to work.</p> + +<p>At dawn, a man in torn and muddy clothes, called +at the office of a doctor three miles away to be +treated for a half-dozen dog-bites received, he said, +from a pack of stray curs he had met on the turnpike. +By the time his wounds were dressed, the +sheriff and two deputies had arrived to take him +in charge. In his pockets were a revolver, with +two cartridges fired, and the mate of the rubber +glove he had left on The Place's lawn.</p> + +<p>"You—you wouldn't let Wolfie go to any show +and win a cup for himself," half-sobbed the Boy, +as the Master worked over the injured dog's wound, +"but he's saved you from losing all the cups the +other dogs ever won!"</p> + +<p>Three days later the Master came home from a +trip to the city. He went directly to the Boy's +room. There on a rug lounged the convalescent +Wolf, the Boy sitting beside him, stroking the dog's +bandaged head.</p> + +<p>"Wolf," said the Master, solemnly, "I've been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> +talking about you to some people I know. And we +all agree——"</p> + +<p>"Agree <i>what?</i>" asked the Boy, looking up in mild +curiosity.</p> + +<p>The Master cleared his throat and continued:</p> + +<p>"We agree that the trophy-shelf in my study +hasn't enough cups on it. So I've decided to add +still another to the collection. Want to see it, son?"</p> + +<p>From behind his back the Master produced a +gleaming silver cup—one of the largest and most +ornate the Boy had ever seen—larger even than +Bruce's "Best Dog" cup.</p> + +<p>The Boy took it from his father's outstretched +hand.</p> + +<p>"Who won this?" he asked. "And what for? +Didn't we get all the cups that were coming to us +at the shows. Is it——"</p> + +<p>The Boy's voice trailed away into a gurgle of bewildered +rapture. He had caught sight of the lettering +on the big cup. And now, his arm around +Wolf, he read the inscription aloud, stammering +with delight as he blurted out the words:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Hero Cup. Won by WOLF, Against All +Comers.</span>"</p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII<br /> +IN THE DAY OF BATTLE</h2> + + +<p>Now, this is the true tale of Lad's last great +adventure.</p> + +<p>For more years than he could remember, +Lad had been king. He had ruled at The Place, +from boundary-fence to boundary-fence, from highway +to Lake. He had had, as subjects, many a +thoroughbred collie; and many a lesser animal and +bird among the Little Folk of The Place. His rule +of them all had been lofty and beneficent.</p> + +<p>The other dogs at The Place recognized Lad's +rulership—recognized it without demur. It would +no more have occurred to any of them, for example, +to pass in or out through a doorway ahead of Lad +than it would occur to a courtier to shoulder his +way into the throne-room ahead of his sovereign. +Nor would one of them intrude on the "cave" +under the living-room piano which for more than +a decade had been Lad's favorite resting-place.</p> + +<p>Great was Lad. And now he was old—very old.</p> + +<p>He was thirteen—which is equivalent to the +human age of seventy. His long, clean lines had +become blurred with flesh. He was undeniably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> +stout. When he ran fast, he rolled slightly in his +stride. Nor could he run as rapidly or as long as +of yore. While he was not wheezy or asthmatic, +yet a brisk five-mile walk would make him strangely +anxious for an hour's rest.</p> + +<p>He would not confess, even to himself, that age +was beginning to hamper him so cruelly. And he +sought to do all the things he had once done—if +the Mistress or the Master were looking. But +when he was alone, or with the other dogs, he +spared himself every needless step. And he slept +a great deal.</p> + +<p>Withal, Lad's was a hale old age. His spirit +and his almost uncanny intelligence had not faltered. +Save for the silvered muzzle—first outward +sign of age in a dog—his face and head were as +classically young as ever. So were the absurdly +small fore-paws—his one gross vanity—on which +he spent hours of care each day, to keep them clean +and snowy.</p> + +<p>He would still dash out of the house as of old—with +the wild trumpeting bark which he reserved +as greeting to his two deities alone—when the Mistress +or the Master returned home after an absence. +He would still frisk excitedly around either of them +at hint of a romp. But the exertion <i>was</i> an exertion. +And despite Lad's valiant efforts at youthfulness, +everyone could see it was.</p> + +<p>No longer did he lead the other dogs in their +headlong rushes through the forest in quest of rab<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>bits. +Since he could not now keep the pace, he +let the others go on these breath-and-strength-taking +excursions without him; and he contented himself +with an occasional lone and stately walk through +the woods where once he had led the run—strolling +along in leisurely fashion, with the benign dignity +of some plump and ruddy old squire inspecting his +estate.</p> + +<p>There had been many dogs at The Place during +the thirteen years of Lad's reign—dogs of all sorts +and conditions, including Lad's worshiped collie +mate, the dainty gold-and-white "Lady." But in +this later day there were but three dogs beside himself.</p> + +<p>One of them was Wolf, the only surviving son +of Lad and Lady—a slender, powerful young collie, +with some of his sire's brain and much of his +mother's appealing grace—an ideal play-dog. Between +Lad and Wolf there had always been a bond +of warmest affection. Lad had trained this son of +his and had taught him all he knew. He unbent +from his lofty dignity, with Wolf, as with none of +the others.</p> + +<p>The second of the remaining dogs was Bruce +("Sunnybank Goldsmith"), tawny as Lad himself, +descendant of eleven international champions and +winner of many a ribbon and medal and cup. Bruce +was—and is—flawless in physical perfection and in +obedience and intelligence.</p> + +<p>The third was Rex—a giant, a freak, a dog oddly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> +out of place among a group of thoroughbreds. On +his father's side Rex was pure collie; on his mother's, +pure bull-terrier. That is an accidental blending of +two breeds which cannot blend. He looked more +like a fawn-colored Great Dane than anything else. +He was short-haired, full two inches taller and ten +pounds heavier than Lad, and had the bunch-muscled +jaws of a killer.</p> + +<p>There was not an outlander dog for two miles +in either direction that Rex had not at one time +or another met and vanquished. The bull-terrier +strain, which blended so ill with collie blood, made +its possessor a terrific fighter. He was swift as a +deer, strong as a puma.</p> + +<p>In many ways he was a lovable and affectionate +pet; slavishly devoted to the Master and grievously +jealous of the latter's love for Lad. Rex was five +years old—in his fullest prime—and, like the rest, +he had ever taken Lad's rulership for granted.</p> + +<p>I have written at perhaps prosy length, introducing +these characters of my war-story. The rest is +action.</p> + +<p>March, that last year, was a month of drearily +recurrent snows. In the forests beyond The Place, +the snow lay light and fluffy at a depth of sixteen +inches.</p> + +<p>On a snowy, blowy, bitter cold Sunday—one of +those days nobody wants—Rex and Wolf elected to +go rabbit-hunting.</p> + +<p>Bruce was not in the hunt, sensibly preferring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> +to lie in front of the living-room fire on so vile a +day rather than to flounder through dust-fine drifts +in search of game that was not worth chasing under +such conditions. Wolf, too, was monstrous comfortable +on the old fur rug by the fire, at the Mistress' +feet.</p> + +<p>But Rex, who had waxed oddly restless of late, +was bored by the indoor afternoon. The Mistress +was reading; the Master was asleep. There seemed +no chance that either would go for a walk or otherwise +amuse their four-footed friends. The winter +forests were calling. The powerful crossbred dog +would find the snow a scant obstacle to his hunting. +And the warmly quivering body of a new-caught +rabbit was a tremendous lure.</p> + +<p>Rex got to his feet, slouched across the living-room +to Bruce and touched his nose. The drowsing +collie paid no heed. Next Rex moved over to +where Wolf lay. The two dogs' noses touched.</p> + +<p>Now, this is no <i>Mowgli</i> tale, but a true narrative. +I do not pretend to say whether or not dogs +have a language of their own. (Personally, I think +they have, and a very comprehensive one, too. But +I cannot prove it.) No dog-student, however, will +deny that two dogs communicate their wishes to +each other in some way by (or during) the swift +contact of noses.</p> + +<p>By that touch Wolf understood Rex's hint to +join in the foray. Wolf was not yet four years old—at +an age when excitement still outweighs lazy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> +comfort. Moreover, he admired and aped Rex, as +much as ever the school's littlest boy models himself +on the class bully. He was up at once and +ready to start.</p> + +<p>A maid was bringing in an armful of wood from +the veranda. The two dogs slipped out through +the half-open door. As they went, Wolf cast a sidelong +glance at Lad, who was snoozing under the +piano. Lad noted the careless invitation. He also +noted that Wolf did not hesitate when his father +refused to join the outing but trotted gayly off in +Rex's wake.</p> + +<p>Perhaps this defection hurt Lad's abnormally sensitive +feelings. For of old he had always led such +forest-runnings. Perhaps the two dogs' departure +merely woke in him the memory of the chase's joys +and stirred a longing for the snow-clogged woods.</p> + +<p>For a minute or two the big living-room was +quiet, except for the scratch of dry snow against +the panes, the slow breathing of Bruce and the turning +of a page in the book the Mistress was reading. +Then Lad got up heavily and walked forth from +his piano-cave.</p> + +<p>He stretched himself and crossed to the Mistress' +chair. There he sat down on the rug very close +beside her and laid one of his ridiculously tiny +white fore-paws in her lap. Absent-mindedly, still +absorbed in her book, she put out a hand and patted +the soft fur of his ruff and ears.</p> + +<p>Often, Lad came to her or to the Master for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> +some such caress; and, receiving it, would return to +his resting-place. But to-day he was seeking to attract +her notice for something much more important. +It had occurred to him that it would be jolly +to go with her for a tramp in the snow. And his +mere presence failing to convey the hint, he began +to "talk."</p> + +<p>To the Mistress and the Master alone did Lad +condescend to "talk"—and then only in moments of +stress or appeal. No one, hearing him, at such a +time, could doubt the dog was trying to frame +human speech. His vocal efforts ran the gamut +of the entire scale. Wordless, but decidedly eloquent, +this "talking" would continue sometimes for +several minutes without ceasing; its tones carried +whatever emotion the old dog sought to convey—whether +of joy, of grief, of request or of complaint.</p> + +<p>To-day there was merely playful entreaty in the +speechless "speech." The Mistress looked up.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Laddie?" she asked. "What do +you want?"</p> + +<p>For answer Lad glanced at the door, then at the +Mistress; then he solemnly went out into the hall—whence +presently he returned with one of her fur +gloves in his mouth.</p> + +<p>"No, no," she laughed. "Not to-day, Lad. Not +in this storm. We'll take a good, long walk to-morrow."</p> + +<p>The dog sighed and returned sadly to his lair +beneath the piano. But the vision of the forests<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> +was evidently hard to erase from his mind. And a +little later, when the front door was open again +by one of the servants, he stalked out.</p> + +<p>The snow was driving hard, and there was a +sting in it. The thermometer was little above zero; +but the snow had been a familiar bedfellow, for +centuries, to Lad's Scottish forefathers; and the +cold was harmless against the woven thickness of +his tawny coat. Picking his way in stately fashion +along the ill-broken track of the driveway, he +strolled toward the woods. To humans there was +nothing in the outdoor day but snow and chill and +bluster and bitter loneliness. To the trained eye +and the miraculous scent-power of a collie it contained +a million things of dramatic interest.</p> + +<p>Here a rabbit had crossed the trail—not with +leisurely bounds or mincing hops, but stomach to +earth, in flight for very life. Here, close at the terrified +bunny's heels, had darted a red fox. Yonder, +where the piling snow covered a swirl of tracks, +the chase had ended.</p> + +<p>The little ridge of snow-heaped furrow, to the +right, held a basketful of cowering quail—who +heard Lad's slow step and did not reckon on his +flawless gift of smell. On the hemlock tree just +ahead a hawk had lately torn a blue-jay asunder. +A fluff of gray feathers still stuck to a bough, and +the scent of blood had not been blown out of the +air. Underneath, a field-mouse was plowing its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> +way into the frozen earth, its tiny paw-scrapes +wholly audible to the ears of the dog above it.</p> + +<p>Here, through the stark and drifted undergrowth, +Rex and Wolf had recently swept along in pursuit +of a half-grown rabbit. Even a human eye could +not have missed their partly-covered tracks; but +Lad knew whose track was whose and which dog +had been in the lead.</p> + +<p>Yes, to humans, the forest would have seemed a +deserted white waste. Lad knew it was thick-populated +with the Little People of the woodland, and +that all day and all night the seemingly empty and +placid groves were a blend of battlefield, slaughterhouse +and restaurant. Here, as much as in the +cities or in the trenches, abode strenuous life, violent +death, struggle, greed and terror.</p> + +<p>A partridge rocketed upward through a clump +of evergreen, while a weasel, jaws a-quiver, glared +after it, baffled. A shaggy owl crouched at a tree-limb +hole and blinked sulkily about in search of +prey and in hope of dusk. A crow, its black feet +red with a slain snowbird's blood, flapped clumsily +overhead. A poet would have vowed that the still +and white-shrouded wilderness was a shrine sacred +to solitude and severe peace. Lad could have told +him better. Nature (beneath the surface) is never +solitary and never at peace.</p> + +<p>When a dog is very old and very heavy and a +little unwieldy, it is hard to walk through sixteen-inch +snow, even if one moves slowly and sedately.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> +Hence Lad was well pleased to come upon a narrow +woodland track; made by a laborer who had passed +and repassed through that same strip of forest during +the last few hours. To follow in that trampled +rut made walking much easier; it was a rut barely +wide enough for one wayfarer.</p> + +<p>More and more like an elderly squire patrolling +his acres, Lad rambled along, and presently his +ears and his nose told him that his two loving +friends Rex and Wolf were coming toward him +on their home-bound way. His plumy tail wagged +expectantly. He was growing a bit lonely on this +Sunday afternoon walk of his, and a little tired. +It would be a pleasure to have company—especially +Wolf's.</p> + +<p>Rex and Wolf had fared ill on their hunt. They +had put up two rabbits. One had doubled and completely +escaped them; and in the chase Rex had cut +his foot nastily on a strip of unseen barbed wire. +The sandlike snow had gotten into the jagged cut +in a most irritating way.</p> + +<p>The second rabbit had dived under a log. Rex +had thrust his head fiercely through a snowbank +in quest of the vanished prey; and a long briar-thorn, +hidden there, had plunged its needle point +deep into the inside of his left nostril. The inner +nostril is a hundred-fold the most agonizingly +sensitive part of a dog's body, and the pain wrung +a yell of rage and hurt from the big dog.</p> + +<p>With a nostril and a foot both hurt, there was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> +no more fun in hunting, and—angry, cross, savagely +in pain—Rex loped homeward, Wolf pattering +along behind him. Like Lad, they came upon +the laborer's trampled path and took advantage of +the easier going.</p> + +<p>Thus it was, at a turn in the track, that they +came face to face with Lad. Wolf had already +smelled him, and his brush began to quiver in welcome. +Rex, his nose in anguish, could smell nothing; +not until that turn did he know of Lad's +presence. He halted, sulky, and ill-tempered. The +queer restlessness, the pre-springtime savagery +that had obsessed him of late had been brought to +a head by his hurts. He was not himself. His +mind was sick.</p> + +<p>There was not room for two large dogs to pass +each other in that narrow trail. One or the other +must flounder out into the deep snow to the side. +Ordinarily, there would be no question about any +other dog on The Place turning out for Lad. It +would have been a matter of course, and so, to-day, +Lad expected it to be. Onward he moved, at that +same dignified walk, until he was not a yard away +from Rex.</p> + +<p>The latter, his brain fevered and his hurts torturing +him, suddenly flamed into rebellion. Even +as a younger buck sooner or later assails for +mastery the leader of the herd, so the brain-sick +Rex went back, all at once, to primal instincts, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> +maniac rage mastered him—the rage of the angry +underling, the primitive lust for mastery.</p> + +<p>With not so much as a growl or warning, he +launched himself upon Lad. Straight at the tired +old dog's throat he flew. Lad, all unprepared for +such unheard-of mutiny, was caught clean off his +guard. He had not even time enough to lower +his head to protect his throat or to rear and meet +his erstwhile subject's attack halfway. At one +moment he had been plodding gravely toward his +two supposedly loyal friends; the next, Rex's +ninety pounds of whale-bone muscle had smitten +him violently to earth, and Rex's fearsome jaws—capable +of cracking a beef-bone as a man cracks a +filbert—had found a vise-grip in the soft fur of +his throat.</p> + +<p>Down amid a flurry of high-tossed snow, crashed +Lad, his snarling enemy upon him, pinning him to +the ground, the huge jaws tearing and rending at +his ruff—the silken ruff that the Mistress daily +combed with such loving care to keep it fluffy and +beautiful.</p> + +<p>It was a grip and a leverage that would have +made the average opponent helpless. With a short-haired +dog it would have meant the end, but the +providence that gave collies a mattress of fur—to +stave off the cold, in their herding work amid the +snowy moors—has made that fur thickest about the +lower neck.</p> + +<p>Rex had struck in crazy rage and had not gauged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> +his mark as truly as though he had been cooler. He +had missed the jugular and found himself grinding +at an enormous mouthful of matted hair—and at +very little else; and Lad belonged to the breed that +is never to be taken wholly by surprise and that acts +by the swiftest instinct or reason known to dogdom. +Even as he fell, he instinctively threw his +body sideways to avoid the full jar of Rex's impact—and +gathered his feet under him.</p> + +<p>With a heave that wrenched his every unaccustomed +muscle, Lad shook off the living weight and +scrambled upright. To prevent this, Rex threw +his entire body forward to reinforce his throat-grip. +As a result, a double handful of ruff-hair and a +patch of skin came away in his jaws. And Lad +was free.</p> + +<p>He was free—to turn tail and run for his life +from the unequal combat—and that his hero-heart +would not let him do. He was free, also, to stand +his ground and fight there in the snowbound forest +until he should be slain by his younger and larger +and stronger foe, and this folly his almost-human +intelligence would not permit.</p> + +<p>There was one chance and only one—one compromise +alone between sanity and honor. And this +chance Lad took.</p> + +<p>He <i>would</i> not run. He <i>could</i> not save his life by +fighting where he stood. His only hope was to +keep his face to his enemy, battling as best he +could, and all the time keep backing toward home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> +If he could last until he came within sight or +sound of the folk at the house, he knew he would +be saved. Home was a full half-mile away and +the snow was almost chest-deep. Yet, on the instant, +he laid out his plan of campaign and put +it into action.</p> + +<p>Rex cleared his mouth of the impeding hair and +flew at Lad once more—before the old dog had +fairly gotten to his feet, but not before the line +of defense had been thought out. Lad half +wheeled, dodging the snapping jaws by an inch +and taking the impact of the charge on his left +shoulder, at the same time burying his teeth in the +right side of Rex's face.</p> + +<p>At the same time Lad gave ground, moving backward +three or four yards, helped along by the +impetus of his opponent. Home was a half-mile +behind him, in an oblique line, and he could not +turn to gauge his direction. Yet he moved in precisely +the correct angle.</p> + +<p>(Indeed, a passer-by who witnessed the fight, and +the Master, who went carefully over the ground +afterward, proved that at no point in the battle +did Lad swerve or mistake his exact direction. +Yet not once could he have been able to look around +to judge it, and his foot-prints showed that not +once had he turned his back on the foe.)</p> + +<p>The hold Lad secured on Rex's cheek was good, +but it was not good enough. At thirteen, a dog's +"biting teeth" are worn short and dull, and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> +yellowed fangs are blunted; nor is the jaw by any +means as powerful as once it was. Rex writhed +and pitched in the fierce grip, and presently tore +free from it and to the attack again, seeking now +to lunge over the top of Lad's lowered head to +the vital spot at the nape of the neck, where sharp +teeth may pierce through to the spinal cord.</p> + +<p>Thrice Rex lunged, and thrice Lad reared on his +hind legs, meeting the shock with his deep, shaggy +breast, snapping and slashing at his enemy and +every time receding a few steps between charges. +They had left the path now, and were plowing a +course through deep snow. The snow was scant +barrier to Rex's full strength, but it terribly impeded +the steadily backing Lad. Lad's extra flesh, +too, was a bad handicap; his wind was not at all +what it should have been, and the unwonted exertion +began to tell sharply on him.</p> + +<p>Under the lead-hued skies and the drive of the +snow the fight swirled and eddied. The great dogs +reared, clashed, tore, battered against tree-trunks, +lost footing and rolled, staggered up again and renewed +the onslaught. Ever Lad manœuvered his +way backward, waging a desperate "rear-guard +action." In the battle's wake was an irregular but +mathematically straight line of trampled and blood-spattered +snow.</p> + +<p>Oh, but it was slow going, this ever-fighting retreat +of Lad's, through the deep drifts, with his +mightier foe pressing him and rending at his throat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> +and shoulders at every backward step! The old +dog's wind was gone; his once-superb strength was +going, but he fought on with blazing fury—the +fury of a dying king who <i>will</i> not be deposed.</p> + +<p>In sheer skill and brain-work and generalship, +Lad was wholly Rex's superior, but these served +him ill in a death-grapple. With dogs, as with +human pugilists, mere science and strategy avail +little against superior size and strength and youth. +Again and again Lad found or made an opening. +Again and again his weakening jaws secured the +right grip only to be shaken off with more and +more ease by the younger combatant.</p> + +<p>Again and again Lad "slashed" as do his wolf +cousins and as does almost no civilized dog but +the collie. But the slashes had lost their one-time +lightning speed and prowess. And the blunt "rending +fangs" scored only superficial furrows in Rex's +fawn-colored hide.</p> + +<p>There was meager hope of reaching home alive. +Lad must have known that. His strength was +gone. It was his heart and his glorious ancestry +now that were doing his fighting—not his fat and +age-depleted body. From Lad's mental vocabulary +the word <i>quit</i> had ever been absent. Wherefore—dizzy, +gasping, feebler every minute—he battled +fearlessly on in the dying day; never losing his +sense of direction, never turning tail, never dreaming +of surrender, taking dire wounds, inflicting +light ones.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span></p> + +<p>There are many forms of dog-fight. Two +strange dogs, meeting, will fly at each other because +their wild forbears used to do so. Jealous dogs +will battle even more fiercely. But the deadliest +of all canine conflicts is the "murder-fight." This +is a struggle wherein one or both contestants have +decided to give no quarter, where the victor will +fight on until his antagonist is dead and will then +tear his body to pieces. It is a recognized form +of canine mania.</p> + +<p>And it was a murder-fight that Rex was waging, +for he had gone quite insane. (This is wholly different, +by the way, from "going mad.")</p> + +<p>Down went Lad, for perhaps the tenth time, and +once more—though now with an effort that was +all but too much for him—he writhed to his feet, +gaining three yards of ground by the move. Rex +was upon him with one leap, the frothing and +bloody jaws striking for his mangled throat. Lad +reared to block the attack. Then suddenly, overbalanced, +he crashed backward into the snowdrift.</p> + +<p>Rex had not reached him, but young Wolf had.</p> + +<p>Wolf had watched the battle with a growing excitement +that at last had broken all bounds. The +instinct, which makes a fluff-headed college-boy +mix into a scrimmage that is no concern of his, +had suddenly possessed Lad's dearly loved son.</p> + +<p>Now, if this were a fiction yarn, it would be +edifying to tell how Wolf sprang to the aid of +his grand old sire and how he thereby saved Lad's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> +life. But the shameful truth is that Wolf did nothing +of the sort. Rex was his model, the bully he +had so long and so enthusiastically imitated. And +now Rex was fighting a most entertaining bout, +fighting it with a maniac fury that infected his +young disciple and made him yearn to share in the +glory.</p> + +<p>Wherefore, as Lad reared to meet Rex's lunge, +Wolf hurled himself like a furry whirlwind upon +the old dog's flank, burying his white teeth in the +muscles of the lower leg.</p> + +<p>The flank attack bowled Lad completely over. +There was no chance now for such a fall as would +enable him to spring up again unscathed. He was +thrown heavily upon his back, and both his +murderers plunged at his unguarded throat and +lower body.</p> + +<p>But a collie thrown is not a collie beaten, as perhaps +I have said once before. For thirty seconds +or more the three thrashed about in the snow in +a growling, snarling, right unloving embrace. +Then, by some miracle, Lad was on his feet again.</p> + +<p>His throat had a new and deep wound, perilously +close to the jugular. His stomach and left side +were slashed as with razor-blades. But he was up. +And even in that moment of dire stress—with both +dogs flinging themselves upon him afresh—he +gained another yard or two in his line of retreat.</p> + +<p>He might have gained still more ground. For +his assailants, leaping at the same instant, collided<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> +and impeded each other's charge. But, for the +first time the wise old brain clouded, and the hero-heart +went sick; as Lad saw his own loved and +spoiled son ranged against him in the murder-fray. +He could not understand. Loyalty was as much +a part of himself as were his sorrowful brown +eyes or his tiny white fore-paws. And Wolf's +amazing treachery seemed to numb the old warrior, +body and mind.</p> + +<p>But the second of dumfounded wonder passed +quickly—too quickly for either of the other dogs +to take advantage of it. In its place surged a +righteous wrath that, for the instant, brought back +youth and strength to the aged fighter.</p> + +<p>With a yell that echoed far through the forest's +sinister silence, Lad whizzed forward at the advancing +Rex. Wolf, who was nearer, struck for +his father's throat—missed and rolled in the snow +from the force of his own momentum. Lad did +not heed him. Straight for Rex he leaped. Rex, +bounding at him, was already in midair. The two +met, and under the Berserk onset Rex fell back +into the snow.</p> + +<p>Lad was upon him at once. The worn-down +teeth found their goal above the jugular. Deep +and raggedly they drove, impelled by the brief flash +of power that upbore their owner.</p> + +<p>Almost did that grip end the fight and leave Rex +gasping out his life in the drift. But the access +of false strength faded. Rex, roaring like a hurt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> +tiger, twisted and tore himself free. Lad realizing +his own bolt was shot, gave ground, backing away +from two assailants instead of one.</p> + +<p>It was easier now to retreat. For Wolf, unskilled +in practical warfare, at first hindered Rex +almost as much as he helped him, again and again +getting in the bigger dog's way and marring a rush. +Had Wolf understood "teamwork," Lad must have +been pulled down and slaughtered in less than a +minute.</p> + +<p>But soon Wolf grasped the fact that he could do +worse damage by keeping out of his ally's way +and attacking from a different quarter, and thereafter +he fought to more deadly purpose. His +favorite ruse was to dive for Lad's forelegs and +attempt to break one of them. That is a collie +manœuver inherited direct from Wolf's namesake +ancestors.</p> + +<p>Several times his jaws reached the slender white +forelegs, cutting and slashing them and throwing +Lad off his balance. Once he found a hold on the +left haunch and held it until his victim shook loose +by rolling.</p> + +<p>Lad defended himself from this new foe as well +as he might, by dodging or by brushing him to one +side, but never once did he attack Wolf, or so +much as snap at him. (Rex after the encounter, +was plentifully scarred. Wolf had not so much as a +scratch.)</p> + +<p>Backward, with ever-increasing difficulty, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> +old dog fought his way, often borne down to earth +and always staggering up more feebly than before. +But ever he was warring with the same fierce +courage; despite an ache and bewilderment in his +honest heart at his son's treason.</p> + +<p>The forest lay behind the fighters. The deserted +highroad was passed. Under Lad's clawing and +reeling feet was the dear ground of The Place—The +Place where for thirteen happy years he had +reigned as king, where he had benevolently ruled +his kind and had given worshipful service to his +gods.</p> + +<p>But the house was still nearly a furlong off, and +Lad was well-nigh dead. His body was one mass +of wounds. His strength was turned to water. +His breath was gone. His bloodshot eyes were +dim. His brain was dizzy and refused its office. +Loss of blood had weakened him full as much as +had the tremendous exertion of the battle.</p> + +<p>Yet—uselessly now—he continued to fight. It +was a grotesquely futile resistance. The other dogs +were all over him—tearing, slashing, gripping, at +will—unhindered by his puny effort to fend them +off. The slaughter-time had come. Drunk with +blood and fury, the assailants plunged at him for +the last time.</p> + +<p>Down went Lad, helpless beneath the murderous +avalanche that overwhelmed him. And this time +his body flatly refused to obey the grim command +of his will. The fight was over—the good, <i>good</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> +fight of a white-souled Paladin against hopeless +odds.</p> + +<p>The living-room fire crackled cheerily. The +snow hissed and slithered against the glass. A +sheet of frost on every pane shut out the stormy +twilit world. The screech of the wind was music +to the comfortable shut-ins.</p> + +<p>The Mistress drowsed over her book by the fire. +Bruce snored snugly in front of the blaze. The +Master had awakened from his nap and was in the +adjoining study, sorting fishing-tackle and scouring +a rusted hunting-knife.</p> + +<p>Then came a second's lull in the gale, and all at +once Bruce was wide awake. Growling, he ran to +the front door and scratched imperatively at the +panel. This is not the way a well-bred dog makes +known his desire to leave the house. And Bruce +was decidedly a well-bred dog.</p> + +<p>The Mistress, thinking some guest might be arriving +whose scent or tread displeased the collie, +called to the Master to shut Bruce in the study, +lest he insult the supposed visitor by barking. Reluctantly—very +reluctantly—Bruce obeyed the +order. The Master shut the study door behind +him and came into the living-room, still carrying +the half-cleaned knife.</p> + +<p>As no summons at bell or knocker followed +Bruce's announcement, the Mistress opened the +front door and looked out. The dusk was falling, +but it was not too dark for her to have seen the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> +approach of anyone, nor was it too dark for the +Mistress to see two dogs tearing at something that +lay hidden from her view in the deep snow a hundred +yards away. She recognized Rex and Wolf +at once and amusedly wondered with what they +were playing.</p> + +<p>Then from the depth of snow beneath them she +saw a feeble head rear itself—a glorious head, +though torn and bleeding—a head that waveringly +lunged toward Rex's throat.</p> + +<p>"They're—they're killing—<i>Lad!</i>" she cried in +stark, unbelieving horror. Forgetful of thin dress +and thinner slippers, she ran toward the trio. +Halfway to the battlefield the Master passed by +her, running and lurching through the knee-high +snow at something like record speed.</p> + +<p>She heard his shout. And at sound of it she +saw Wolf slink away from the slaughter like a +scared schoolboy. But Rex was too far gone in +murder-lust to heed the shout. The Master seized +him by the studded collar and tossed him ten feet +or more to one side. Rage-blind, Rex came flying +back to the kill. The Master stood astride his +prey, and in his blind mania the cross-breed sprang +at the man.</p> + +<p>The Master's hunting-knife caught him squarely +behind the left fore-leg. And with a grunt like the +sound of an exhausted soda-siphon, the huge dog +passed out of this story and out of life as well.</p> + +<p>There would be ample time, later, for the Master<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> +to mourn his enforced slaying of the pet dog that +had loved and served him so long. At present he +had eyes only for the torn and senseless body of +Lad lying huddled in the red-blotched snow.</p> + +<p>In his arms he lifted Lad and carried him +tenderly into the house. There the Mistress' light +fingers dressed his hideous injuries. Not less than +thirty-six deep wounds scored the worn-out old +body. Several of these were past the skill of home +treatment.</p> + +<p>A grumbling veterinary was summoned on the +telephone and was lured by pledge of a triple fee +to chug through ten miles of storm in a balky car +to the rescue.</p> + +<p>Lad was lying with his head in the Mistress' lap. +The vet' looked the unconscious dog over and then +said tersely:</p> + +<p>"I wish I'd stayed at home. He's as good as +dead."</p> + +<p>"He's a million times better than dead," denied +the Master. "I know Lad. You don't. He's got +into the habit of living, and he's not going to break +that habit, not if the best nursing and surgery in +the State can keep him from doing it. Get busy!"</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to keep me here," objected the +vet'. "He's——"</p> + +<p>"There's everything to keep you here," gently +contradicted the Master. "You'll stay here till +Lad's out of danger—if I have to steal your +trousers and your car. You're going to cure him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> +And if you do, you can write your bill on a Liberty +Bond."</p> + +<p>Two hours later Lad opened his eyes. He was +swathed in smelly bandages and he was soaked in +liniments. Patches of hair had been shaved away +from his worst wounds. Digitalis was reinforcing +his faint heart-action.</p> + +<p>He looked up at the Mistress with his only available +eye. By a herculean struggle he wagged his +tail—just once. And he essayed the trumpeting +bark wherewith he always welcomed her return +after an absence. The bark was a total failure.</p> + +<p>After which Lad tried to tell the Mistress the +story of the battle. Very weakly, but very persistently +he "talked." His tones dropped now and +then to the shadow of a ferocious growl as he +related his exploits and then scaled again to a +puppy-like whimper.</p> + +<p>He had done a grand day's work, had Lad, and +he wanted applause. He had suffered much and he +was still in racking pain, and he wanted sympathy +and petting. Presently he fell asleep.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>It was two weeks before Lad could stand upright, +and two more before he could go out of +doors unhelped. Then on a warm, early spring +morning, the vet' declared him out of all danger.</p> + +<p>Very thin was the invalid, very shaky, snow-white +of muzzle and with the air of an old, old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> +man whose too-fragile body is sustained only by +a regal dignity. But he was <i>alive</i>.</p> + +<p>Slowly he marched from his piano cave toward +the open front door. Wolf—in black disgrace for +the past month—chanced to be crossing the living-room +toward the veranda at the same time. The +two dogs reached the door-way simultaneously.</p> + +<p>Very respectfully, almost cringingly, Wolf stood +aside for Lad to pass out.</p> + +<p>His sire walked by with never a look. But his +step was all at once stronger and springier, and +he held his splendid head high.</p> + +<p>For Lad knew he was still king!</p> + +<p class="center">THE END.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="AFTERWORD" id="AFTERWORD"></a>AFTERWORD</h2> + + +<p>The stories of Lad, in various magazines, found +unexpectedly kind welcome. Letters came to me +from soldiers and sailors in Europe, from hosts of +children; from men and women, everywhere.</p> + +<p>Few of the letter-writers bothered to praise the +stories, themselves. But all of them praised Lad, +which pleased me far better. And more than a +hundred of them wanted to know if he were a real +dog: and if the tales of his exploits were true.</p> + +<p>Perhaps those of you who have followed Lad's +adventures, through these pages, may also be a +little interested to know more about him.</p> + +<p>Yes, Lad was a "real" dog—the greatest dog +by far, I have known or shall know. And the +chief happenings in nearly all of my Lad stories +are absolutely true. This accounts for such +measure of success as the stories may have won.</p> + +<p>After his "Day of Battle," Lad lived for more +than two years—still gallant of spirit, loyally +mighty of heart, uncanny of wisdom—still the undisputed +king of The Place's "Little People."</p> + +<p>Then, on a warm September morning in 1918, +he stretched himself to sleep in the coolest and +shadiest corner of the veranda. And, while he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> +slept, his great heart very quietly stopped beating. +He had no pain, no illness, none of the distressing +features of extreme age. He had lived out a full +span of sixteen years—years rich in life and happiness +and love.</p> + +<p>Surely, there was nothing in such a death to warrant +the silly grief that was ours, nor the heartsick +gloom that overhung The Place! It was +wholly illogical, not to say maudlin. I admit that +without argument. The cleric-author of "The +Mansion Yard" must have known the same miserable +sense of loss, I think, when he wrote:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"Stretched on the hearthrug in a deep content,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Fond of the fire as I.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, there was something with the old dog went</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I had not thought could die!"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>We buried Lad in a sunlit nook that had been +his favorite lounging place, close to the house he +had guarded so long and so gallantly. With him +we buried his honorary Red Cross and Blue Cross—awards +for money raised in his name. Above his +head we set a low granite block, with a carven +line or two thereon.</p> + +<p>The Mistress wanted the block inscribed: "The +Dearest Dog!" I suggested: "The Dog God +Made." But we decided against both epitaphs. +We did not care to risk making our dear old friend's +memory ridiculous by words at which saner folk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> +might one day sneer. So on the granite is engraved:</p> + +<table class="bbox" summary="Epitaph"> +<tr><td class="center"> +LAD<br /> +<span class="smcap lowercase">THOROUGHBRED IN BODY AND SOUL</span><br /> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Some people are wise enough to know that a +dog has no soul. These will find ample theme for +mirth in our foolish inscription. But no one, who +knew Lad, will laugh at it.</p> + +<p class="right smcap"> +Albert Payson Terhune. +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"Sunnybank"</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Pompton Lakes,</span><br /> +<span class="i4">New Jersey.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="transnote"> +<p> +The following is a list of changes made to the original. +The first line is the original line, the second the corrected one. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Nineteenth <span class="u">Printing</span> March, 1922</i><br /> +<i>Nineteenth <span class="u">Printing,</span> March, 1922</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Twentieth <span class="u">Printing</span> August, 1922</i><br /> +<i>Twentieth <span class="u">Printing,</span> August, 1922</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Twenty-first <span class="u">Printing</span> Sept. 1922</i><br /> +<i>Twenty-first <span class="u">Printing,</span> Sept., 1922</i> +</p> + +<p> +You're--<span class="u">your're</span> more of a man than I am, old<br /> +You're--<span class="u">you're</span> more of a man than I am, old +</p> + +<p> +the inner wooden blinds in search the catch.<br /> +the inner wooden blinds in search <span class="u">of</span> the catch. +</p> + +<p> +formally entered for the Novice class, at the <span class="u">Westminister</span><br /> +formally entered for the Novice class, at the <span class="u">Westminster</span> +</p> + +<p> +white sign, was inscribed "<span class="u"><span class="smcap">Collies</span></span>" Here his<br /> +white sign, was inscribed "<span class="u"><span class="smcap">Collies</span>.</span>" Here his +</p> + +<p> +was apparently no part of the <span class="u">law</span>. And Lad felt<br /> +was apparently no part of the <span class="u">Law</span>. And Lad felt</p> + +<p> +Lad was viewing the <span class="u">procedings</span> from the top of<br /> +Lad was viewing the <span class="u">proceedings</span> from the top of +</p> + +<p> +a bushy tail hung <span class="u">limpy</span> between crooked hind legs;<br /> +a bushy tail hung <span class="u">limply</span> between crooked hind legs; +</p> + +<p> +<span class="u">Any body</span>, with price to buy a dog, can be an 'owner,'<br /> +<span class="u">Anybody</span>, with price to buy a dog, can be an 'owner,' +</p> + +<p> +<span class="u">"'<i>Third</i>,'</span> the Mistress read, her brows crinkling<br /> +<span class="u">"'<i>Third</i>,'"</span> the Mistress read, her brows crinkling +</p> + +<p> +And Schwartz was an <span class="u">eye-witeness</span> to this--Schwartz,<br /> +And Schwartz was an <span class="u">eye-witness</span> to this--Schwartz, +</p> + +<p> +<span class="u">"A sight harder,</span> responded Schwartz. "My<br /> +<span class="u">"A sight harder,"</span> responded Schwartz. "My +</p> + +<p> +<span class="u">longily</span> at Schwartz's throat.<br /> +<span class="u">longingly</span> at Schwartz's throat. +</p> + +<p> +and to accept <span class="u">it</span> He reached into his pocket and<br /> +and to accept <span class="u">it.</span> He reached into his pocket and +</p> + +<p> +Now, this is no <span class="u"><i>Mowgili</i></span> tale, but a true narrative.<br /> +Now, this is no <span class="u"><i>Mowgli</i></span> tale, but a true narrative. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="u">underlying</span>, the primitive lust for mastery.<br /> +<span class="u">underling</span>, the primitive lust for mastery. +</p> + +<p> +he laid out his <span class="u">plain</span> of campaign and put<br /> +he laid out his <span class="u">plan</span> of campaign and put +</p> +<p> +action." In the battle's <span class="u">wage</span> was an irregular but<br /> +action." In the battle's <span class="u">wake</span> was an irregular but +</p> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lad: A Dog, by Albert Payson Terhune + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAD: A DOG *** + +***** This file should be named 38777-h.htm or 38777-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/7/7/38777/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Paul Clark and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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