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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6d6c1bb --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68868 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68868) diff --git a/old/68868-0.txt b/old/68868-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a79602c..0000000 --- a/old/68868-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1008 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Bulldog, by Max Brand - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Bulldog - -Author: Max Brand - -Illustrator: Will Foster - -Release Date: September 15, 2022 [eBook #68868] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Roger Frank - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BULLDOG *** - - - - - -Bulldog - -by Max Brand - - -[Illustration: “Shut up your yapping,” Peter Zinn greeted his wife. -“Shut up and take care of this pup. He’s my kind of dog.”] - - -When Zinn came home from prison, no one was at the station to meet -him except the constable, Tom Frejus, who laid a hand on his shoulder -and said: “Now, Zinn, let this here be a lesson to you. Give me a -chance to treat you white. I ain’t going to hound you. Just remember -that because you’re stronger than other folks you ain’t got any -reason to beat them up.” - -Zinn looked down upon him from a height. Every day of the year during -which he had swung his sledge hammer to break rocks for the State -roads, he had told himself that one good purpose was served: his -muscles grew harder, the fat dropped from his waist and shoulders, -the iron square of his chin thrust out as in his youth, and when he -came back to town he would use that strength to wreak upon the -constable his old hate. For manifestly Tom Frejus was his archenemy. -When he first came to Sioux Crossing and fought the three men in Joe -Riley’s saloon--oh, famous and happy night!--Constable Frejus gave -him a warning. When he fought the Gandil brothers and beat them both -senseless, Frejus arrested him. When his old horse, Fidgety, balked -in the back lot and Zinn tore a rail from the fence in lieu of a -club, Tom Frejus arrested him for cruelty to dumb beasts. This was a -crowning torment, for, as Zinn told the judge, he’d bought that old -skate with good money and he had a right to do what he wanted with -it. But the judge, as always, agreed with Tom Frejus. These incidents -were only items in a long list which culminated when Zinn drank deep -of bootleg whisky and then beat up the constable himself. The -constable, at the trial, pleaded for clemency on account, he said, of -Zinn’s wife and three children; but Zinn knew, of course, that Frejus -wanted him back only that the old persecution might begin. On this -day, therefore the ex-convict, in pure excess of rage, smiled down on -the constable. - -“Keep out of my way, Frejus,” he said, “and you’ll keep a whole skin. -But some day I’ll get you alone, and then I’ll bust you in two--like -this!” - -He made an eloquent gesture; then he strode off up the street. As the -sawmill had just closed, a crowd of returning workers swarmed on the -sidewalks, and Zinn took off his cap so that they could see his -cropped head. In his heart of hearts he hoped that some one would -jibe, but the crowd split away before him and passed with cautiously -averted eyes. Most of them were big, rough fellows and their fear was -pleasant balm for his savage heart. He went on with his hands a -little tensed to feel the strength of his arms. - - * * * * * - -The dusk was closing early on this autumn day with a chill whirl of -snowflakes borne on a wind that had been iced in crossing the heads -of the white mountains, but Zinn did not feel the cold. He looked up -to the black ranks of the pine forest which climbed the sides of -Sandoval Mountain, scattering toward the top and pausing where the -sheeted masses of snow began. Life was like that--a struggle, an -eternal fight, but never a victory on the mountaintop which all the -world could see and admire. When the judge sentenced him he said: “If -you lived in the days of armor, you might have been a hero, Zinn; but -in these times you are a waster and an enemy of society.” He had -grasped dimly at the meaning of this. Through his life he had always -aimed at something which would set him apart from and above his -fellows; now, at the age of forty, he felt in his hands an -undiminished authority of might, but still those hands had not given -him the victory. If he beat and routed four men in a huge conflict, -society, instead of applauding, raised the club of the law and struck -him down. It had always done so, but, though the majority voted -against him, his tigerish spirit groped after and clung to this -truth: to be strong is to be glorious! - -He reached the hilltop and looked down to his home in the hollow. A -vague wonder and sorrow came upon him to find that all had been held -together in spite of his absence. There was even a new coat of paint -upon the woodshed and a hedge of young firs was growing neatly around -the front yard. In fact, the homestead seemed to be prospering as -though his strength were not needed! He digested this reflection with -an oath and looked sullenly about him. On the corner a little white -dog watched him with lowered ears and a tail curved under its belly. - -“Get out, cur!” snarled Zinn. He picked up a rock and threw it with -such good aim that it missed the dog by a mere inch or two, but the -puppy merely pricked its ears and straightened its tail. - -“It’s silly with the cold,” said Zinn himself, chuckling. “This time -I’ll smear it.” - -He pried from the roadway a stone of three or four pounds, took good -aim, and hurled it as lightly as a pebble flies from the sling. Too -late the white dog leaped to the side, for the flying missile caught -it a glancing blow that tumbled it over and over. Zinn, muttering -with pleasure, scooped up another stone, but when he raised it this -time the stone fell from his hand, so great was his surprise. The -white dog, with a line of red along its side where a ragged edge of -the stone had torn the skin, had gained its feet and now was driving -silently straight at the big man. Indeed, Zinn had barely time to aim -a kick at the little brute, which it dodged as a rabbit turns from -the jaws of the hound. Then two rows of small, sharp teeth pierced -his trousers and sank into the flesh of his leg. He uttered a yell of -surprise rather than pain. He kicked the swaying, tugging creature, -but still it clung, working the puppy teeth deeper with intent -devotion. He picked up the fallen stone and brought it down heavily -with a blow that laid open the skull and brought a gush of blood, but -though the body of the little savage grew limp, the jaws were locked. -He had to pry them apart with all his strength. Then he swung the -loose, senseless body into the air by the hind legs. - -What stopped him he could not tell. Most of all it was the stabbing -pain in his leg and the marvel that so small a dog could have dared -so much. But at last he tucked it under his arm, regardless of the -blood that trickled over his coat. He went down the hill, kicked open -the front door, and threw down his burden. Mrs. Zinn was coming from -the kitchen with a shrill cry that sounded more like fear than like a -welcome to Zinn. - -“Peter! Peter!” she cried at him, clasping her hands together and -staring. - -“Shut up your yapping,” said Peter Zinn. “Shut up and take care of -this pup. He’s my kind of a dog.” - -His three sons wedged into the doorway and gaped at him with round -eyes and white faces. - -“Look here,” he said, pointing to his bleeding leg. “That damned pup -done that. That’s the way I want you kids to grow up. Fight anything. -Fight a buzz saw. You don’t need to go to no school for lessons. You -can foller after Blondy, there.” - -So Blondy was christened; so he was given a home. Mrs. Zinn, who had -been a trained nurse in her youth, nevertheless stood by with moans -of sympathy while her husband took the necessary stitches in the head -of Blondy. - -“Keep still, fool,” said Mr. Zinn. “Look at Blondy. He ain’t even -whining. Pain don’t hurt nothing. Pain is the making of a dog--or a -man! Look at there--if he ain’t licking my hand! He knows his -master!” - -A horse kicked old Joe Harkness the next day, and Peter Zinn took -charge of the blacksmith shop. He was greatly changed by his stay in -the penitentiary, so that superficial observers in the town of Sioux -Crossing declared that he had been reformed by punishment, inasmuch -as he no longer blustered or hunted fights in the streets of the -village. He attended to his work, and as everyone admitted that no -farrier in the country could fit horseshoes better, or do a better -job at welding, when Joe Harkness returned to his shop he kept Zinn -as a partner. Neither did Peter Zinn waste time or money on bootleg -whisky, but in spite of these new and manifold virtues some of the -very observant declared that there was more to be feared from the -silent and settled ferocity of his manner than from the boisterous -ways which had been his in other days. Constable Tom Frejus was among -the latter. And it was noted that he practiced half an hour every day -with his revolver in the back of his lot. - -[Illustration: So Peter Zinn took charge of the blacksmith shop, and -the town declared him reformed.] - -Blondy, in the meantime, stepped into maturity in a few swift months. -On his fore and hind quarters the big ropy muscles thrust out. His -neck grew thicker and more arched, and in his dark brown eyes there -appeared a wistful look of eagerness which never left him saving when -Peter Zinn was near. The rest of the family he tolerated, but did not -love. It was in vain that Mrs. Zinn, eager to please a husband whose -transformation had filled her with wonder and with awe, lavished -attentions upon Blondy and fed him with dainties twice a day. It was -in vain that the three boys petted and fondled and talked kindly to -Blondy. He endured these demonstrations, but did not return them. But -when five o’clock came in the evening of the day, Blondy went out to -the gate of the front yard and stood there like a white statue until -a certain heavy step sounded on the wooden sidewalk up the hill. That -noise changed Blondy into an ecstasy of impatience, and when the big -man came through the gate, Blondy raced and leaped about him with -such a muffled whine of joy, coming from such deeps of his heart, -that his whole body trembled. At meals Blondy lay across the feet of -the master. At night he curled into a warm circle at the foot of the -bed. - - * * * * * - -There was only one trouble with Blondy. When people asked: “What sort -of a dog is that?” Peter Zinn could never answer anything except: “A -hell of a good fighting dog; you can lay to that.” It was a stranger -who finally gave them information, a lumber merchant who had come to -Sioux Crossing to buy timber land. He stopped Peter Zinn on the -street and crouched on his heels to admire Blondy. - -“A real white one,” said he. “As fine a bull terrier as I ever saw. -What does he weigh?” - -“Fifty-five pounds,” said Zinn. - -“I’ll give you five dollars for every pound of him,” said the -stranger. - -Peter Zinn was silent. - -“Love him too much to part with him, eh?” asked the other, smiling up -at the big blacksmith. - -“Love him?” snorted Zinn. “Love a dog! I ain’t no fool.” - -“Ah?” said the stranger. “Then what’s your price?” - -Peter Zinn scratched his head; then he scowled, for when he tried to -translate Blondy into terms of money, his wits failed him. - -“That’s two hundred and seventy-five dollars,” he said finally. - -“I’ll make it three hundred, even. And, mind you. my friend, this dog -is useless for show purposes. You’ve let him fight too much, and he’s -covered with scars. No trimming can make that right ear presentable. -However, he’s a grand dog, and he’d be worth something in the stud.” - -Zinn hardly heard the last of this. He was considering that for three -hundred dollars he could extend the blacksmith shop by one-half and -get a full partnership with Harkness, or else he could buy that -four-cylinder car which young Thompson wanted to sell. Yet even the -showy grandeur of an automobile would hardly serve. He did not love -Blondy. Love was an emotion which he scorned as beneath the dignity -of a strong man. He had not married his wife because of love, but -because he was tired of eating in restaurants and because other men -had homes. The possession of an automobile would put the stamp upon -his new prosperity, but could an automobile welcome him home at night -or sleep at his feet? - -“I dunno,” he said at last. “I guess I ain’t selling.” - -And he walked on. He did not feel more kindly toward Blondy after -this. In fact, he never mentioned the circumstance, even in his home, -but often when he felt the warmth of Blondy at his feet he was both -baffled and relieved. - -In the meantime Blondy had been making history in Sioux Crossing -hardly less spectacular than that of Zinn. His idea of play was a -battle; his conception of a perfect day embraced the killing of two -or three dogs. Had he belonged to anyone other than Zinn, he would -have been shot before his career was well started, but his owner was -such a known man that guns were handled but not used when the white -terror came near. It could be said in his behalf that he was not -aggressive and, unless urged on, would not attack another. However, -he was a most hearty and capable finisher of a fight if one were -started. - -He first took the eye of the town through a fracas with Bill Curry’s -brindled bulldog, Mixer. Blondy was seven or eight pounds short of -his magnificent maturity when he encountered Mixer and touched noses -with him; then the bulldog reached for Blondy’s left foreleg, snapped -his teeth in the empty air, and the fun began. As Harkness afterward -put it: “Mixer was like thunder, but Blondy was lightning on wheels.” -Blondy drifted around the heavier dog for five minutes as illusive as -a phantom. Then he slid in, closed the long, pointed, fighting jaw on -Mixer’s gullet, and was only pried loose from a dead dog. - -After that the great Dane which had been brought to town by Mr. Henry -Justice, the mill owner, took the liberty of snarling at the white -dog and had his throat torn out in consequence. When Mr. Justice -applied to the law for redress, the judge told him frankly that he -had seen the fight and that he would sooner hang a man than hang -Blondy. The rest of the town was of the same opinion. They feared but -respected the white slayer, and it was pointed out that though he -battled like a champion against odds, yet when little Harry Garcia -took Blondy by the tail and tried to tie a knot in it, the great -terrier merely pushed the little boy away with his forepaws and then -went on his way. - - * * * * * - -However, there was trouble in the air, and Charlie Kitchen brought it -to a head. In his excursions to the north he had chanced upon a -pack of hounds used indiscriminately to hunt and kill anything that -walked on four legs, from wolves to mountain lions and grizzly bears. -The leader of that pack was a hundred-and-fifty-pound monster--a -cross between a gigantic timber wolf and a wolfhound. Charlie could -not borrow that dog, but the owner himself made the trip to Sioux -Crossing and brought Gray King, as the dog was called, along with -him. Up to that time Sioux Crossing felt that the dog would never be -born that could live fifteen minutes against Blondy, but when the -northerner arrived with a large roll of money and his dog, the town -looked at Gray King and pushed its money deeper into its pocket. For -the King looked like a fighting demon, and in fact was one. Only -Peter Zinn had the courage to bring out a hundred dollars and stake -it on the result. - -They met in the vacant lot next to the post office where the fence -was loaded with spectators, and in this ample arena it was admitted -that the wolf dog would have plenty of room to display all of his -agility. As a matter of fact, it was expected that he would slash the -heart out of Blondy in ten seconds. Slash Blondy he did, for there is -nothing canine in the world that can escape the flash of a wolf’s -side rip. A wolf fights by charges and retreats, coming in to slash -with its great teeth and try to knock the foe down with the blow of -its shoulder. The Gray King cut Blondy twenty times, but they were -only glancing knife-edge strokes. They took the blood, but not the -heart from Blondy, who, in the meantime, was placed too low and -solidly on the ground to be knocked down. At the end of twenty -minutes, as the Gray King leaped in, Blondy side-stepped like a -dancing boxer, then dipped in and up after a fashion that Sioux -Crossing knew of old, and set that long, punishing jaw in the throat -of the King. The latter rolled, writhed, and gnashed the air, but -fate had him by the windpipe, and in thirty seconds he was helpless. -Then Peter Zinn, as a special favor, took Blondy off. - -Afterward the big man from the north came to pay his bet, but Zinn, -looking up from his task of dressing the terrier’s wounds, flung the -money back in the face of the stranger. - -Dogs ain’t the only things that fight in Sioux Crossing, he -announced, and the stranger, pocketing his pride and his money at the -same time, led his staggering dog away. - -From that time forward Blondy was one of the sights of the town--like -Sandoval Mountain. He was pointed out constantly and people said: -“Good dog!” from a safe distance, but only Tom Frejus appreciated the -truth. He said: “What keeps Zinn from getting fight-hungry? Because -he has a dog that does the fighting for him. Every time Blondy sinks -his teeth in the hide of another dog, he helps to keep Zinn out of -jail. But some day Zinn will bust through!” - -This was hardly a fair thing for the constable to say, but the nerves -of honest Tom Frejus were wearing thin. He knew that sooner or later -the blacksmith would attempt to execute his threat of breaking him in -two, and the suspense lay heavily upon Tom. He was still practicing -steadily with his guns; he was still as confident as ever of his own -courage and skill; but when he passed on the street the gloomy face -of the blacksmith, a chill of weakness entered his blood. - - * * * * * - -That dread, perhaps, had sharpened the perceptions of Frejus, for -certainly he had looked into the truth, and while Peter Zinn bided -his time the career of Blondy was a fierce comfort to him. The -choicest morsel of enjoyment was delivered into his hands on a -morning in September, the very day after Frejus had gained lasting -fame by capturing the two Minster brothers, with enough robberies and -murders to their credit to have hanged a dozen men. - -The Zinns took breakfast in the kitchen this Thursday, so that the -warmth of the cookstove might fight the frost out of the air, and -Oliver, the oldest boy, announced from the window that old Gripper, -the constable’s dog, had come into the back yard. The blacksmith rose -to make sure. He saw Gripper, a big black-and-tan sheep dog, nosing -the top of the garbage can, and a grin of infinite satisfaction came -to the face of Peter Zinn. First he cautioned the family to remain -discreetly indoors. Then he stole out by the front way, came around -to the rear of the tall fence which sealed his back yard and closed -and latched the gate. The trap was closed on Gripper, after which -Zinn returned to the house and lifted Blondy to the kitchen window. -The hair lifted along the back of Blondy’s neck; a growl rumbled in -the deeps of his powerful body. Yonder was his domain, his own yard, -of which he knew each inch, the smell of every weed and rock; yonder -was the spot where he had killed the stray chicken last July; near it -was the tall, rank nettle, so terrible to an over-inquisitive nose; -and behold a strange dog pawing at the very place where, only -yesterday, he had buried a stout bone with rich store of marrow -hidden within! - -“Oh, Peter, you ain’t--” began Mrs. Zinn. - -Her husband silenced her with an ugly glance; then he opened the back -door and tossed Blondy into the yard. The bull terrier landed -lightly, and running. He turned into a white streak which crashed -against Gripper, turned the latter head over heels, and tumbled the -shepherd into a corner. Blondy wheeled to finish the good work, but -Gripper lay at his feet, abject upon his belly, with ears lowered, -head pressed between his paws, wagging a conciliatory tail and -whining a confession of shame, fear, and humility. Blondy leaped at -him with a stiff-legged jump and snapped his teeth at the very side -of one of those drooped ears, but Gripper only melted a little closer -to the ground. For, a scant ten days before, he had seen that -formidable warrior, the Chippings’ greyhound, throttled by the white -destroyer. What chance would he have with his worn old teeth? He -whined a sad petition through them and closing his eye he offered up -a prayer to the god who watches over all good dogs: Never, never -again would he rummage around a strange back yard if only this one -sin were forgiven! - -The door of the house slammed open; a terrible voice was shouting: -Take him, Blondy! Kill him, Blondy. - -Blondy, with a moan of battle joy, rushed in again; his teeth clipped -over the neck of Gripper; but the dreadful jaws did not close. For, -even in this extremity. Gripper only whined and wagged his tail the -harder. Blondy danced back. - -“You damn quitter!” yelled Peter Zinn. “Tear him to bits! Take him, -Blondy!” - -The tail of Blondy flipped from side to side to show that he had -heard. He was shuddering with awful eagerness, but Gripper would not -stir. - -“Coward! Coward! Coward!” snarled Blondy. “Get up and fight. Here I -am--half turned away--offering you the first hold--if you only dare -to take it!” - -Never was anything said more plainly in dog talk, saving the pitiful -response of Gripper: “Here I lie; kill me if you will. I am an old, -old man with worn-down teeth and a broken heart!” - -Blondy stopped snarling and trembling. He came a bit nearer, and with -his own touched the cold nose of Gripper. The old dog opened one eye. - -“Get up,” said Blondy very plainly. “But if you dare to come near my -buried bone again, I’ll murder you, you old rip!” - -And he lay down above that hidden treasure, wrinkling his eyes and -lolling out his tongue, which, as all dogs know, is a sign that a -little gambol and play will not be amiss. - -“Dad!” cried Oliver Zinn. “He won’t touch old Gripper. Is he sick?” - -“Come here!” thundered Zinn, and when Blondy came he kicked the dog -across the kitchen and sent him crashing into the wall. “You -yaller-hearted cur!” snarled Peter Zinn and strode out of the house -to go to work. - -His fury did not abate until he had delivered a shower of blows with -a fourteen-pound sledge upon a bar of cold iron on his anvil, -wielding the ponderous hammer with one capacious hand. After that he -was able to try to think it out. It was very mysterious. For his own -part, when he was enraged it mattered not what crossed his path--old -and young, weak and strong, they were grist for the mill of his hands -and he ground them small indeed. But Blondy, apparently, followed a -different philosophy and would not harm those who were helpless. - -Then Peter Zinn looked down to the foot which had kicked Blondy -across the room. He was tremendously unhappy. Just why, he could not -tell, but he fumbled at the mystery all that day and the next. Every -time he faced Blondy the terrier seemed to have forgotten that brutal -attack, but Peter Zinn was stabbed to the heart by a brand-new -emotion--shame! And when he met Blondy at the gate on the second -evening, something made him stoop and stroke the scarred head. It was -the first caress. He looked up with a hasty pang of guilt and turned -a dark red when he saw his wife watching from the window of the front -bedroom. Yet when he went to sleep that night he felt that Blondy and -he had been drawn closer together. - -The very next day the crisis came. He was finishing his lunch when -guns began to bark and rattle--reports with a metallic and clanging -overtone which meant that rifles were in play; then a distant -shouting rolled confusedly upon them. Peter Zinn called Blondy to his -heels and went out to investigate. - -The first surmise that jumped into his mind had been correct. Jeff -and Lew Minster had broken from jail, been headed off in their -flight, and had taken refuge in the post office. There they held the -crowd at bay, Jeff taking the front of the building and Lew the rear. -Vacant lots surrounded the old frame shack since the general -merchandise store burned down three years before, and the rifles of -two expert shots commanded this no-man’s-land. It would be night -before they could close on the building, but when night came the -Minster boys would have an excellent chance of breaking away with -darkness to cover them. - -“What’ll happen?” asked Tony Jeffreys of the blacksmith as they sat -at the corner of the hotel where they could survey the whole scene. - -“I dunno,” said Peter Zinn, as he puffed at his pipe. “I guess it’s -up to the constable to show them that he’s a hero. There he is now!” - -The constable had suddenly dashed out of the door of Sam Donoghue’s -house, directly facing the post office, followed by four others, in -the hope that he might take the defenders by surprise. But when men -defend their lives they are more watchful thar wolves in the hungry -winter of the mountains. A Winchester spoke from a window of the post -office the moment the forlorn hope appeared. The first bullet knocked -the hat from the head of Harry Daniels and stopped him in his tracks. -The second shot went wide. The third knocked the feet from under the -constable and flattened him in the road. This was more than enough -The remnant of the party took to it heels and regained shelter safely -before the dust raised by his fall had cease curling above the -prostrate body of the constable. - -Tony Jeffreys had risen to his feel repeating over and over an oath of -his childhood: “Jimminy whiskers! Jimminy whiskers! Jimminy whiskers! -They’ve killed poor Tom Frejus!” But Peter Zinn, holding the -trembling! eager body of Blondy between his hands, jutted forth his -head an grinned in a savage warmth of contentment. - -“He’s overdue!” was all he said. - -But Tom Frejus was not dead. His leg had been broken between the knee -and hip, but he now reared himself upon both hands and looked about -him. He had covered the greater part of the road in his charge. It -would be easier to escape from fire by crawling close under the -shelter of the wall of the post office than by trying to get back to -Donoghue’s house. Accordingly, he began to drag himself forward. had -not covered a yard when the Winchester cracked again and Tom crumpled -on his face, with both arms flung around his head. - - * * * * * - -Peter Zinn stood up with a gasp. Here was something quite different. -The constable was beaten, broken, and he reminded Zinn of one thing -only--old Gripper cowering against the fence with Blondy towering -above, ready to kill. Blondy had been merciful, but the marked man -behind the window was still intent on murder. His next bullet raised -a white furrow of dust near Frejus. Then a wild voice, made thin and -high by the extremity of fear and pain, came through the air and -smote the heart Peter Zinn: “Help! For God’s sake, mercy!” - -Tom Frejus was crushed indeed, and begging as Gripper had begged. A -hundred voices were shouting with horror but no man dared venture out -in the face of that cool-witted marksman. Then Peter Zinn knew the -thing which he had been born to do, for which he had been granted -strength of hand and courage of heart. He threw his long arms out -before him as though he were running to embrace a bodiless thing; -great wordless voice swelled in his breast and tore his throat; and -he ran out toward the fallen constable. - -Some woman’s voice was screaming: “Back! Go back, Peter! Oh, God! -Stop him! Stop him!” - -Minster had already marked his coming. The rifle cracked, and a blow -to the side of his head knocked Peter Zinn into utter blackness. A -searing pain and the hot flow of blood down his face brought back his -senses. He leaped to his feet again; he heard a yelp of joy as Blondy -danced away before him; then he drove past the writhing body of Tom -Frejus. The gun spoke again from the window; the red-hot torment -stabbed him again, he knew not where. Then he reached the door of the -building and gave his shoulder to it. - -It was a thing of paper that ripped open before him. He plunged -through into the room beyond, where he saw the long, snarling face of -the young Minster in the shadow of a corner with the gleam of the -leveled rifle barrel. He dodged as the gun spat fire, heard brief and -wicked humming beside his ear, then scooped up in one hand heavy -chair and flung it at the gunman. - -Minster went down with his legs and arms sprawled in an odd position, -and Peter Zinn gave him not so much as another glance, for he knew -that this part of his work was done. - -“Lew! Lew!” cried a voice from the back of the building. “What’s -happened? What’s up? D’you want help?” - -“Ay!” shouted Peter Zinn. “He wants help. You damn’ murderer, it’s -me--Peter Zinn! Peter Zinn!” - -He kicked open the door beyond and ran full into the face of a -lightning flash. It withered the strength from his body. He slumped -down on the floor with his loose shoulders resting against the wall. -In a twilight dimness he saw big Jeff Minster standing in a thin -swirl of smoke with the rifle muzzle twitching down and steadying for -the finishing shot, but a white streak leaped through the doorway, -over his shoulder, and flew at Minster. - -Before the sick eyes of Peter Zinn, the man and the dog whirled into -a blur of darkness streaked with white. There passed two long, long -seconds, thick with stampings, the wild curses of Jeff Minster, the -deep and humming growl of Blondy. Moreover, out of the distance a -great wave of voices was rising, sweeping toward the building. - -[Illustration: Jeff Minster, yelling with pain and rage, caught out -his hunting knife and raised it. He stabbed, but still Blondy clung.] - -The eyes of Peter cleared. He saw Blondy fastened to the right leg of -Jeff Minster above the knee. The rifle had fallen to the floor and -Jeff Minster, yelling with pain and rage, had caught out his hunting -knife, had raised it. He stabbed. But still Blondy clung. “No, no!” -screamed Peter Zinn. - -“Your damned dog first--then you!” gasped Minster. - - * * * * * - -The weakness struck Peter Zinn again. His great head lolled back on -his shoulders. “God,” he moaned, “gimme strength! Don’t let Blondy -die!” - -And strength poured hot upon his body, a strength so great that he -could reach his hand to the rifle on the floor, gather it to him, put -his finder on the trigger, and raise the muzzle slowly, slowly as -though it weighed a ton. - -The knife had fallen again. It was a half crimson dog that still -clung to the slayer. Feet beat, voices boomed like a waterfall in the -next room. Then, as the knife rose again, Zinn pulled the trigger, -blind to his target, and as the thick darkness brushed across his -brain, saw something falling before him. - -He seemed, after a time, to be walking down an avenue of utter -blackness. Then a thin star ray of light glistened before him. It -widened. A door of radiance opened through which he stepped and found -himself--lying between cool sheets with the binding grip of bandages -holding him in many places and wherever the bandages held, the deep, -sickening ache of wounds. Dr. Burney leaned above him, squinting as -though Peter Zinn were far away. Then Peter’s big hand caught him. - -“Doc,” he said. “What’s happened? Gimme the worst of it.” - -“If you lie quiet, my friend,” said the doctor, “and husband your -strength, and fight for yourself as bravely as you fought for -Constable Frejus, you’ll pull through well enough. You have to pull -through, Zinn, because this town has a good deal to say that you -ought to hear. Besides--” - -“Hell, man,” said Peter Zinn, the savage, “I mean the dog. I mean -Blondy--how--what I mean to say is--” - -But then a great foreknowledge came upon Peter Zinn, His own life -having been spared, fate had taken another in exchange, and Blondy -would never lie warm upon his feet again. He closed his eyes and -whispered huskily: “Say yes or no, Doc. Quick!” - -But the doctor was in so little haste that he turned away and walked -to the door, where he spoke in a low voice. - -“He’s got to have help,” said Peter Zinn to his own dark heart. “He’s -got to have help to tell me how a growed-up man killed a poor pup.” - -Footsteps entered. “The real work I’ve been doing,” said the doctor, -“hasn’t been with you. Look up, Zinn!” - -Peter Zinn looked up, and over the edge of the doctor’s arm he saw a -long, narrow white head, with a pair of brown-black eyes and a -wistfully wrinkled forehead. Blondy, swathed in soft white linen, was -laid upon the bed and crept up closer until the cold point of his -nose, after his fashion, was hidden in the palm of the master’s hand. -Now big Peter beheld the doctor through a mist spangled with -magnificent diamonds, and he saw that Burney had found it necessary -to turn his head away. He essayed speech which twice failed, but at -the third effort he managed to say in a voice strange to himself: -“Take it by and large, doc, it’s a damn good old world.” - - -[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the February 23, 1924 -issue of Collier’s magazine.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BULLDOG *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Bulldog</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Max Brand</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Will Foster</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 15, 2022 [eBook #68868]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Roger Frank</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BULLDOG ***</div> -<h1>Bulldog</h1> -<div style='text-align:center'>by Max Brand</div> -<div class='figcenter' style='width:70%; max-width:1565px'> - <img src='images/illus-001.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%;height:auto;' /> - <p class='caption'> -“Shut up your yapping,” Peter Zinn greeted his wife. -“Shut up and take care of this pup. He’s my kind of dog.”</p> -</div> - -<p>When Zinn came home from prison, no one was at the station to meet -him except the constable, Tom Frejus, who laid a hand on his shoulder -and said: “Now, Zinn, let this here be a lesson to you. Give me a -chance to treat you white. I ain’t going to hound you. Just remember -that because you’re stronger than other folks you ain’t got any -reason to beat them up.”</p> - -<p>Zinn looked down upon him from a height. Every day of the year during -which he had swung his sledge hammer to break rocks for the State -roads, he had told himself that one good purpose was served: his -muscles grew harder, the fat dropped from his waist and shoulders, -the iron square of his chin thrust out as in his youth, and when he -came back to town he would use that strength to wreak upon the -constable his old hate. For manifestly Tom Frejus was his archenemy. -When he first came to Sioux Crossing and fought the three men in Joe -Riley’s saloon—oh, famous and happy night!—Constable Frejus gave -him a warning. When he fought the Gandil brothers and beat them both -senseless, Frejus arrested him. When his old horse, Fidgety, balked -in the back lot and Zinn tore a rail from the fence in lieu of a -club, Tom Frejus arrested him for cruelty to dumb beasts. This was a -crowning torment, for, as Zinn told the judge, he’d bought that old -skate with good money and he had a right to do what he wanted with -it. But the judge, as always, agreed with Tom Frejus. These incidents -were only items in a long list which culminated when Zinn drank deep -of bootleg whisky and then beat up the constable himself. The -constable, at the trial, pleaded for clemency on account, he said, of -Zinn’s wife and three children; but Zinn knew, of course, that Frejus -wanted him back only that the old persecution might begin. On this -day, therefore the ex-convict, in pure excess of rage, smiled down on -the constable.</p> - -<p>“Keep out of my way, Frejus,” he said, “and you’ll keep a whole skin. -But some day I’ll get you alone, and then I’ll bust you in two—like -this!”</p> - -<p>He made an eloquent gesture; then he strode off up the street. As the -sawmill had just closed, a crowd of returning workers swarmed on the -sidewalks, and Zinn took off his cap so that they could see his -cropped head. In his heart of hearts he hoped that some one would -jibe, but the crowd split away before him and passed with cautiously -averted eyes. Most of them were big, rough fellows and their fear was -pleasant balm for his savage heart. He went on with his hands a -little tensed to feel the strength of his arms.</p> - -<hr style='border:none; color:inherit; margin-top:1em;' /> - -<p>The dusk was closing early on this autumn day with a chill whirl of -snowflakes borne on a wind that had been iced in crossing the heads -of the white mountains, but Zinn did not feel the cold. He looked up -to the black ranks of the pine forest which climbed the sides of -Sandoval Mountain, scattering toward the top and pausing where the -sheeted masses of snow began. Life was like that—a struggle, an -eternal fight, but never a victory on the mountaintop which all the -world could see and admire. When the judge sentenced him he said: “If -you lived in the days of armor, you might have been a hero, Zinn; but -in these times you are a waster and an enemy of society.” He had -grasped dimly at the meaning of this. Through his life he had always -aimed at something which would set him apart from and above his -fellows; now, at the age of forty, he felt in his hands an -undiminished authority of might, but still those hands had not given -him the victory. If he beat and routed four men in a huge conflict, -society, instead of applauding, raised the club of the law and struck -him down. It had always done so, but, though the majority voted -against him, his tigerish spirit groped after and clung to this -truth: to be strong is to be glorious!</p> - -<p>He reached the hilltop and looked down to his home in the hollow. A -vague wonder and sorrow came upon him to find that all had been held -together in spite of his absence. There was even a new coat of paint -upon the woodshed and a hedge of young firs was growing neatly around -the front yard. In fact, the homestead seemed to be prospering as -though his strength were not needed! He digested this reflection with -an oath and looked sullenly about him. On the corner a little white -dog watched him with lowered ears and a tail curved under its belly.</p> - -<p>“Get out, cur!” snarled Zinn. He picked up a rock and threw it with -such good aim that it missed the dog by a mere inch or two, but the -puppy merely pricked its ears and straightened its tail.</p> - -<p>“It’s silly with the cold,” said Zinn himself, chuckling. “This time -I’ll smear it.”</p> - -<p>He pried from the roadway a stone of three or four pounds, took good -aim, and hurled it as lightly as a pebble flies from the sling. Too -late the white dog leaped to the side, for the flying missile caught -it a glancing blow that tumbled it over and over. Zinn, muttering -with pleasure, scooped up another stone, but when he raised it this -time the stone fell from his hand, so great was his surprise. The -white dog, with a line of red along its side where a ragged edge of -the stone had torn the skin, had gained its feet and now was driving -silently straight at the big man. Indeed, Zinn had barely time to aim -a kick at the little brute, which it dodged as a rabbit turns from -the jaws of the hound. Then two rows of small, sharp teeth pierced -his trousers and sank into the flesh of his leg. He uttered a yell of -surprise rather than pain. He kicked the swaying, tugging creature, -but still it clung, working the puppy teeth deeper with intent -devotion. He picked up the fallen stone and brought it down heavily -with a blow that laid open the skull and brought a gush of blood, but -though the body of the little savage grew limp, the jaws were locked. -He had to pry them apart with all his strength. Then he swung the -loose, senseless body into the air by the hind legs.</p> - -<p>What stopped him he could not tell. Most of all it was the stabbing -pain in his leg and the marvel that so small a dog could have dared -so much. But at last he tucked it under his arm, regardless of the -blood that trickled over his coat. He went down the hill, kicked open -the front door, and threw down his burden. Mrs. Zinn was coming from -the kitchen with a shrill cry that sounded more like fear than like a -welcome to Zinn.</p> - -<p>“Peter! Peter!” she cried at him, clasping her hands together and -staring.</p> - -<p>“Shut up your yapping,” said Peter Zinn. “Shut up and take care of -this pup. He’s my kind of a dog.”</p> - -<p>His three sons wedged into the doorway and gaped at him with round -eyes and white faces.</p> - -<p>“Look here,” he said, pointing to his bleeding leg. “That damned pup -done that. That’s the way I want you kids to grow up. Fight anything. -Fight a buzz saw. You don’t need to go to no school for lessons. You -can foller after Blondy, there.”</p> - -<p>So Blondy was christened; so he was given a home. Mrs. Zinn, who had -been a trained nurse in her youth, nevertheless stood by with moans -of sympathy while her husband took the necessary stitches in the head -of Blondy.</p> - -<p>“Keep still, fool,” said Mr. Zinn. “Look at Blondy. He ain’t even -whining. Pain don’t hurt nothing. Pain is the making of a dog—or a -man! Look at there—if he ain’t licking my hand! He knows his -master!”</p> - -<p>A horse kicked old Joe Harkness the next day, and Peter Zinn took -charge of the blacksmith shop. He was greatly changed by his stay in -the penitentiary, so that superficial observers in the town of Sioux -Crossing declared that he had been reformed by punishment, inasmuch -as he no longer blustered or hunted fights in the streets of the -village. He attended to his work, and as everyone admitted that no -farrier in the country could fit horseshoes better, or do a better -job at welding, when Joe Harkness returned to his shop he kept Zinn -as a partner. Neither did Peter Zinn waste time or money on bootleg -whisky, but in spite of these new and manifold virtues some of the -very observant declared that there was more to be feared from the -silent and settled ferocity of his manner than from the boisterous -ways which had been his in other days. Constable Tom Frejus was among -the latter. And it was noted that he practiced half an hour every day -with his revolver in the back of his lot.</p> - -<div class='figcenter' style='width:50%; max-width:1565px'> - <img src='images/illus-002.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%;height:auto;' /> - <p class='caption'> - So Peter Zinn took charge of the blacksmith shop, and - the town declared him reformed. - </p> -</div> - -<p>Blondy, in the meantime, stepped into maturity in a few swift months. -On his fore and hind quarters the big ropy muscles thrust out. His -neck grew thicker and more arched, and in his dark brown eyes there -appeared a wistful look of eagerness which never left him saving when -Peter Zinn was near. The rest of the family he tolerated, but did not -love. It was in vain that Mrs. Zinn, eager to please a husband whose -transformation had filled her with wonder and with awe, lavished -attentions upon Blondy and fed him with dainties twice a day. It was -in vain that the three boys petted and fondled and talked kindly to -Blondy. He endured these demonstrations, but did not return them. But -when five o’clock came in the evening of the day, Blondy went out to -the gate of the front yard and stood there like a white statue until -a certain heavy step sounded on the wooden sidewalk up the hill. That -noise changed Blondy into an ecstasy of impatience, and when the big -man came through the gate, Blondy raced and leaped about him with -such a muffled whine of joy, coming from such deeps of his heart, -that his whole body trembled. At meals Blondy lay across the feet of -the master. At night he curled into a warm circle at the foot of the -bed.</p> - -<hr style='border:none; color:inherit; margin-top:1em;' /> - -<p>There was only one trouble with Blondy. When people asked: “What sort -of a dog is that?” Peter Zinn could never answer anything except: “A -hell of a good fighting dog; you can lay to that.” It was a stranger -who finally gave them information, a lumber merchant who had come to -Sioux Crossing to buy timber land. He stopped Peter Zinn on the -street and crouched on his heels to admire Blondy.</p> - -<p>“A real white one,” said he. “As fine a bull terrier as I ever saw. -What does he weigh?”</p> - -<p>“Fifty-five pounds,” said Zinn.</p> - -<p>“I’ll give you five dollars for every pound of him,” said the -stranger.</p> - -<p>Peter Zinn was silent.</p> - -<p>“Love him too much to part with him, eh?” asked the other, smiling up -at the big blacksmith.</p> - -<p>“Love him?” snorted Zinn. “Love a dog! I ain’t no fool.”</p> - -<p>“Ah?” said the stranger. “Then what’s your price?”</p> - -<p>Peter Zinn scratched his head; then he scowled, for when he tried to -translate Blondy into terms of money, his wits failed him.</p> - -<p>“That’s two hundred and seventy-five dollars,” he said finally.</p> - -<p>“I’ll make it three hundred, even. And, mind you. my friend, this dog -is useless for show purposes. You’ve let him fight too much, and he’s -covered with scars. No trimming can make that right ear presentable. -However, he’s a grand dog, and he’d be worth something in the stud.”</p> - -<p>Zinn hardly heard the last of this. He was considering that for three -hundred dollars he could extend the blacksmith shop by one-half and -get a full partnership with Harkness, or else he could buy that -four-cylinder car which young Thompson wanted to sell. Yet even the -showy grandeur of an automobile would hardly serve. He did not love -Blondy. Love was an emotion which he scorned as beneath the dignity -of a strong man. He had not married his wife because of love, but -because he was tired of eating in restaurants and because other men -had homes. The possession of an automobile would put the stamp upon -his new prosperity, but could an automobile welcome him home at night -or sleep at his feet?</p> - -<p>“I dunno,” he said at last. “I guess I ain’t selling.”</p> - -<p>And he walked on. He did not feel more kindly toward Blondy after -this. In fact, he never mentioned the circumstance, even in his home, -but often when he felt the warmth of Blondy at his feet he was both -baffled and relieved.</p> - -<p>In the meantime Blondy had been making history in Sioux Crossing -hardly less spectacular than that of Zinn. His idea of play was a -battle; his conception of a perfect day embraced the killing of two -or three dogs. Had he belonged to anyone other than Zinn, he would -have been shot before his career was well started, but his owner was -such a known man that guns were handled but not used when the white -terror came near. It could be said in his behalf that he was not -aggressive and, unless urged on, would not attack another. However, -he was a most hearty and capable finisher of a fight if one were -started.</p> - -<p>He first took the eye of the town through a fracas with Bill Curry’s -brindled bulldog, Mixer. Blondy was seven or eight pounds short of -his magnificent maturity when he encountered Mixer and touched noses -with him; then the bulldog reached for Blondy’s left foreleg, snapped -his teeth in the empty air, and the fun began. As Harkness afterward -put it: “Mixer was like thunder, but Blondy was lightning on wheels.” -Blondy drifted around the heavier dog for five minutes as illusive as -a phantom. Then he slid in, closed the long, pointed, fighting jaw on -Mixer’s gullet, and was only pried loose from a dead dog.</p> - -<p>After that the great Dane which had been brought to town by Mr. Henry -Justice, the mill owner, took the liberty of snarling at the white -dog and had his throat torn out in consequence. When Mr. Justice -applied to the law for redress, the judge told him frankly that he -had seen the fight and that he would sooner hang a man than hang -Blondy. The rest of the town was of the same opinion. They feared but -respected the white slayer, and it was pointed out that though he -battled like a champion against odds, yet when little Harry Garcia -took Blondy by the tail and tried to tie a knot in it, the great -terrier merely pushed the little boy away with his forepaws and then -went on his way.</p> - -<hr style='border:none; color:inherit; margin-top:1em;' /> - -<p>However, there was trouble in the air, and Charlie Kitchen brought it -to a head. In his excursions to the north he had chanced upon a -pack of hounds used indiscriminately to hunt and kill anything that -walked on four legs, from wolves to mountain lions and grizzly bears. -The leader of that pack was a hundred-and-fifty-pound monster—a -cross between a gigantic timber wolf and a wolfhound. Charlie could -not borrow that dog, but the owner himself made the trip to Sioux -Crossing and brought Gray King, as the dog was called, along with -him. Up to that time Sioux Crossing felt that the dog would never be -born that could live fifteen minutes against Blondy, but when the -northerner arrived with a large roll of money and his dog, the town -looked at Gray King and pushed its money deeper into its pocket. For -the King looked like a fighting demon, and in fact was one. Only -Peter Zinn had the courage to bring out a hundred dollars and stake -it on the result.</p> - -<p>They met in the vacant lot next to the post office where the fence -was loaded with spectators, and in this ample arena it was admitted -that the wolf dog would have plenty of room to display all of his -agility. As a matter of fact, it was expected that he would slash the -heart out of Blondy in ten seconds. Slash Blondy he did, for there is -nothing canine in the world that can escape the flash of a wolf’s -side rip. A wolf fights by charges and retreats, coming in to slash -with its great teeth and try to knock the foe down with the blow of -its shoulder. The Gray King cut Blondy twenty times, but they were -only glancing knife-edge strokes. They took the blood, but not the -heart from Blondy, who, in the meantime, was placed too low and -solidly on the ground to be knocked down. At the end of twenty -minutes, as the Gray King leaped in, Blondy side-stepped like a -dancing boxer, then dipped in and up after a fashion that Sioux -Crossing knew of old, and set that long, punishing jaw in the throat -of the King. The latter rolled, writhed, and gnashed the air, but -fate had him by the windpipe, and in thirty seconds he was helpless. -Then Peter Zinn, as a special favor, took Blondy off.</p> - -<p>Afterward the big man from the north came to pay his bet, but Zinn, -looking up from his task of dressing the terrier’s wounds, flung the -money back in the face of the stranger.</p> - -<p>Dogs ain’t the only things that fight in Sioux Crossing, he -announced, and the stranger, pocketing his pride and his money at the -same time, led his staggering dog away.</p> - -<p>From that time forward Blondy was one of the sights of the town—like -Sandoval Mountain. He was pointed out constantly and people said: -“Good dog!” from a safe distance, but only Tom Frejus appreciated the -truth. He said: “What keeps Zinn from getting fight-hungry? Because -he has a dog that does the fighting for him. Every time Blondy sinks -his teeth in the hide of another dog, he helps to keep Zinn out of -jail. But some day Zinn will bust through!”</p> - -<p>This was hardly a fair thing for the constable to say, but the nerves -of honest Tom Frejus were wearing thin. He knew that sooner or later -the blacksmith would attempt to execute his threat of breaking him in -two, and the suspense lay heavily upon Tom. He was still practicing -steadily with his guns; he was still as confident as ever of his own -courage and skill; but when he passed on the street the gloomy face -of the blacksmith, a chill of weakness entered his blood.</p> - -<hr style='border:none; color:inherit; margin-top:1em;' /> - -<p>That dread, perhaps, had sharpened the perceptions of Frejus, for -certainly he had looked into the truth, and while Peter Zinn bided -his time the career of Blondy was a fierce comfort to him. The -choicest morsel of enjoyment was delivered into his hands on a -morning in September, the very day after Frejus had gained lasting -fame by capturing the two Minster brothers, with enough robberies and -murders to their credit to have hanged a dozen men.</p> - -<p>The Zinns took breakfast in the kitchen this Thursday, so that the -warmth of the cookstove might fight the frost out of the air, and -Oliver, the oldest boy, announced from the window that old Gripper, -the constable’s dog, had come into the back yard. The blacksmith rose -to make sure. He saw Gripper, a big black-and-tan sheep dog, nosing -the top of the garbage can, and a grin of infinite satisfaction came -to the face of Peter Zinn. First he cautioned the family to remain -discreetly indoors. Then he stole out by the front way, came around -to the rear of the tall fence which sealed his back yard and closed -and latched the gate. The trap was closed on Gripper, after which -Zinn returned to the house and lifted Blondy to the kitchen window. -The hair lifted along the back of Blondy’s neck; a growl rumbled in -the deeps of his powerful body. Yonder was his domain, his own yard, -of which he knew each inch, the smell of every weed and rock; yonder -was the spot where he had killed the stray chicken last July; near it -was the tall, rank nettle, so terrible to an over-inquisitive nose; -and behold a strange dog pawing at the very place where, only -yesterday, he had buried a stout bone with rich store of marrow -hidden within!</p> - -<p>“Oh, Peter, you ain’t—” began Mrs. Zinn.</p> - -<p>Her husband silenced her with an ugly glance; then he opened the back -door and tossed Blondy into the yard. The bull terrier landed -lightly, and running. He turned into a white streak which crashed -against Gripper, turned the latter head over heels, and tumbled the -shepherd into a corner. Blondy wheeled to finish the good work, but -Gripper lay at his feet, abject upon his belly, with ears lowered, -head pressed between his paws, wagging a conciliatory tail and -whining a confession of shame, fear, and humility. Blondy leaped at -him with a stiff-legged jump and snapped his teeth at the very side -of one of those drooped ears, but Gripper only melted a little closer -to the ground. For, a scant ten days before, he had seen that -formidable warrior, the Chippings’ greyhound, throttled by the white -destroyer. What chance would he have with his worn old teeth? He -whined a sad petition through them and closing his eye he offered up -a prayer to the god who watches over all good dogs: Never, never -again would he rummage around a strange back yard if only this one -sin were forgiven!</p> - -<p>The door of the house slammed open; a terrible voice was shouting: -Take him, Blondy! Kill him, Blondy.</p> - -<p>Blondy, with a moan of battle joy, rushed in again; his teeth clipped -over the neck of Gripper; but the dreadful jaws did not close. For, -even in this extremity. Gripper only whined and wagged his tail the -harder. Blondy danced back.</p> - -<p>“You damn quitter!” yelled Peter Zinn. “Tear him to bits! Take him, -Blondy!”</p> - -<p>The tail of Blondy flipped from side to side to show that he had -heard. He was shuddering with awful eagerness, but Gripper would not -stir.</p> - -<p>“Coward! Coward! Coward!” snarled Blondy. “Get up and fight. Here I -am—half turned away—offering you the first hold—if you only dare -to take it!”</p> - -<p>Never was anything said more plainly in dog talk, saving the pitiful -response of Gripper: “Here I lie; kill me if you will. I am an old, -old man with worn-down teeth and a broken heart!”</p> - -<p>Blondy stopped snarling and trembling. He came a bit nearer, and with -his own touched the cold nose of Gripper. The old dog opened one eye.</p> - -<p>“Get up,” said Blondy very plainly. “But if you dare to come near my -buried bone again, I’ll murder you, you old rip!”</p> - -<p>And he lay down above that hidden treasure, wrinkling his eyes and -lolling out his tongue, which, as all dogs know, is a sign that a -little gambol and play will not be amiss.</p> - -<p>“Dad!” cried Oliver Zinn. “He won’t touch old Gripper. Is he sick?”</p> - -<p>“Come here!” thundered Zinn, and when Blondy came he kicked the dog -across the kitchen and sent him crashing into the wall. “You -yaller-hearted cur!” snarled Peter Zinn and strode out of the house -to go to work.</p> - -<p>His fury did not abate until he had delivered a shower of blows with -a fourteen-pound sledge upon a bar of cold iron on his anvil, -wielding the ponderous hammer with one capacious hand. After that he -was able to try to think it out. It was very mysterious. For his own -part, when he was enraged it mattered not what crossed his path—old -and young, weak and strong, they were grist for the mill of his hands -and he ground them small indeed. But Blondy, apparently, followed a -different philosophy and would not harm those who were helpless.</p> - -<p>Then Peter Zinn looked down to the foot which had kicked Blondy -across the room. He was tremendously unhappy. Just why, he could not -tell, but he fumbled at the mystery all that day and the next. Every -time he faced Blondy the terrier seemed to have forgotten that brutal -attack, but Peter Zinn was stabbed to the heart by a brand-new -emotion—shame! And when he met Blondy at the gate on the second -evening, something made him stoop and stroke the scarred head. It was -the first caress. He looked up with a hasty pang of guilt and turned -a dark red when he saw his wife watching from the window of the front -bedroom. Yet when he went to sleep that night he felt that Blondy and -he had been drawn closer together.</p> - -<p>The very next day the crisis came. He was finishing his lunch when -guns began to bark and rattle—reports with a metallic and clanging -overtone which meant that rifles were in play; then a distant -shouting rolled confusedly upon them. Peter Zinn called Blondy to his -heels and went out to investigate.</p> - -<p>The first surmise that jumped into his mind had been correct. Jeff -and Lew Minster had broken from jail, been headed off in their -flight, and had taken refuge in the post office. There they held the -crowd at bay, Jeff taking the front of the building and Lew the rear. -Vacant lots surrounded the old frame shack since the general -merchandise store burned down three years before, and the rifles of -two expert shots commanded this no-man’s-land. It would be night -before they could close on the building, but when night came the -Minster boys would have an excellent chance of breaking away with -darkness to cover them.</p> - -<p>“What’ll happen?” asked Tony Jeffreys of the blacksmith as they sat -at the corner of the hotel where they could survey the whole scene.</p> - -<p>“I dunno,” said Peter Zinn, as he puffed at his pipe. “I guess it’s -up to the constable to show them that he’s a hero. There he is now!”</p> - -<p>The constable had suddenly dashed out of the door of Sam Donoghue’s -house, directly facing the post office, followed by four others, in -the hope that he might take the defenders by surprise. But when men -defend their lives they are more watchful thar wolves in the hungry -winter of the mountains. A Winchester spoke from a window of the post -office the moment the forlorn hope appeared. The first bullet knocked -the hat from the head of Harry Daniels and stopped him in his tracks. -The second shot went wide. The third knocked the feet from under the -constable and flattened him in the road. This was more than enough -The remnant of the party took to it heels and regained shelter safely -before the dust raised by his fall had cease curling above the -prostrate body of the constable.</p> - -<p>Tony Jeffreys had risen to his feel repeating over and over an oath of -his childhood: “Jimminy whiskers! Jimminy whiskers! Jimminy whiskers! -They’ve killed poor Tom Frejus!” But Peter Zinn, holding the -trembling! eager body of Blondy between his hands, jutted forth his -head an grinned in a savage warmth of contentment.</p> - -<p>“He’s overdue!” was all he said.</p> - -<p>But Tom Frejus was not dead. His leg had been broken between the knee -and hip, but he now reared himself upon both hands and looked about -him. He had covered the greater part of the road in his charge. It -would be easier to escape from fire by crawling close under the -shelter of the wall of the post office than by trying to get back to -Donoghue’s house. Accordingly, he began to drag himself forward. had -not covered a yard when the Winchester cracked again and Tom crumpled -on his face, with both arms flung around his head.</p> - -<hr style='border:none; color:inherit; margin-top:1em;' /> - -<p>Peter Zinn stood up with a gasp. Here was something quite different. -The constable was beaten, broken, and he reminded Zinn of one thing -only—old Gripper cowering against the fence with Blondy towering -above, ready to kill. Blondy had been merciful, but the marked man -behind the window was still intent on murder. His next bullet raised -a white furrow of dust near Frejus. Then a wild voice, made thin and -high by the extremity of fear and pain, came through the air and -smote the heart Peter Zinn: “Help! For God’s sake, mercy!”</p> - -<p>Tom Frejus was crushed indeed, and begging as Gripper had begged. A -hundred voices were shouting with horror but no man dared venture out -in the face of that cool-witted marksman. Then Peter Zinn knew the -thing which he had been born to do, for which he had been granted -strength of hand and courage of heart. He threw his long arms out -before him as though he were running to embrace a bodiless thing; -great wordless voice swelled in his breast and tore his throat; and -he ran out toward the fallen constable.</p> - -<p>Some woman’s voice was screaming: “Back! Go back, Peter! Oh, God! -Stop him! Stop him!”</p> - -<p>Minster had already marked his coming. The rifle cracked, and a blow -to the side of his head knocked Peter Zinn into utter blackness. A -searing pain and the hot flow of blood down his face brought back his -senses. He leaped to his feet again; he heard a yelp of joy as Blondy -danced away before him; then he drove past the writhing body of Tom -Frejus. The gun spoke again from the window; the red-hot torment -stabbed him again, he knew not where. Then he reached the door of the -building and gave his shoulder to it.</p> - -<p>It was a thing of paper that ripped open before him. He plunged -through into the room beyond, where he saw the long, snarling face of -the young Minster in the shadow of a corner with the gleam of the -leveled rifle barrel. He dodged as the gun spat fire, heard brief and -wicked humming beside his ear, then scooped up in one hand heavy -chair and flung it at the gunman.</p> - -<p>Minster went down with his legs and arms sprawled in an odd position, -and Peter Zinn gave him not so much as another glance, for he knew -that this part of his work was done.</p> - -<p>“Lew! Lew!” cried a voice from the back of the building. “What’s -happened? What’s up? D’you want help?”</p> - -<p>“Ay!” shouted Peter Zinn. “He wants help. You damn’ murderer, it’s -me—Peter Zinn! Peter Zinn!”</p> - -<p>He kicked open the door beyond and ran full into the face of a -lightning flash. It withered the strength from his body. He slumped -down on the floor with his loose shoulders resting against the wall. -In a twilight dimness he saw big Jeff Minster standing in a thin -swirl of smoke with the rifle muzzle twitching down and steadying for -the finishing shot, but a white streak leaped through the doorway, -over his shoulder, and flew at Minster.</p> - -<p>Before the sick eyes of Peter Zinn, the man and the dog whirled into -a blur of darkness streaked with white. There passed two long, long -seconds, thick with stampings, the wild curses of Jeff Minster, the -deep and humming growl of Blondy. Moreover, out of the distance a -great wave of voices was rising, sweeping toward the building.</p> - -<div class='figcenter' style='width:50%; max-width:1565px'> - <img src='images/illus-003.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%;height:auto;' /> - <p class='caption'> - Jeff Minster, yelling with pain and rage, caught out - his hunting knife and raised it. He stabbed, but still Blondy clung. - </p> -</div> - -<p>The eyes of Peter cleared. He saw Blondy fastened to the right leg of -Jeff Minster above the knee. The rifle had fallen to the floor and -Jeff Minster, yelling with pain and rage, had caught out his hunting -knife, had raised it. He stabbed. But still Blondy clung. “No, no!” -screamed Peter Zinn.</p> - -<p>“Your damned dog first—then you!” gasped Minster.</p> - -<hr style='border:none; color:inherit; margin-top:1em;' /> - -<p>The weakness struck Peter Zinn again. His great head lolled back on -his shoulders. “God,” he moaned, “gimme strength! Don’t let Blondy -die!”</p> - -<p>And strength poured hot upon his body, a strength so great that he -could reach his hand to the rifle on the floor, gather it to him, put -his finder on the trigger, and raise the muzzle slowly, slowly as -though it weighed a ton.</p> - -<p>The knife had fallen again. It was a half crimson dog that still -clung to the slayer. Feet beat, voices boomed like a waterfall in the -next room. Then, as the knife rose again, Zinn pulled the trigger, -blind to his target, and as the thick darkness brushed across his -brain, saw something falling before him.</p> - -<p>He seemed, after a time, to be walking down an avenue of utter -blackness. Then a thin star ray of light glistened before him. It -widened. A door of radiance opened through which he stepped and found -himself—lying between cool sheets with the binding grip of bandages -holding him in many places and wherever the bandages held, the deep, -sickening ache of wounds. Dr. Burney leaned above him, squinting as -though Peter Zinn were far away. Then Peter’s big hand caught him.</p> - -<p>“Doc,” he said. “What’s happened? Gimme the worst of it.”</p> - -<p>“If you lie quiet, my friend,” said the doctor, “and husband your -strength, and fight for yourself as bravely as you fought for -Constable Frejus, you’ll pull through well enough. You have to pull -through, Zinn, because this town has a good deal to say that you -ought to hear. Besides—”</p> - -<p>“Hell, man,” said Peter Zinn, the savage, “I mean the dog. I mean -Blondy—how—what I mean to say is—”</p> - -<p>But then a great foreknowledge came upon Peter Zinn, His own life -having been spared, fate had taken another in exchange, and Blondy -would never lie warm upon his feet again. He closed his eyes and -whispered huskily: “Say yes or no, Doc. Quick!”</p> - -<p>But the doctor was in so little haste that he turned away and walked -to the door, where he spoke in a low voice.</p> - -<p>“He’s got to have help,” said Peter Zinn to his own dark heart. “He’s -got to have help to tell me how a growed-up man killed a poor pup.”</p> - -<p>Footsteps entered. “The real work I’ve been doing,” said the doctor, -“hasn’t been with you. Look up, Zinn!”</p> - -<p>Peter Zinn looked up, and over the edge of the doctor’s arm he saw a -long, narrow white head, with a pair of brown-black eyes and a -wistfully wrinkled forehead. Blondy, swathed in soft white linen, was -laid upon the bed and crept up closer until the cold point of his -nose, after his fashion, was hidden in the palm of the master’s hand. -Now big Peter beheld the doctor through a mist spangled with -magnificent diamonds, and he saw that Burney had found it necessary -to turn his head away. He essayed speech which twice failed, but at -the third effort he managed to say in a voice strange to himself: -“Take it by and large, doc, it’s a damn good old world.”</p> - -<div class="tn"> - Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in - the February 23, 1924 issue of <em>Collier’s</em> magazine. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BULLDOG ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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