by Felix Salten
“You, there. Don’t you hear me? Why don’t you call your dog back?”
“I can’t do that. The dog has spotted something and he’s doing his duty.”
“Duty? Any wounded man ought to hold out till there’s a pause in the fighting,” croaked the major.
The two of them were roaring at each other like mad, to make themselves heard above the tumult of the mock battle.
“The Major must know that in a real fight there’d be badly wounded men who’d need help in a hurry.”
“My dear fellow,” the major growled, “neither you nor your dog would live long in a real fight.”
George shrugged his shoulders. Renni gave him no time to answer. He was off and George must follow.
“That dog won’t let any fellow that’s hurt go without attention,” cried a soldier in the major’s ear. “I never saw such a dog.”
“He’d be a sure candidate for death if the thing were serious,” shrieked the major.
“It would be too bad if he got killed,” the soldier grumbled to himself.
The charge went on. It seemed marvellous to George as he watched Renni slip between the rushing, fighting lines and get in no one’s way. How careful he was not to let George out of his sight, while at the same time he urged the stretcher-bearers on. Everyone who saw the racing dog gaped at him.
“That’s not a dog at all. He’s greased lightning,” they said, or, “He’s a regular Brother of Mercy,” or, “He’s got more courage than most men.”
Renni found five more exhausted men in all the mêlée.
Twilight rolled its deep veils of shadow over the earth. Finally the trumpet sounded, “Cease firing!” The thunder of artillery stopped instantly, the planes vanished from the sky, and only here and there a rifle shot resounded. Everything grew quiet. A silence brought to life by the now audible talking of the men. Nobody knew which army had been judged winner of the day. Nobody cared. Tired and thirsty as they were, their thought was only of food and drink, and they hailed with loud hurrahs the kitchen wagons which were attached to each company.
Renni, however, did not seem to have his mind on food. He scarcely noted the words of his master, and acknowledged his praise only by a brief swing of his tail. He stiffened, sniffed attentively into the dark, vanished. After a while he came back and begged George to come along. He ran ahead with short steps so as not to lose his master in the dark. By his leading George came on a boyish young lieutenant who had collapsed from thirst. Revived with some water and a few lumps of sugar the young man, much ashamed of himself, recovered enough to stagger off to his troop with George’s help.
“Fine dog,” he kept whispering. “Good dog.”
Even yet Renni was not ready to rest. He went on running back and forth across country, stopping, sniffing. Then he staged a seal feat. Without going first to investigate he urged his master and the stretcher-bearers to come with him. After quite a way the four men heard the very, very low moaning that the dog had caught long before. At last they bent over an unconscious man who had fallen and seemed to have injured himself seriously. All four helped carry him. Renni, well pleased with himself, strolled along behind. The man was bleeding from a wound on the head. One of the bearers ran off for a surgeon.
The whole troop—that is to say, all who were awake—came out to meet Renni. They crowded around him, overwhelmed him with praise. They brought him food and water. Renni, whose tongue was hanging out, drank eagerly and long, ate a very little and lay down on the ground.
“Now I know what it means to be ‘dog-tired,’ ” said a sergeant-major in heartfelt tones.
“Well, old boy,” George asked, “are we through for today?”
Renni wagged his tail. George stretched out beside him. Both were instantly asleep.
The man with a head wound had been sent off in an ambulance, but they did not hear it. Nor did they hear the major when he came by and inquired, “Where’s that eighth wonder of the world?”
“Sh, sh!” they said. “He’s sleeping.”
To be sure, Renni raised his head for a second, but nobody noticed it, and he went to sleep again instantly. He did not hear the major’s whispered words, “Let him sleep. He’s earned it and he certainly needs it.”
Chapter XIV
VERY EARLY, LONG BEFORE daybreak, the second day’s manœuvres began. As silently as possible the troops lined up. They slipped in loose formation up under the mountain and, in the pale light of breaking day, tried to climb the steep slope before them without being observed. They were almost completely successful. The whole regiment had all but reached the heights when the first burst of fire came from the enemy cannon massed there. The thunder of the guns grew louder and louder. Immediately their own artillery laid down a barrage like a protecting storm. The regiment charged with irresistible fury, and the umpire ordered the “enemy,” surprised and overwhelmed, to retire. Their cannon fired over their heads as the hostile infantry withdrew and, since their squadrons of aircraft had taken the air first, the retreat now had to break into a rout.
“We’ve more than offset the advantage they had over us,” one of them said. “Because they marched so far yesterday, the fighting began early instead of in the afternoon.”
“They cut us up pretty badly yesterday.”
“We had to keep on the go clear up to evening.”
“Well, what price their victory now?”
“Just look at them run. And all we’ve got to do today is play.”
“Play? Where do you get that play stuff? We’ll run till our tongues hang out.”
“That’s right. We haven’t had a smell of it yet.”
“We haven’t the foggiest idea how things really stand. It looks good for us right here, but that’s no sign our boys aren’t having a rough time of it somewhere else.”
“Any way you take it the infantry’s got to do all the work.”
“Don’t worry. The sooner we start the sooner we’ll get the signal to quit.”
“All right, if that’s the way of it.”
And so the soldiers went on talking.
* * *
The new day still kept its coolness. The sun was just rising and the soldiers were rested and cheerful. George marched along in the skirmish line, Renni at his left, and the three stretcher-bearers beside him.
Renni had had a drink of water and a few mouthfuls of good food and he danced about with a springy step, looking up joyfully at his master, who talked to him in a kindly tone all the time. George recalled happily how the captain had been worried because Renni was such a pup. He laughed.
“Well, that hard-boiled officer ought to have sense enough to know he doesn’t know anything.” He thought of Vogg and how indifferent he could be to his line of talk now, after all that Renni had done. Let him just go on believing that George had whipped his dog.
The sun burned down hotter from the hazy sky. An oppressive sultriness lay over the land. Marching became a wearisome business. Hours passed. None of the enemy was in sight. They marched on. Somebody called out, “This is the play you were talking about.” They marched on. Black clouds rolled up threateningly. When the storm broke with its first flash of lightning and peal of thunder, Renni pressed fearfully against his master. The roaring of man-made machines, a much more fearful racket than the storm, had made no impression on him, but the raging elements filled the brave dog with fear. With tail between his legs and a pleading look on his face he pressed closer and closer.
“What’s the matter with you, fellow?” Renni jumped up on George, buried his head against his breast and seemed to beg, “Protect me.” George pretended to be calm and cheerful and kept petting him, but he could not revive the dog’s courage. The instant the thunder and lightning, the roaring of the winds, came to an end and the quick rain began to fall, Renni grew easy, though now and then he still cast an anxious glance at the sky.
For a little while the rain cooled the men off. Then they suffered again from the close, damp air. They felt
the heat worse then ever. Suddenly they were fired at from both sides. They had fallen into an ambush and were being riddled. They had to fight now and they had their dander up. The mad burst of cannon fire began again, the chattering of machine guns, the howling of propellers, the rattle of musketry which sounded like banners cracking in the breeze. The men threw themselves on the wet, rain-soaked earth. Again Renni did exactly what was expected of him. He crouched down like the soldiers and crept along the ground sniffing in deep breaths. George had good reason to know that he was doing it all of his own accord.
Suddenly, without rising, with just a quick turn, Renni wriggled away. He was gone some time. Then, still crouching, he slipped up again and got George and the stretcher-bearers, who crept along after him on their bellies. A man had fallen into a deep ditch under his machine gun and could not move. They had a good deal of trouble setting him free and lifting the gun out. He seemed unharmed, only a little unsteady on his legs.
The firing raged on. The regiment had to use all its skill, resource and caution to escape from the ambush, but finally it succeeded. Renni sniffed the air. A second storm drew on. George was worried about the dog, but this time its only effect was to make him stick closer to his master. He continued to sniff the air all about. His ears pricked up sharply and he wagged his tail slowly but expectantly. All at once he leaped up and charged away. In a little while he crawled back and urged his master and the stretcher-bearers to come with him. He seemed so impatient that all four of them jumped to their feet and began to run after the flying dog. They gave no heed to the calls that followed them:
“Get down! Get down, you! Crawl!”
They pretended not to hear and in the crash of battle perhaps they did not. When the dog stopped, wagging his tail violently, his muzzle pointed straight down, the four shocked men found themselves standing over their major. He lay in a soft puddle. He must have fallen headlong over a slippery root and struck his head on a sharp stone. A major in the mud!
They wasted no time in thought. They turned the dazed man over, washed the blood from his cheek and nose, and tried to pick him up. He moaned and the pain brought him back to consciousness.
“I don’t . . . know . . . what happened to me,” he stammered, stupefied.
When they tried again a sharp groan burst from him.
“My ankle—I’m afraid it’s broken.”
“Let’s hope it’s only sprained, Major.”
He smiled at George. “Oh, it’s you,” he said wearily. “And your dog found me?”
“Yes, sir. My Renni found you.”
“A splendid animal, really a wonderful animal . . . . Who knows how long I’ve been lying here?”
“It can’t have been long, sir. Not very long. Renni’s been hunting all the time.”
“A noble animal. That’s the word for him—noble.”
At last they got him up to level ground. He stifled his groans heroically.
“Get a stretcher,” George ordered. Two of the bearers went off at a run. “Major, we’ll have to carry you on a stretcher to the ambulance. You’d suffer too much if we tried it all the way on our shoulders.”
“Thank you, thank you. But you’ll stay with me?”
“At your orders, sir.”
Again George washed his face, streaked with blood from a wound on the left cheekbone.
“Ah, that helps.”
“How did this happen, Major?”
“Why, really, I don’t know. Evidently I’m as dumb as any rookie. The first thing I knew I was lying there and it was all over. It must be that way when a man is shot down in war.”
A distant bugle sang out. The call was repeated here and there, nearer and nearer. “The signal to cease operations for today,” smiled George.
“No telling how long they’ll cease for me. Beastly luck!” The major felt round in his tunic for his cigarette case. George held a match for him. Renni had stretched out by the wounded man, smelled him over carefully and then in quiet confidence laid his head on his breast.
“How beautiful a dog’s face can be,” said the major, “and how he honours me. Yes, a man is downright honoured when an animal like that . . . ” He broke off and turned to Renni. “Do you get the scent of my pup Tyras on me? Yes? Well, he can’t do all the things you can, not by a long way. I’ve taught him only to shake hands. I didn’t have to whip him to teach him that.”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but my Renni’s never been whipped. Never. Not once.”
“Great! That’s most unusual, and the kind of thing I like to hear. I hate to see animals beaten. Dogs, horses, cattle—it makes no difference. I hate it. How much honour and honesty are in a dog’s face! Of course, I don’t need to tell you that. But have you ever observed the high-strung courage in the eyes, the movements of a horse? The strong and gentle beauty of the eyes and heads of cattle?”
George would have liked to shake the major’s hand, but discipline kept him from it. At that moment Renni sprang up unexpectedly and ran off as straight as a die.
“You’ll excuse me, sir; I must follow the dog. The stretcher-bearers will be here straightway. If someone should be needing us, we can shorten his waiting and suffering by . . . ”
“Go right ahead,” cried the major.
George saw the stretcher-bearers coming up and signalled them to hurry. He took the third with him. This time it was only a soldier who had collapsed under the burden of his field equipment and the severe work of the day. They helped him to his feet. Embarrassed over his condition, he panted, “I’m a reservist.”
“I too,” thought George, but he said nothing.
The reservist went on, breathless, “I’m a government clerk. After an indoor life I can’t stand this killing grind.”
“You ought to report yourself exhausted and unfit for duty,” advised the stretcher-bearer.
“That’s what I’m going to do,” the man said bitterly. Then of a sudden he screamed, “Let me alone, you cur!” and kicked at the frightened, dodging Renni with his heavy boot.
“Say, you!” George blazed out at him. “Haven’t you got any sense? That dog found you. Kick him, would you? Not while I’m about. Thank him.”
“Thank him! Is that so? Well, thank you very kindly, Mr. Dog. The brute did his duty, and that’s all there is to it.”
“It’s not everyone can say that for himself,” George remarked dryly.
“You mean to compare me with that cur, Corporal?”
“No, I wouldn’t insult the dog.”
“You think I’ll stand for it when he sticks his stinking snout in my hand? You think I won’t kick him?”
George stood still. He ordered the stretcher-bearer: “Take this fellow in by yourself. If I go, I’ll report his actions, and his insolence will be punished.” He turned away with Renni, who did a joyful dance around him. He left plenty of room as he walked around the clerk and struck off through the woods.
“What do we care for trash like that, Renni? We don’t care a rap, do we?”
A short, happy bark. Renni leaped up on his master and laid his forepaws on his shoulders so that George had to stop for a moment. He took Renni’s head in his two hands. “You want to tell me I’m right? Clever of you, old man. We two . . . But come on, partner. We’re both wet to the skin. Let’s step along. Perhaps we’ll get something hot to eat.”
Renni trotted obediently at his master’s left side, sniffing and from time to time laying his muzzle in George’s hand. A short walk to a neat little town. Their quarters were with friendly people in a roomy old house. Many soldiers were there, and they gave Renni an enthusiastic greeting. They led him and his master to the kitchen, where they offered him the place of honour before the stove. Renni sat down, stared into the flames, dried his coat. After he had soaked up the comfortable waves of heat through his body, he got so hot that he panted and his tongue hung out. Meanwhile George stretched his wet clothes before the stove. Then they had a bite to eat.
“Does anyone know how the
major’s getting on?”
None had even heard of the accident.
The stretcher-bearer who had been left with the reservist came in to report. “That guy’s a big fool. He laid down on me, said he wasn’t going to walk another step. He bawled like a baby. Say, Corporal, don’t you want to go to bed? You must be tired. There’s a bed for you on the second floor.”
“A bed?” George thanked him, laughing. “Just bring me a mattress here in front of the stove. We’ll sleep like kings on it, Renni and I.”
The soldiers laughed and dragged up a mattress. George stretched out. Renni stood before him, his tail a question mark.
“Why, of course you may, Renni. Just lie down beside me.” Renni understood. He crept softly over, pressed close against George, and laid his muzzle on his shoulder. He sighed once, comfortably, before he went to sleep.
The other two stretcher-bearers came into the kitchen to report to George.
“Well, what is it?” George’s tone was low, but Renni raised his head and pricked up his ears, wide awake.
“Everything’s all right. The major’s ankle is only sprained a little. He’ll be dancing again in a week or so.”
“That’s fine,” said George. “Where have they put him?”
“In the barracks—his own quarters.”
Renni was again sleeping soundly by the time George told the stretcher-bearers to see about their food and a place to sleep. And George himself sank to sleep with a happy heart.
So ended the second day of the manœuvres.
Chapter XV
ON THE THIRD DAY REVEILLE sounded somewhat later than usual and they formed ranks more slowly.
“Today, we’re the rear guard,” the word went around.
“I don’t understand that,” one said.
“My dear friend,” a high, squeaky voice put in, “what do you supes know about this battle anyway?”
“The main body of our army,” declared a jolly bass, “is fighting farther north. Any supe has sense enough to know that.”
