by Felix Salten
“We’ll get the umpire’s decision today,” another ventured.
There was a general outburst of laughter. “Marvellous! Marvellous! Just think of that on the last day of manœuvres!”
“Toward noon the bugles will blow to cease operations,” said a non-commissioned officer.
They laughed at him too for saying what they all knew, and a smart voice asked him earnestly, “Is that the order of the day, General? Then of course we’ll just have to stop at noon. Won’t that be awful?”
“Children,” roared a giant infantryman, “children, perhaps we’ll have no more fighting to do.”
“Well, that won’t hurt my feelings any,” a pale lad said dryly.
From the distance came the roar of heavy artillery. Machine guns snapped viciously. They began to march in column formation. Renni walked along beside George in regulation step, his head lowered, his tail swinging half-sideways. There was no work for him to do yet. The farther forward they went the farther away the battle receded. From this they concluded that the “enemy” was retreating and that they were victorious. High spirits sparkled along the ranks. Here and there a song was started but the sharp command of “Silence!” ripped it to tatters. So they marched along talking in undertones. The blue sky called for good humour. The air had been cooled by yesterday’s storm and there was not enough heat to be bothersome. Hour after hour they marched. At last, a forest. The command: “Form in skirmish lines! Guns ready! Fix bayonets!”
The formations began to break up and trickle into the woods. Then came the bugle calls, well known and long looked for, greeted with loud cries of joy, “The manœuvres are over!” “Cease operations!”
Guns, knapsacks, helmets with white bands lay all around them, tokens that a struggle had taken place here and the enemy been routed. A pause for rest. The big infantryman spoke up: “Didn’t I tell you we wouldn’t see any more fighting?”
“Yes, you old Napoleon, you military genius, you.”
“Just look at Renni.” Indeed it was wonderful to see him hurry along with his nose to the ground. He stopped unexpectedly, sniffed, and struck off on a different tack.
“He’s lost the trail.”
“Not on your life,” declared George, never for a moment taking his eyes off the dog.
“But he doesn’t know what to do. There’s nothing for him to find now.”
“You just wait and see,” smiled George.
“Look here. The regiment that was driven out of this place certainly must have taken care of its own casualties.”
At this moment Renni gave them the answer. He stopped beside a dark mass which gradually took human form. He sniffed at it, turned about, took up the trail by which he had come. On the way he stopped before another man who flung both arms around him and tried to help himself up. Renni shook him off and rushed toward George who was coming to meet him with his three helpers. Renni would not let them give first attention to the second man, as they started to do. He leaped away from him once and again till George grasped that he insisted they look first to that motionless body lying farther on.
Bending over the unconscious form, George said, “He’s right. Wise Renni. This fellow is the worse case.”
It was no easy matter to bring him back to his senses. Revived at last, he stammered out that he had either fallen or been knocked down, and who knows how many soldiers had tramped over him. On his uniform they could see the marks of hob nails. Two stretcher-bearers carried him away. Then George turned to the other soldier, who had his arms stretched out. He was conscious but said he had been knocked out for a long time and had not come to till the dog had touched him. He was in a pretty bad way after all. A motor cycle had run into him from behind and gone over him. He complained about his chest.
“We’ll have to wait till the others come back,” George said.
The man probably had some ribs broken but he waited patiently. Renni meanwhile had got a whiff of something not very clear to him. Uneasily he ran a few steps this way and that. He drew in deep breaths of air, testing it, and finally with sudden decision darted away. The stretcher-bearer growled. “Well, they’ve left us to do all their mopping up.”
George looked for the dog, who was now out of sight. The two bearers came back. While they were laying the second man on their stretcher, Renni loped up, panting from excitement and a long, hard run.
“Follow me with the stretcher, when you’re free,” George commanded the bearers. “You never know how serious it may be.” He turned to Renni, who had pawed at him eagerly. “Yes, yes. I’m coming.” Renni pushed ahead so nervously, turned about so often to get George, it was plain he thought he was not coming fast enough. In the heart of a dense thicket a deep crack in the earth yawned so suddenly before them that George almost fell into it. Renni scooted down the steep slope on his hind quarters and George leaped after. He stared in horror at the soldier lying there, his face shattered and bloody, his helmet rolled to one side, his gun fallen from his bloody hand.
“He must be dead,” said George to Renni, but Renni had another opinion. He wagged his tail violently.
George knelt down to listen at the naked breast and caught a feeble pulse that at times quickened feverishly. He nodded to his dog.
“You’re right again. And you were right to make me hurry. For all that, I’m afraid we’re too late and this boy will die on our hands before we can get him out.”
But Renni swung his plume confidently while George talked. And while he talked George looked over the blood-stained hand, saw the danger instantly, got out a bandage, bound it tightly around the wrist, raised the arm up over the forehead and held it in place with a bandage about the armpit. The stream of life which at first trickled red through the bandage stopped running and began to form a protecting clot. George wiped the blood from the burnt face as best he could.
“How could this accident have happened? How could it have gone unnoted? Oh, perhaps the gun will explain things.”
The lock was blown to bits, the magazine shattered by the exploding blank cartridges. Blank cartridges? Evidently, for there were no bullets about. The man must have plunged blindly along and fallen into this God-forsaken hole in the ground or been blown into it by the explosion. Perhaps . . . Perhaps. If he lived he could tell them all about it, or as much as he remembered. If not, then the experts in ballistics might throw light. Well, in any case the poor fellow must be got out of here in a hurry.
“Three men beside me will hardly be enough,” George said to Renni. “Go, old friend, and fetch them.”
Renni climbed to the top swiftly. George put his whistle to his lips and gave three shrill blasts. A number of soldiers hurrying up, called back and forth till they located the gorge. They stood at the edge, looking down horrified and offering all sorts of advice.
George called up to them, “We can’t do anything more for him till the stretcher gets here. Before it comes, get some strong ropes.”
Several ran off for the ropes. The others discussed the accident.
“Here’s another one they left behind.”
“Maybe they didn’t see him.”
“Well, what about those two back there? Didn’t they see them either?”
“Murderers! That’s what they are.”
“It’s easy to say ‘murderers,’ ” said George, “but after all they’re our comrades, and they were retreating.”
“Haven’t they got any Red Cross dogs of their own?”
“Apparently not, or at least no good ones.”
“Well then, who found this poor fellow?”
A number of voices called, “Why, Renni, of course.”
“Good old Renni! You can always count on him.”
Renni, leading the trio of stretcher-bearers, pressed through the groups and made ready to coast down again.
“Stay up there, old fellow,” said George in a low voice. “You’re not needed here and would just be in the way.”
He lay down obediently and watched the stretc
her-bearers carefully balance their slippery way down into the gulch. The soldiers patted him and he was friendly with them all but not too friendly.
George listened again at the breast of the wounded man. He was still unconscious. His heart was beating a little more calmly, but his brow was feverish and his breathing slow and irregular.
“If it’s possible let’s push the stretcher under him and save him the torture of being lifted up. And the risk. In the shape he is in it would be a ticklish business.”
“Well, luckily, this stretcher hasn’t any legs,” said one of the bearers. “It’s only a question whether the ground’s soft enough to let us slip it under him.”
“The ground down here is soaking wet,” George assured him.
Deep silence prevailed while with George’s help the bearers moved the canvas softly, carefully, inch by inch, under the wounded body. Once there was a momentary scare and a long pause. The wounded man had moaned softly.
“That’s not a bad sign,” said George in a hushed voice.
In silence the soldiers let down the ropes. The bearers fastened them around the four handles. Every care was taken to hold the stretcher level. When the motionless form reached the surface, a solemn voice said, “That was the exact opposite of a burial.”
George looked to be sure that the wrist was no longer bleeding. Then he laid on the stretcher the gun, the shattered magazine, the helmet with the blood-sprinkled white band, and so let the three bearers carry their burden away. The men crowded excitedly about him.
“You’ve got to have something to eat at once.”
“My dog must eat, of course, but I don’t feel at all hungry.”
“Hurry up. We’ve no time to lose.”
“We’re to march immediately.”
“But, comrades, don’t you understand that after a man has seen a thing like that he loses his appetite?”
“Aren’t you a doctor?”
“A doctor? Why, take a look at me and you’ll see I’m not. In civil life I’m a gardener.”
“Well, anyway, a surgeon couldn’t have done a better job of it.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Any doctor could have done better. All I’m doing is handling my dog.”
“And no man could have done better than your Renni.”
George laughed. “You’re right there. But you don’t go far enough. No human being in the world can do what a dog can.”
Chapter XVI
AS SOON AS THE TROOPS began to move, the regimental band struck up a stirring march. The soldiers hummed the melody and swung along at a lively gait. George sang too, or hummed rather, and his pace quickened. He kept smiling down at the dog by his side while he put words to the music:
“What we have done was not so bad,
Old boy, old boy,
What we have done was not so bad . . . . ”
Renni looked up at him affectionately.
“Halt!” The command passed down the ranks. “Halt!” The music broke off suddenly. “What’s the matter?”
Many men stepped out of rank to get a look up forward. At some distance houses were to be seen, and massed in front of them stood troops, troops, more troops. A part of the artillery, the tanks and machine guns, and even the field kitchens were lined up in front with the infantry massed behind them. The arrangement was more or less accidental.
“We’re going to parade before our corps commanders.”
“But with the order all backward.”
“What do you mean, order? There’s no order. Nothing but confusion.”
“It makes no difference. Marching out in line after a manoeuvre isn’t a parade anyhow.”
“But we surely ought to have a parade.”
“It would mean a bawling-out for a lot of the high-ups.”
“Well, we won—that’s what counts.”
Slowly the planes in squadron formation roared over their heads, the propellers humming in unison. Then came the metallic grinding of the tanks, the rumbling of the artillery, the rattling of the field kitchens. It took a long time. Renni lay down with his head on George’s toes. Several of the soldiers stepped up with oak leaves in their hands.
“Renni’s going to have a victory wreath.”
Renni awoke with a start at the sound of his name and sat up on his hind quarters.
“Here we come to decorate you, Renni,” the men said to him.
He pounded the ground with his tail in sign he understood they were speaking to him. While one wove the wreath the others addressed half-humorous words of praise to the dog, who kept wagging his tail more and more rapidly, looking first one and then another in the face. He seemed to smile. The soldier with the wreath drew nearer.
“Please don’t, please don’t,” George begged them.
“Look there, Renni. Your master’s jealous.”
“Sure he is, Renni. He’s envious of you.”
“You see, Renni, that’s the way people are. No matter how great a service a fellow does, they grudge him his reward.”
“Oh well, then, let’s put a wreath on the corporal, too.”
“Sure, he’s earned one as much as Renni.”
“Help! Help!” cried George in mock fright.
They hung the wreath around the dog’s neck. Renni shook himself violently three or four times trying to back out of his strange necklace, while the soldiers roared with laughter. Almost at once, the dog got the idea that the whole thing was a joke. With his head down between his paws he dared them to catch him; then he started tearing around in short circles. The wreath tickled him. Struggling to get rid of it he indulged in the wildest leaps and plunges, and danced about on his hind feet as if he were crazy.
“It looks wonderful on you,” they called to him. “You’re going to make a hit, Renni.”
“They’ll all think you belong to the circus.”
Renni slowed down, almost stopped, trying first with his front feet and then with his hind legs to get through his collar of prickly leaves. He kept at it till at last the wreath torn to pieces, fell from him. He went mildly mad over this achievement, leaped up on his master, resumed his breathless running around in circles.
All at once the band up front blazed away with a fanfare.
“Here,” called George in a low voice. As Renni instantly took his safe place by his left side, he snapped the leash into his collar. They walked along in step to the music. George said, “I’d have set you free from that stuff, partner.”
The dog looked up at him with such love and confidence that it seemed he must have understood him word for word.
The soldiers stepped along more briskly. The heavy drums quickened the time. They marched into a large square surrounded by tall houses with flags at every window.
George saw the general standing alone in front of a group of officers, the colonel a half-pace to the rear with gleaming sabre in his hand. As the officers passed they gave the salute, and the general returned it. Rank and file saluted by pulling briskly at the gun straps and turning their heads sharply to the right where the corps commander stood. In the rear of the battalion, George, who had no gun, kept his right hand at his visor as they passed by. Suddenly he saw the general point at him questioningly. The colonel nodded, and then he realised that the general was smiling and waving to him. The general waving to him! An agony of pride went over him. He turned red as fire. When he had got safely past the reviewing stand and into the school yard where they were to camp for the night, he whispered to Renni, “That was meant for you.”
At the dog’s look of love he bent down and put his arms about him. Hardly had he entered the room which he was to share with six first-aid men, among them Sergeant-Major Nickel, hardly had he and Nickel shaken hands and old Hector and young Renni exchanged greetings, when the adjutant appeared with word for George to report to the colonel. In a sort of daze, he asked Nickel, “May I leave Renni with you?” But the adjutant said gruffly, “Bring your dog, of course.”
When they reached the gymnas
ium George walked stiffly toward the colonel, who left the group of officers and came to meet him. He reported, “At your orders, sir.”
The colonel shook hands with him, a distinction so rare it attracted attention on all sides. George could not stop a deep blush from spreading over his face. They liked him the better for it.
“The regiment may well be proud of you, Corporal.” The colonel spoke in a loud voice. He bent over the dog so George might have time to recover from his embarrassment.
“Well, you’re a fine dog, Renni. You’ve done a great deal, a very great deal. How shall we reward you?”
Renni’s tail whirled violently at the caress and he acted as though he were going to put his forepaws on the colonel’s breast. George held him back on the leash.
“Let him alone, Corporal. Let him alone. A dog like that doesn’t know distinctions of rank, do you, Renni?”
The dog reached out one fore foot and pawed softly at the colonel who took it in his hand and went on speaking.
“We can congratulate ourselves that there’s no such thing as rank with you. Officers and men, we’re all just friends you want to help. So it is a real pleasure to me to carry out the general’s instructions, Renni, and to give you his warmest commendation.” He smiled. “And you, too, Corporal. You see, everyone knows your dog’s name. He’s famous.”
And with that he freed Renni’s foot. The dog must have been impressed by his solemn but cordial words. By the gentle waving of his tail he gave the proceeding his tacit approval.
“To that I wish to add my personal thanks and the praise and gratitude of all the officers, and of the rank and file,” the colonel concluded. George was on the point of retiring but he called him back.
“You’re a corporal in the reserve?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Your profession in civil life?”
“A gardener, Colonel.”
“You may take the train home. The adjutant will write your pass for you.”
George saluted. “Thank you, sir.” He hesitated, for he was much touched. “If the Colonel will permit I’d like to ask permission to remain with my regiment till the end.”
