CHAPTER IX
SPEAKING OF UTILITY
The man huddled frowzily in the tree crotch, like a rumpled and sickraccoon. At times he would crane his thin neck and peer about him, butmore as if he feared rescue than as though he hoped for it.
Then, before slumping back to his sick-raccoon pose, he would lookmurderously earthward and swear with lurid fervor.
At the tree foot the big dog wasted neither time nor energy in franticbarking or in capering excitedly about. Instead, he lay at majesticease, gazing up toward the treed man with grave attentiveness.
Thus, for a full half-hour, the two had remained--the treer and thetreed. Thus, from present signs, they would continue to remain untilChristmas.
There is, by tradition, something intensely comic in the picture of aman treed by a dog. The man, in the present case, supplied the onlyelement of comedy in the scene. The dog was anything but comic, eitherin looks or in posture.
He was a collie, huge of bulk, massive of shoulder, deep and shaggy ofchest. His forepaws were snowy and absurdly small. His eyes wereseal-dark and sorrowful--eyes that proclaimed not only an uncannilywise brain, but a soul as well. In brief, he was Lad; official guardof The Place's safety.
It was in this role of guard that he was now serving as jailer to theman he had seen slouching through the undergrowth of the forest whichgrew close up to The Place's outbuildings.
From his two worshipped deities--the Mistress and the Master--Lad hadlearned in puppyhood the simple provisions of the Guest Law. He knew,for example, that no one openly approaching the house along thedriveway from the furlong-distant highroad was to be molested. Such avisitor's advent--especially at night--might lawfully be greeted by asalvo of barks. But the barks were a mere announcement, not a threat.
On the other hand, the Law demanded the instant halting of allprowlers, or of anyone seeking to get to the house from road or lakeby circuitous and stealthy means. Such roundabout methods spellTrespass. Every good watchdog knows that. But wholly good watchdogsare far fewer than most people--even their owners--realize. Lad wasone of the few.
To-day's trespasser had struck into The Place's grounds from anadjoining bit of woodland. He had moved softly and obliquely and hadmade little furtive dashes from one bit of cover to another, as headvanced toward the outbuildings a hundred yards north of the house.
He had moved cleverly and quietly. No human had seen or heardhim. Even Lad, sprawling half-asleep on the veranda, had not seenhim. For, in spite of theory, a dog's eye by daylight is not so keenor so far-seeing as is a human's. But the wind had brought news of aforeign presence on The Place--a presence which Lad's hasty glance atdriveway and lake edge did not verify.
So the dog had risen to his feet, stretched himself, collie-fashion,fore and aft, and trotted quickly away to investigate. Scent, and thensound, taught him which way to go.
Two minutes later he changed his wolf trot to a slow and unwontedlystiff-legged walk, advancing with head lowered, and growling softlyfar down in his throat. He was making straight for a patch of sumac,ten feet in front of him and a hundred feet behind the stables.
Now, when a dog bounds toward a man, barking and with head up, thereis nothing at all to be feared from his approach. But when the paceslackens to a stiff walk and his head sinks low, that is a very goodtime, indeed, for the object of his attentions to think seriously ofescape or of defense.
Instinct or experience must have imparted this useful truth to thelurker in the sumac patch, for as the great dog drew near the manincontinently wheeled and broke cover. At the same instant Ladcharged.
The man had a ten-foot start. This vantage he utilized by flinginghimself bodily at a low-forked hickory tree directly in his path.
Up the rough trunk to the crotch he shinned with the speed of a chasedcat. Lad arrived at the tree bole barely in time to collect a mouthfulof cloth from the climber's left trouser ankle.
After which, since he was not of the sort to clamor noisily for whatlurked beyond his reach, the dog yawned and lay down to keep guard onhis arboreal prisoner. For half an hour he lay thus, varying his vigilonce or twice by sniffing thoughtfully at a ragged scrap of trousercloth between his little white forepaws. He sniffed the thing asthough trying to commit its scent to memory.
The man did not seek help by shouting. Instead, he seemed oddlywilling that no other human should intrude on his sorry plight. Asingle loud yell would have brought aid from the stables or from thehouse or even from the lodge up by the gate. Yet, though the man musthave guessed this, he did not yell. Instead, he cursed whisperingly atintervals and snarled at his captor.
At last, his nerve going, the prisoner drew out a jackknife, opened ablade at each end of it and hurled the ugly missile with all his forceat the dog. As the man had shifted his position to get at the knife,Lad had risen expectantly to his feet with some hope that his captivemight be going to descend.
It was lucky for Lad that he was standing when the knife was thrownfor the aim was not bad, and a dog lying down cannot easily dodge. Adog standing on all fours is different, especially if he is a collie.
Lad sprang to one side instinctively as the thrower's arm wentback. The knife whizzed, harmless, into the sumac patch. Lad's teethbared themselves in something that looked like a smile and wasnot. Then he lay down again on guard.
A minute later he was up with a jump. From the direction of the housecame a shrill whistle followed by a shout of "Lad! _La-ad!_" It wasthe Master calling him. The summons could not be ignored. Usually itwas obeyed with eager gladness, but now--Lad looked worriedly up intothe tree. Then, coming to a decision, he galloped away at top speed.
In ten seconds he was at the veranda where the Master stood talkingwith a newly arrived guest. Before the Master could speak to the dog,Lad rushed up to him, whimpering in stark appeal, then ran a few stepstoward the stables, paused, looked back and whimpered again.
"What's the matter with him?" loudly demanded the guest--an obese andelderly man, right sportily attired. "What ails the silly dog?"
"He's found something," said the Master. "Something he wants me tocome and see--and he wants me to come in a hurry."
"How do you know?" asked the guest.
"Because I know his language as well as he knows mine," retorted theMaster.
He set off in the wake of the excited dog. The guest followed in moreleisurely fashion complaining:
"Of all the idiocy! To let a measly dog drag you out of the shade on ared-hot day like this just to look at some dead chipmunk he's found!"
"Perhaps," stiffly agreed the Master, not slackening his pace. "But ifLad behaves like that, unless it's pretty well worth while, he'schanged a lot in the past hour. A man can do worse sometimes thanfollow a tip his dog gives him."
"Have it your own way," grinned the guest. "Perhaps he may lead us toa treasure cave or to a damsel in distress. I'm with you."
"Guy me if it amuses you," said the Master.
"It does," his guest informed him. "It amuses me to see any grown manthink so much of a dog as you people think of Lad. It's maudlin."
"My house is the only one within a mile on this side of the lake thathas never been robbed," was the Master's reply. "My stable is the onlyone in the same radius that hasn't been rifled by harness-and-tirethieves. Thieves who seem to do their work in broad daylight, too,when the stables won't be locked. I have Lad to thank for all that.He----"
The dog had darted far ahead. Now he was standing beneath a low-forkedhickory tree staring up into it.
"He's treed a cat!" guffawed the guest, his laugh as irritating as akick. "Extra! Come out and get a nice sunstroke, folks! Come and seethe cat Lad has treed!"
The Master did not answer. There was no cat in the tree. There wasnothing visible in the tree. Lad's aspect shrank from hope todepression. He looked apologetically at the Master. Then he began tosniff once more at a scrap of cloth on the ground.
The Master picked up the cloth and presently walked over to thetree. From a jut of ba
rk dangled a shred of the same cloth. TheMaster's hand went to Lad's head in approving caress.
"It was not a cat," he said. "It was a man. See the rags of----"
"Oh, piffle!" snorted the guest. "Next you'll be reconstructing theman's middle name and favorite perfume from the color of the bark onthe tree. You people are always telling about wonderful stunts ofLad's. And that's all the evidence there generally is to it."
"No, Mr. Glure," denied the Master, taking a strangle hold on histemper. "No. That's not quite all the evidence that we have for ourbrag about Lad. For instance, we had the evidence of your own eyeswhen he herded that flock of stampeded prize sheep for you lastspring, and of your own eyes again when he won the 'Gold Hat' cup atthe Labor Day Dog Show. No, there's plenty of evidence that Lad isworth his salt. Let it go at that. Shall we get back to the house?It's fairly cool on the veranda. By the way, what was it you wanted meto call Lad for? You asked to see him. And----"
"Why, here's the idea," explained Glure, as they made their waythrough the heat back to the shade of the porch. "It's what I droveover here to talk with you about. I'm making the rounds of all thisregion. And, say, I didn't ask to see Lad. I asked if you still hadhim. I asked because----"
"Oh," apologized the Master. "I thought you wanted to see him. Mostpeople ask to if he doesn't happen to be round when they call.We----"
"I asked you if you still had him," expounded Mr. Glure, "because Ihoped you hadn't. I hoped you were more of a patriot."
"Patriot?" echoed the Master, puzzled.
"Yes. That's why I'm making this tour of the country: to rouse dogowners to a sense of their duty. I've just formed a local branch ofthe Food Conservation League and----"
"It's a splendid organization," warmly approved the Master, "but whathave dog owners to----"
"To do with it?" supplemented Glure. "They have nothing to do with it,more's the pity. But they ought to. That's why I volunteered to makethis canvass. It was my own idea. Some of the others were foolishenough to object, but as I had founded and financed this Hamptonbranch of the League----"
"What 'canvass' are you talking about?" asked the Master, who was fartoo familiar with Glure's ways to let the man become fairly launchedon a paean of self-adulation. "You say it's 'to rouse dog owners to asense of their duty.' Along what line? We dog men have raised a goodmany thousand dollars this past year by our Red Cross shows and by oursubscriptions to all sorts of war funds. The Blue Cross, too, and theCollie Ambulance Fund have----"
"This is something better than the mere giving of surplus coin," brokein Glure. "It is something that involves sacrifice. A needfulsacrifice for our country. A sacrifice that may win the war."
"Count me in on it, then!" cordially approved the Master. "Count inall real dog men. What is the 'sacrifice'?"
"It's my own idea," modestly boasted Glure, adding: "That is, ofcourse, it's been agitated by other people in letters to newspapersand all that, but I'm the first to go out and put it into actualeffect."
"Shoot!" suggested the weary Master.
"That's the very word!" exclaimed Glure. "That's the very thing Iwant dog owners to combine in doing. To shoot!"
"To--what?"
"To shoot--or poison--or asphyxiate," expounded Glure, warming to histheme. "In short, to get rid of every dog."
The Master's jaw swung ajar and his eyes bulged. His face began toassume an unbecoming bricky hue. Glure went on:
"You see, neighbor, our nation is up against it. When war wasdeclared last month it found us unprepared. We've got to pitch in andeconomize. Every mouthful of food wasted here is a new lease of lifeto the Kaiser. We're cutting down on sugar and meat and fat, but forevery cent we save that way we're throwing away a dollar in feedingour dogs. Our dogs that are a useless, senseless, costly luxury! Theyserve no utilitarian end. They eat food that belongs to soldiers. I'mtrying to brighten the corner where I am by persuading my neighbors toget rid of their dogs. When I've proved what a blessing it is I'mgoing to inaugurate a nation-wide campaign from California to NewYork, from----"
"Hold on!" snapped the Master, finding some of his voice and, in thesame effort, mislaying much of his temper. "What wall-eyed idiocy doyou think you're trying to talk? How many dog men do you expect toconvert to such a crazy doctrine? Have you tried any others? Or am Ithe first mark?"
"I'm sorry you take it this way," reproved Glure. "I had hoped youwere more broad-minded, but you are as pig-headed as the rest."
"The 'rest,' hey?" the Master caught him up. "The 'rest?' Then I'mnot the first? I'm glad they had sense enough to send you packing."
"They were blind animal worshipers, both of them," said Glureaggrievedly, "just as you are. One of them yelled something after methat I sincerely hope I didn't hear aright. If I did, I have a strongaction for slander against him. The other chucklehead so far forgothimself as to threaten to take a shotgun to me if I didn't get off hisland."
"I'm sorry!" sighed the Master. "For both of them seem to have coveredthe ground so completely that there isn't anything unique for me tosay--or do. Now listen to me for two minutes. I've read a few ofthose anti-dog letters in the newspapers, but you're the first personI've met in real life who backs such rot. And I'm going----"
"It is not a matter for argument," loftily began Glure.
"Yes it is," asserted the Master. "Everything is, except religion andlove and toothache. You say dogs ought to be destroyed as a patrioticduty because they aren't utilitarian. There's where you're wrong atthe very beginning. Dead wrong. I'm not talking about the big kennelswhere one man keeps a hundred dogs as he'd herd so many prizehogs. Though look what the owners of such kennels did for the countryat the last New York show at Madison Square Garden! Every penny of thethousands and thousands of dollars in profits from the show went tothe Red Cross. I'm speaking of the man who keeps one dog or two oreven three dogs, and keeps them as pets. I'm speaking of myself, ifyou like. Do you know what it costs me per week to feed my dogs?"
"I'm not looking for statistics in----"
"No, I suppose not. Few fanatics are. Well, I figured it out a fewweeks ago, after I read one of those anti-dog letters. The totalupkeep of all my dogs averages just under a dollar a week. A barefifty dollars a year. That's true. And----"
"And that fifty dollars," interposed Glure eagerly, "would pay for asoldier's----"
"It would not!" contradicted the Master, trying to keep some slightgrip on his sliding temper. "But I can tell you what it _would_ do:Part of it would go for burglar insurance, which I don't need now,because no stranger dares to sneak up to my house at night. Part of itwould go to make up for things stolen around The Place. For instance,in the harness room of my stable there are five sets of good harnessand two or three extra automobile tires. Unless I'm very muchmistaken, the best of those would be gone now if Lad hadn't just treedthe man who was after them."
"Pshaw!" exploded Glure in fine scorn. "We saw no man there. There wasno proof of----"
"There was proof enough for me," continued the Master. "And if Ladhadn't scented the fellow one of the other dogs would. As I told you,mine is the only house--and mine is the only stable--on this side ofthe lake that has never been looted. Mine is the only orchard--andmine is the only garden--that is never robbed. And this is the onlyplace, on our side of the lake, where dogs are kept at large fortwelve months of the year. My dogs' entry fees at Red Cross shows havemore than paid for their keep, and those fees went straight tocharity."
"But----"
"The women of my family are as safe here, day and night, as if I had amachine-gun company on guard. That assurance counts for morethan a little, in peace of mind, back here in the North Jerseyhinterland. I'm not taking into account the several other ways thedogs bring in cash income to us. Not even the cash Lad turned over tothe Red Cross when we sent that $1600 'Gold Hat' cup he won, to bemelted down. And I'm not speaking of our dogs' comradeship, andwhat that means to us. Our dogs are an asset in every way--not aliability. They aren't deadheads either. For I pay t
he state tax onthem every year. They're true, loyal, companionable chums, andthey're an ornament to The Place as well as its best safeguard. All inreturn for table scraps and skim milk and less than a weekly dollar'sworth of stale bread and cast-off butcher-shop bones. Where do youfigure out the 'saving' for the war chest if I got rid of them?"
"As I said," repeated Glure with cold austerity, "it's not a matterfor argument. I came here hoping to----"
"I'm not given to mawkish sentiment," went on the Master shamefacedly,"but on the day your fool law for dog exterminating goes into effectthere'll be a piteous crying of little children all over the wholeworld--of little children mourning for the gentle protecting playmatesthey loved. And there'll be a million men and women whose lives haveall at once become lonely and empty and miserable. Isn't this warcausing enough crying and loneliness and misery without your adding toit by killing our dogs? For the matter of that, haven't the army dogsover in Europe been doing enough for mankind to warrant a square dealfor their stay-at-home brothers? Haven't they?"
"That's a mass of sentimental bosh," declared Glure. "All of it."
"It is," willingly confessed the Master. "So are most of theworth-while things in life, if you reduce them to their lowest terms."
"You know what a fine group of dogs I had," said Glure, starting offon a new tack. "I had a group that cost me, dog for dog, more than anyother kennel in the state. Grand dogs too. You remember my wonderfulMerle, for instance, and----"
"And your rare 'Prussian sheep dog'--or was it a prune-hound?--that aChicago man sold to you for $1100," supplemented the Master,swallowing a grin. "I remember. I remember them all. What then?"
"Well," resumed Glure, "no one can accuse me of not practicing what Ipreach. I began this splendid campaign by getting rid of every dog Iowned. So I----"
"Yes," agreed the Master. "I read all about that last month in yourlocal paper. Distemper had run through your kennel, and you trieddoctoring the dogs on a theory of your own instead of sending for avet. So they all died. Tough luck! Or perhaps you got rid of them thatway on purpose? For the good of the Cause? I'm sorry about theMerle. He was----"
"I see there's no use talking to you," sighed Glure in disgust,ponderously rising and waddling toward his car. "I'm disappointed;because I hoped you were less bone-brained and more patriotic thanthese yokels round here."
"I'm not," cheerily conceded the Master. "I'm not, I'm glad tosay. Not a bit."
"Then," pursued Glure, climbing into the car, "since you feel that wayabout it, I suppose there's no use asking you to come to the littlecattle show I'm organizing for week after next, because that's for theFood Conservation League too. And since you're so out of sympathywith----"
"I'm not out of sympathy with the League," asserted the Master. "Itscard is in our kitchen window. We've signed its pledge and we'reboosting it in every way we know how, except by killing our dogs; andthat's no part of the League's programme, as you know very well. Tellme more about the cattle show."
"It's a neighborhood affair," said Glure sulkily, yet eager to secureany possible entrants. "Just a bunch of home-raised cattle. Cup androsette for best of each recognized breed, and the usual ribbons forsecond and third. Three dollars an entry. Only one class for eachbreed. Every entrant must have been raised by the exhibitor. Gateadmission fifty cents. Red Cross to get the gross proceeds. I'veoffered the use of my south meadow at Glure Towers--just as I did forthe specialty dog show. I've put up a hundred dollars toward therunning expenses too. Micklesen's to judge."
"I don't go in for stock raising," said the Master. "My littleAlderney heifer is the only head of quality stock I ever bred. I doubtif she is worth taking up there, but I'll be glad to take her if onlyto swell the competition list. Send me a blank, please."
Lad trotted dejectedly back to the house as Glure's car chugged awayup the drive. Lad was glumly unhappy. He had had no trouble at all incatching the scent of the man he had treed. He had followed thecrashingly made trail through undergrowth and woodland until it hademerged into the highroad.
And there, perforce, Lad had paused. For, taught from puppyhood, heknew the boundaries of The Place as well as did the Mistress or theMaster, and he knew equally well that his own jurisdiction ended atthose boundaries. Beyond them he might not chase even the most loathedintruder. The highroad was sanctuary.
Wherefore at the road edge he stopped and turned slowly back. Hispursuit was ended, but not his anger, nor his memory of the marauder'sscent. The man had trespassed slyly on The Place. He had gotten awayunpunished. These things rankled in the big dog's mind....
It was a pretty little cattle show and staged in a pretty settingwithal--at Glure Towers, two weeks later. The big sunken meadow on theverge of the Ramapo River was lined on two sides with impromptusheds. The third side was blocked by something between a grand standand a marquee. The tree-hung river bordered the fourth side. In thefield's center was the roped-off judging inclosure into which thecattle, class by class, were to be led.
Above the pastoral scene brooded the architectural crime, known as TheTowers--homestead and stronghold of Hamilcar Q. Glure, Esquire.
Glure had made much money in Wall Street--a crooked little street thatbegins with a graveyard and ends in a river. Having waxed indecentlyrich, he had erected for himself a hideously expensive estate amongthe Ramapo Mountains and had settled down to the task of patronizinghis rural neighbors. There he elected to be known as the "Wall StreetFarmer," a title that delighted not only himself but everyone else inthe region.
There was, in this hinterland stretch, a friendly and constant rivalryamong the natives and other old residents in the matter of stockraising. Horses, cattle, pigs, chickens, even a very few sheep werebred for generations along lines which their divers owners had laidout--lines which those owners fervently believed must some day produceperfection.
Each owner or group of owners had his own special ideas as to the bestway to produce this super-stock result. The local stock shows formedthe only means of proving or disproving the excellence of the variedtheories. Hence these shows were looked upon as barnyard supremecourts.
Mr. Glure had begun his career in the neighborhood with a laudable aimof excelling everybody else in everything. He had gone, heart andsoul, into stock producing and as he had no breeding theories of hisown he proceeded to acquire a set. As it would necessarily take yearsto work out these beliefs, he bridged the gap neatly by purchasing andimporting prize livestock and by entering it against the home-raisedproducts of his neighbors.
Strangely enough, this did not add to the popularity which he did notpossess. Still more strangely, it did not add materially to hisprestige as an exhibitor, for the judges had an exasperating way ofhanding him a second or third prize ribbon and then of awarding thecoveted blue rosette to the owner and breeder of some local exhibit.
After a long time it began to dawn upon Glure that narrow neighborhoodprejudice deemed it unsportsmanlike to buy prize stock and exhibit itas one's own. At approximately the same time three calves were born tonewly imported prize cows in the two-acre model barns of Glure Towers,and with them was born Glure's newest idea.
No one could deny he had bred these calves himself. They were born onhis own place and of his own high-pedigreed cattle. Three breeds wererepresented among the trio of specimens. By points and by lineagethey were well-nigh peerless. Wherefore the plan for a show ofneighborhood "home-raised" cattle. At length Glure felt he was cominginto his own.
The hinterland folk had fought shy of Glure since the dog show whereinhe had sought to win the capital prize by formulating a set ofconditions that could be filled by no entrant except a newly importedchampion Merle of his own.
But the phrase "home-raised" now proved a bait that few of theregion's stock lovers could resist; and on the morning of the show nofewer than fifty-two cattle of standard breeds were shuffling orlowing in the big impromptu sheds.
A farm hand, the day before, had led to the show ground The Place'ssole entrant--the pretty l
ittle Alderney heifer of which the Masterhad spoken to Glure and which, by the way, was destined to win nothinghigher than a third-prize ribbon.
For that matter, to end the suspense, the best of the three Glurecalves won only a second prize, all the first for their three breedsgoing to two nonplutocratic North Jerseymen who had bred the ancestorsof their entrants for six generations.
The Mistress and the Master motored over to Glure Towers on themorning of the show in their one car. Lad went with them. He alwayswent with them.
Not that any dog could hope to find interest in a cattle show, but adog would rather go anywhere with his Master than to stay at homewithout him. Witness the glad alacrity wherewith the weariest dogdeserts a snug fireside in the vilest weather for the joy of amaster-accompanying walk.
A tire puncture delayed the trip. The show was about to begin when thecar was at last parked behind the sunken meadow. The Mistress and theMaster, with Lad at their heels, started across the meadow afoottoward the well-filled grand-stand.
Several acquaintances in the stand waved to them as they advanced.Also, before they had traversed more than half the meadow's areatheir host bore down upon them.
Mr. Glure (dressed, as usual, for the Occasion) looked like a blend ofLandseer's "_Edinburgh Drover_" and a theater-program picture of"_What the Man Will Wear_."
He had been walking beside a garishly liveried groom who was leadingan enormous Holstein bull toward the judging enclosure. The bull wassteered by a five-foot bar, the end snapped to a ring in his nose.
"Hello, good people!" Mr. Glure boomed, pump-handling the unenthusiasticMistress' right hand and bestowing a jarringly annoying slapupon the Master's shoulder. "Glad to see you! You're late. Almosttoo late for the best part of the show. Before judging begins,I'm having some of my choicest European stock paraded in thering. Just for exhibition, you know. Not for a contest. I like to givea treat to some of these farmers who think they know how to breedcattle."
"Yes?" queried the Master, who could think of nothing cleverer to say.
"Take that bull, Tenebris, of mine, for instance," proclaimed Glure,with a wave toward the approaching Holstein and his guide. "Best tonof livestock that ever stood on four legs. Look how he----"
Glure paused in his lecture for he saw that both the Mistress and theMaster were staring, not at the bull, but at the beast's leader. Thespectacle of a groom in gaudy livery, on duty at a cattle show, wasall but too much for their gravity.
"You're looking at that boy of mine, hey? Fine, well-set-up chap,isn't he? A faithful boy. Devoted to me. Slavishly devoted. Not likemost of these grumpy, independent Jersey rustics. Not much. He's atreasure, Winston is. Used to be chief handler for some of the biggestcattle breeders in the East he tells me. I got hold of him by chance,and just by the sheerest good luck, a week or so ago. Met him on theroad and he asked for a lift. He----"
It was then that Lad disgraced himself and his deities, and provedhimself all unworthy to appear in so refined an assembly. The man inlivery had convoyed the bull to within a few feet of the proudlyexhorting Glure. Now, without growl or other sign of warning, thehitherto peaceable dog changed into a murder machine.
In a single mighty bound he cleared the narrowing distance betweenhimself and the advancing groom.
The leap sent him hurtling through the air, an eighty-pound furrycatapult, straight for the man's throat.
Over and beyond the myriad cattle odors, Lad had suddenly recognized ascent that spelt deathless hatred. The scent had been verified by asingle glance at the brilliantly clad man in livery. Wherefore the madcharge.
The slashing jaws missed their mark in the man's throat by a bare halfinch. That they missed it at all was because the man also recognizedLad, and shrank back in mortal terror.
Even before the eighty-pound weight, smashing against his chest, sentthe groom sprawling backward to the ground, Lad's slashing jaws hadfound a hold in place of the one they had missed.
This grip was on the liveried shoulder, into which the fangs sank totheir depth. Down went the man, screaming, the dog atop of him.
"Lad!" cried the Mistress, aghast. "_Lad!_" Through the avenging ragethat misted his brain the great dog heard. With a choking sound thatwas almost a sob he relinquished his hold and turned slowly from hisprey.
The Master and Glure instinctively took a step toward the approachingdog and the writhingly prostrate man. Then, still more instinctively,and without even coming to a standstill before going into reverse,they both sprang back. They would have sprung further had not theroped walls of the show ring checked them.
For Tenebris had taken a sudden and active part in the scene.
The gigantic Holstein during his career in Europe had trebly won histitle to champion. And during the three years before his exportationto America he had gored to death no fewer than three over-confidentstable attendants. The bull's homicidal temper, no less than thedazzling price offered by Glure, had caused his owner to sell him tothe transatlantic bidder.
A bull's nose is the tenderest spot of his anatomy. Next to his eyes,he guards its safety most zealously. Thus, with a stout leading-barbetween him and his conductor, Tenebris was harmless enough.
But the conductor just now had let go of that bar, as Lad's weight hadsmitten him. Freed, Tenebris had stood for an instant in perplexity.
Fiercely he flung his gnarled head to one side to see the cause of thecommotion. The gesture swung the heavy leading-bar, digging thenose ring cruelly into his sensitive nostrils. The pain maddenedTenebris. A final plunging twist of the head--and the bar's weighttore the nose ring free from the nostrils.
Tenebris bellowed thunderously at the climax of pain. Then he realizedhe had shaken off the only thing that gave humans a control overhim. A second bellow--a furious pawing of the earth--and the bulllowered his head. His evil eyes glared about him in search ofsomething to kill.
It was the sight of this motion which sent the Master and Glurerecoiling against the show-ring ropes.
In almost the same move the Master caught up his wife and swung herover the top rope, into the ring. He followed her into that refuge'sfragile safety with a speed that held no dignity whatever. Glure,seeing the action, wasted no time in wriggling through the ropes afterhim.
Tenebris did not follow them.
One thing and only one his red eyes saw: On the ground, not sixfeet away, rolled and moaned a man. The man was down. He washelpless. Tenebris charged.
A bull plunging at a near-by object shuts both eyes. A cow doesnot. Which may--or may not--explain the Spanish theory that bullfightsare safer than cow-fights. To this eye-closing trait many a hard-pressedmatador has owed his life.
Tenebris, both eyes screwed shut, hurled his 2000-pound bulk at theprostrate groom. Head down, nose in, short horns on a level with theearth and barely clearing it, he made his rush.
But at the very first step he became aware that something wasamiss with his pleasantly anticipated charge. It did not followspecifications or precedent.
All because a heavy something had flung its weight against the side ofhis lowered head, and a new and unbearable pain was torturing hisblood-filled nostrils.
Tenebris swerved. He veered to one side, throwing up his head to clearit of this unseen torment.
As a result, the half-lifted horns grazed the fallen man. The pointedhoofs missed him altogether. At the same moment the weight was gonefrom against the bull's head, and the throbbing stab from hisnostrils.
Pausing uncertainly, Tenebris opened his eyes and glared about him. Ayard or two away a shaggy dog was rising from the tumble caused by thejerky uptossing of the bull's head.
Now, were this a fiction yarn, it would be interesting to devisereasons why Lad should have flown to the rescue of a human whom heloathed, and arrayed himself against a fellow-beast toward which hefelt no hatred at all.
To dogs all men are gods. And perhaps Lad felt the urge of saving evena detested god from the onslaught of a beast. Or perhaps not. One cango only by the facts
. And the facts were that the collie had checkedhimself in the reluctant journey toward the Mistress and had gone tohis foe's defense.
With a flash of speed astonishing in so large and sedate a dog, he hadflown at the bull in time--in the barest time--to grip the tornnostrils and turn the whirlwind charge.
And now Tenebris shifted his baleful glare from the advancing dog tothe howling man. The dog could wait. The bull's immediate pleasure andpurpose were to kill the man.
He lowered his head again. But before he could launch his enormousbulk into full motion--before he could shut his eyes--the dog wasbetween him and his quarry.
In one spring Lad was at the bull's nose. And again his white eyeteeth slashed the ragged nostrils. Tenebris halted his own incipientrush and strove to pin the collie to the ground. It would have been aseasy to pin a whizzing hornet.
Tenebris thrust at the clinging dog, once more seeking to smash Ladagainst the sod with his battering-ram forehead and his shorthorns. But Lad was not there. Instead, he was to the left, his bodyclean out of danger, his teeth in the bull's left ear.
A lunge of the tortured head sent Lad rolling over and over. But bythe time he stopped rolling he was on his feet again. Not only on hisfeet, but back to the assault. Back, before his unwieldy foe couldgauge the distance for another rush at the man. And a keen nip in thebleeding nostrils balked still one more charge.
The bull, snorting with rage, suddenly changed his plan of campaign.Apparently his first ideas had been wrong. It was the man whocould wait, and the dog that must be gotten out of the way.
Tenebris wheeled and made an express-train rush at Lad. The collieturned and fled. He did not flee with tail down, as befits a beatendog. Brush wavingly aloft, he gamboled along at top speed, just astride or two ahead of the pursuing bull. He even looked backencouragingly over his shoulder as he went.
Lad was having a beautiful time. Seldom had he been so riotouslyhappy. All the pent-up mischief in his soul was having a gloriousairing.
The bull's blind charge was short, as a bull's charge always is. WhenTenebris opened his eyes he saw the dog, not ten feet in front of him,scampering for dear life toward the river. And again Tenebris charged.
Three such charges, one after another, brought pursuer and pursued towithin a hundred feet of the water.
Tenebris was not used to running. He was getting winded. He came to awavering standstill, snorting loudly and pawing up great lumps of sod.
But he had not stood thus longer than a second before Lad was athim. Burnished shaggy coat a-bristle, tail delightedly wagging, thedog bounded forward. He set up an ear-splitting fanfare of barking.
Round and round the bull he whirled, never letting up on thatdeafening volley of barks; nipping now at ears, now at nose, now atheels; dodging in and out under the giant's clumsy body; easilyavoiding the bewilderingly awkward kicks and lunges of his enemy.Then, forefeet crouching and muzzle close to the ground, like aplayful puppy, he waved his plumed tail violently and, in a newsuccession of barks, wooed his adversary to the attack.
It was a pretty sight. And it set Tenebris into active motion at once.
The bull doubtless thought he himself was doing the driving, by meansof his panting rushes, and by his lurches to one side or another tokeep away from the dog's sharp bites. But he was not. It was Lad whochose the direction in which they went. And he chose it deliberately.
Presently the two were but fifteen feet away from the river, at apoint where the bank shelved, cliff-like, for two or three yards, downto a wide pool.
Feinting for the nose, Lad induced Tenebris to lower his tiredhead. Then he sprang lightly over the threatening horns, and landed,a-scramble, with all four feet, on the bull's broad shoulders.
Scurrying along the heaving back, the dog nipped Tenebris on the hip,and dropped to earth again.
The insult, the fresh pain, the astonishment combined to make Tenebrisforget his weariness. Beside himself with maniac wrath, he shut botheyes and launched himself forward. Lad slipped, eel-like, to oneside. Carried by his own blind momentum, Tenebris shot over the bankedge.
Too late the bull looked. Half sliding, half scrambling, he crasheddown the steep sides of the bank and into the river.
Lad, tongue out, jogged over to the top of the bank, where, with headto one side and ears cocked, he gazed interestedly down into thewildly churned pool.
Tenebris had gotten to his feet after the ducking; and he wasfloundering pastern-deep in stickily soft mud. So tightly bogged downthat it later took the efforts of six farm-hands to extricate him, thebull continued to flounder and to bellow.
A stream of people were running down the meadow toward the river. Ladhated crowds. He made a loping detour of the nearest runners andsought to regain the spot where last he had seen the Mistress andMaster. Also, if his luck held good, he might have still another boutwith the man he had once treed. Which would be an ideal climax to aperfect day.
He found all the objects of his quest together. The groom, hysterical,was swaying on his feet, supported by Glure.
At sight of the advancing collie the bitten man cried aloud in fearand clutched his employer for protection.
"Take him away, sir!" he babbled in mortal terror. "He'll kill me! Hehates me, the ugly hairy devil! He _hates_ me. He tried to kill meonce before! He----"
"H'm!" mused the Master. "So he tried to kill you once before, eh?Aren't you mistaken?"
"No, I ain't!" wept the man. "I'd know him in a million! That's why hewent for me again to-day. He remembered me. I seen he did. That's nodog. It's a _devil!_"
"Mr. Glure," asked the Master, a light dawning, "when this chapapplied to you for work, did he wear grayish tweed trousers? And werethey in bad shape?"
"His trousers were in rags," said Glure. "I remember that. He said asavage dog had jumped into the road from a farmhouse somewhere andgone for him. Why?"
"Those trousers," answered the Master, "weren't entire strangers toyou. You'd seen the missing parts of them--on a tree and on the groundnear it, at The Place. Your 'treasure' is the harness thief Lad treedthe day you came to see me. So----"
"Nonsense!" fumed Glure. "Why, how absurd! He----"
"I hadn't stolen nothing!" blubbered the man. "I was coming cross-lotsto a stable to ask for work. And the brute went for me. I had to runup a tree and----"
"And it didn't occur to you to shout for help?" sweetly urged theMaster. "I was within call. So was Mr. Glure. So was at least one ofmy men. An honest seeker for work needn't have been afraid tohalloo. A thief would have been afraid to. In fact, a thief _was!_"
"Get out of here, you!" roared Glure, convinced at last. "You measlysneak thief! Get out or I'll have you jailed! You're an imposter! Apan-handler! A----"
The thief waited to hear no more. With an apprehensive glance to seethat Lad was firmly held, he bolted for the road.
"Thanks for telling me," said Glure. "He might have stolen everythingat Glure Towers if I hadn't found out. He----"
"Yes. He might even have stolen more than the cost of our non-utilitarianLad's keep," unkindly suggested the Master. "For that matter,if it hadn't been for a non-utilitarian dog, that mad bull'shorns, instead of his nostrils, would be red by this time. At leastone man would have been killed. Perhaps more. So, after all----"
He stopped. The Mistress was tugging surreptitiously at his sleeve.The Master, in obedience to his wife's signal, stepped aside,to light a cigar.
"I wouldn't say any more, dear, if I were you," the Mistress waswhispering. "You see, if it hadn't been for Lad, the bull would neverhave broken loose in the first place. By another half-hour that factmay dawn on Mr. Glure, if you keep rubbing it in. Let's go over to thegrand stand. Come, Lad!"
Lad: A Dog Page 9
