CHAPTER XI
WOLF
There were but three collies on The Place in those days. There was along shelf in the Master's study whereupon shimmered and glinted arank of silver cups of varying sizes and shapes. Two of The Place'sdogs had won them all.
Above the shelf hung two huge picture-frames. In the center of eachwas the small photograph of a collie. Beneath each likeness wasa certified pedigree, a-bristle with the red-letter names ofchampions. Surrounding the pictures and pedigrees, the whole remainingspace in both frames was filled with blue ribbons--the very meanestbit of silk in either was a semi-occasional "Reserve Winners"--while,strung along the tops of the frames from side to side, ran a line ofmedals.
Cups, medals, and ribbons alike had been won by The Place's two greatcollies, Lad and Bruce. (Those were their "kennel names." Theirofficial titles on the A. K. C. registry list were high-sounding andneedlessly long.)
Lad was growing old. His reign on The Place was drawing toward abenignant close. His muzzle was almost snow-white and his oncegraceful lines were beginning to show the oncoming heaviness ofage. No longer could he hope to hold his own, in form and carriage,with younger collies at the local dog-shows where once he had carriedall before him.
Bruce--"Sunnybank Goldsmith"--was six years Lad's junior. He was tawnyof coat, kingly of bearing; a dog without a fault of body or ofdisposition; stately as the boar-hounds that the painters of old usedto love to depict in their portraits of monarchs.
The Place's third collie was Lad's son, Wolf. But neither cup norribbon did Wolf have to show as an excuse for his presence on earth,nor would he have won recognition in the smallest and least exclusivecollie-show.
For Wolf was a collie only by courtesy. His breeding was as pure aswas any champion's, but he was one of those luckless types to be foundin nearly every litter--a throwback to some forgotten ancestor whosepoints were all defective. Not even the glorious pedigree of Lad, hisfather, could make Wolf look like anything more than he was--a dogwithout a single physical trait that followed the best colliestandards.
In spite of all this he was beautiful. His gold-and-white coat wasalmost as bright and luxuriant as any prize-winner's. He had, in ageneral way, the collie head and brush. But an expert, at the mostcasual glance, would have noted a shortness of nose and breadth of jawand a shape of ear and shoulder that told dead against him.
The collie is supposed to be descended direct from the wolf, and Wolflooked far more like his original ancestors than like a thoroughbredcollie. From puppyhood he had been the living image, except in color,of a timber-wolf, and it was from this queer throw-back trait that hehad won his name.
Lad was the Mistress' dog. Bruce was the Master's. Wolf belonged tothe Boy, having been born on the latter's birthday.
For the first six months of his life Wolf lived at The Place onsufferance. Nobody except the Boy took any special interest in him. Hewas kept only because his better-formed brothers had died in earlypuppyhood and because the Boy, from the outset, had loved him.
At six months it was discovered that he was a natural watch-dog. Alsothat he never barked except to give an alarm. A collie is, perhaps,the most excitable of all large dogs. The veriest trifle will set himoff into a thunderous paroxysm of barking. But Wolf, the Boy noted,never barked without strong cause.
He had the rare genius for guarding that so few of his breedpossess. For not one dog in ten merits the title of watch-dog. Theduties that should go with that office are far more than the mereclamorous announcement of a stranger's approach, or even the attackingof such a stranger.
The born watch-dog patrols his beat once in so often during thenight. At all times he must sleep with one ear and one eye alert. Byday or by night he must discriminate between the visitor whosepresence is permitted and the trespasser whose presence is not. Hemust know what class of undesirable to scare off with a growl and whatclass needs stronger measures. He must also know to the inch theboundaries of his own master's land.
Few of these things can be taught; all of them must be instinctive.Wolf had been born with them. Most dogs are not.
His value as a watch-dog gave Wolf a settled position of his own onThe Place. Lad was growing old and a little deaf. He slept, at night,under the piano in the music-room. Bruce was worth too much money tobe left at large in the night time for any clever dog-thief tosteal. So he slept in the study. Rex, a huge mongrel, was tied up atnight, at the lodge, a furlong away. Thus Wolf alone was left on guardat the house. The piazza was his sentry-box. From this shelter he waswont to set forth three or four times a night, in all sorts ofweather, to make his rounds.
The Place covered twenty-five acres. It ran from the high-road, afurlong above the house, down to the lake that bordered it ontwo sides. On the third side was the forest. Boating-parties,late at night, had a pleasant way of trying to raid the lakesideapple-orchard. Tramps now and then strayed down the drive from themain road. Prowlers, crossing the woods, sometimes sought to use ThePlace's sloping lawn as a short cut to the turnpike below the falls.
For each and all of these intruders Wolf had an ever-ready welcome. Awhirl of madly pattering feet through the dark, a snarling growl fardown in the throat, a furry shape catapulting into the air--and thetrespasser had his choice between a scurrying retreat or a double setof white fangs in the easiest-reached part of his anatomy.
The Boy was inordinately proud of his pet's watchdog prowess. He wasprouder yet of Wolf's almost incredible sharpness of intelligence, hisquickness to learn, his knowledge of word meaning, his zest forromping, his perfect obedience, the tricks he had taught himselfwithout human tutelage--in short, all the things that were a sign ofthe brain he had inherited from Lad.
But none of these talents overcame the sad fact that Wolf was not ashow dog and that he looked positively underbred and shabby alongsideof his sire or of Bruce. Which rankled at the Boy's heart; even whileloyalty to his adored pet would not let him confess to himself or toanyone else that Wolf was not the most flawlessly perfect dog onearth.
Under-sized (for a collie), slim, graceful, fierce, affectionate, Wolfwas the Boy's darling, and he was Lad's successor as official guardianof The Place. But all his youthful life, thus far, had brought himnothing more than this--while Lad and Bruce had been winning prizeafter prize at one local dog show after another within a radius ofthirty miles.
The Boy was duly enthusiastic over the winning of each trophy; butalways, for days thereafter, he was more than usually attentive toWolf to make up for his pet's dearth of prizes.
Once or twice the Boy had hinted, in a veiled, tentative way, thatyoung Wolf might perhaps win something, too, if he were allowed to goto a show. The Master, never suspecting what lay behind the cautiouswords, would always laugh in good-natured derision, or else he wouldpoint in silence to Wolf's head and then to Lad's.
The Boy knew enough about collies to carry the subject no further. Foreven his eyes of devotion could not fail to mark the difference inaspect between his dog and the two prize-winners.
One July morning both Lad and Bruce went through an hour of anguish.Both of them, one after the other, were plunged into a bath-tubfull of warm water and naphtha soap-suds and Lux; and were scrubbedright unmercifully, after which they were rubbed and curriedand brushed for another hour until their coats shone resplendent. Allday, at intervals, the brushing and combing were kept up.
Lad was indignant at such treatment, and he took no pains to hide hisindignation. He knew perfectly well, from the undue attention, that adog show was at hand. But not for a year or more had he himself beenmade ready for one. His lake baths and his daily casual brushing atthe Mistress' hands had been, in that time, his only form ofgrooming. He had thought himself graduated forever from the nuisanceof going to shows.
"What's the idea of dolling up old Laddie like that?" asked the Boy,as he came in for luncheon and found the Mistress busy with comb anddandy-brush over the unhappy dog.
"For the Fourth of July Red Cross Dog Show at Ridgewood to-morro
w,"answered his mother, looking up, a little flushed from her exertions.
"But I thought you and Dad said last year he was too old to show anymore," ventured the Boy.
"This time is different," said the Mistress. "It's a specialty show,you see, and there is a cup offered for 'the best _veteran_ dog of anyrecognized breed.' Isn't that fine? We didn't hear of the Veteran Cuptill Dr. Hooper telephoned to us about it this morning. So we'regetting Lad ready. There _can't_ be any other veteran as splendid ashe is."
"No," agreed the Boy, dully, "I suppose not."
He went into the dining-room, surreptitiously helped himself to ahandful of lump-sugar and passed on out to the veranda. Wolf wassprawled half-asleep on the driveway lawn in the sun.
The dog's wolflike brush began to thump against the shaven grass.Then, as the Boy stood on the veranda edge and snapped his fingers,Wolf got up from his soft resting-place and started toward him,treading mincingly and with a sort of swagger, his slanting eyeshalf shut, his mouth a-grin.
"You know I've got sugar in my pocket as well as if you saw it," saidthe Boy. "Stop where you are."
Though the Boy accompanied his order with no gesture nor change oftone, the dog stopped dead short ten feet away.
"Sugar is bad for dogs," went on the Boy. "It does things to theirteeth and their digestions. Didn't anybody ever tell you that,Wolfie?"
The young dog's grin grew wider. His slanting eyes closed to mereglittering slits. He fidgeted a little, his tail wagging fast.
"But I guess a dog's got to have _some_ kind of consolation purse whenhe can't go to a show," resumed the Boy. "Catch!"
As he spoke he suddenly drew a lump of sugar from his pocket and, withthe same motion, tossed it in the direction of Wolf. Swift as was theBoy's action, Wolf's eye was still quicker. Springing high in air, thedog caught the flung cube of sugar as it flew above him and to oneside. A second and a third lump were caught as deftly as the first.
Then the Boy took from his pocket the fourth and last lump. Descendingthe steps, he put his left hand across Wolf's eyes. With his right heflipped the lump of sugar into a clump of shrubbery.
"Find it!" he commanded, lifting the blindfold from the eyes of hispet.
Wolf darted hither and thither, stopped once or twice to sniff, thenbegan to circle the nearer stretch of lawn, nose to ground. In lessthan two minutes he merged from the shrubbery placidly crunching thesugar-lump between his mighty jaws.
"And yet they say you aren't fit to be shown!" exclaimed the Boy,fondling the dog's ears. "Gee, but I'd give two years' growth if youcould have a cup! You deserve one, all right; if only those judges hadsense enough to study a collie's brain as well as the outside of hishead!"
Wolf ran his nose into the cupped palm and whined. From the toneunderlying the words, he knew the Boy was unhappy, and he wanted to beof help.
The Boy went into the house again to find his parents sitting down tolunch. Gathering his courage in both hands, he asked:
"Is there going to be a Novice Class for collies at Ridgewood, Dad?"
"Why, yes," said the Master, "I suppose so. There always is."
"Do--do they give cups for the Novice Class?" inquired the Boy, withstudied carelessness.
"Of course they don't," said the Master, adding reminiscently, "thoughthe first time we showed Lad we put him in the Novice Class and he wonthe blue ribbon there, so we had to go into the Winners' Classafterward. He got the Winner's Cup, you remember. So, indirectly, theNovice Class won him a cup."
"I see," said the Boy, not at all interested in this bit of ancienthistory. Then speaking very fast, he went on:
"Well, a ribbon's better than nothing! Dad, will you do me a favor?Will you let me enter Wolfie for the Novice Class to-morrow? I'll paythe fee out of my allowance. Will you, Dad?"
The Master looked at his son in blank amazement. Then he threw backhis head and laughed loudly. The Boy flushed crimson and bit his lips.
"Why, dear!" hurriedly interposed the Mistress, noting her son'sdiscomfiture. "You wouldn't want Wolf to go there and be beaten by alot of dogs that haven't half his brains or prettiness! It wouldn't befair or kind to Wolf. He's so clever, he'd know in a moment what washappening. He'd know he was beaten. Nearly all dogs do. No, itwouldn't be fair to him."
"There's a 'mutt' class among the specials, Dr. Hopper says," put inthe Master, jocosely. "You might----"
"Wolf's _not_ a mutt!" flashed the Boy, hotly. "He's no more of amutt than Bruce or Lad, or Grey Mist, or Southport Sample, or any ofthe best ones. He has as good blood as all of them. Lad's his father,and Squire of Tytton was his grandfather, and Wishaw Clinker washis----"
"I'm sorry, son," interposed the Master, catching his wife's eye anddropping his tone of banter. "I apologize to you and Wolf. He's not a'mutt.' There's no better blood in colliedom than his, on bothsides. But Mother is right. You'd only be putting him up to be beaten,and you wouldn't like that. He hasn't a single point that isn'thopelessly bad from a judge's view. We've never taken a loser to ashow from The Place. You don't want us to begin now, do you?"
"He has more brains that any dog alive, except Lad!" declared the Boy,sullenly. "That ought to count."
"It ought to," agreed the Mistress, soothingly, "and I wish it did. Ifit did, I know he'd win."
"It makes me sick to see a bushel of cups go to dogs that don't knowenough to eat their own dinners," snorted the Boy. "I'm not talkingabout Lad and Bruce, but the thoroughbreds that are brought up inkennels and that have all their sense sacrificed for points. Why,Wolf's the cleverest--best--and he'll never even have one cup to showfor it. He----"
He choked, and began to eat at top speed. The Master and the Mistresslooked at each other and said nothing. They understood their son'schagrin, as only a dog-lover could understand it. The Mistress reachedout and patted the Boy gently on the shoulder.
Next morning, directly after early breakfast, Lad and Bruce were putinto the tonneau of the car. The Mistress and the Master and the Boyclimbed in, and the twelve-mile journey to Ridgewood began.
Wolf, left to guard The Place, watched the departing show-goers untilthe car turned out of the gate, a furlong above. Then, with a sigh, hecurled up on the porch mat, his nose between his snowy little paws,and prepared for a day of loneliness.
The Red Cross dog show, that Fourth of July, was a triumph for ThePlace.
Bruce won ribbon after ribbon in the collie division, easily taking"Winners" at the last, and thus adding another gorgeous silver cup tohis collection. Then, the supreme event of the day--"Best dog in theshow"--was called. And the winners of each breed were led into thering. The judges scanned and handled the group of sixteen for barelyfive minutes before awarding to Bruce the dark-blue rosette and the"Best Dog" cup.
The crowd around the ring's railing applauded loudly. But theyapplauded still more loudly a little later, when, after a brief surveyof nine aged thoroughbreds, the judge pointed to Lad, who was standinglike a mahogany statue at one end of the ring.
These nine dogs of various breeds had all been famed prize-winners intheir time. And above all the rest, Lad was adjudged worthy of the"veteran cup!" There was a haze of happy tears in the Mistress' eyesas she led him from the ring. It seemed a beautiful climax for hisgrand old life. She wiped her eyes, unashamed, whispering praise thewhile to her stately dog.
"Why don't you trundle your car into the ring?" one disgruntledexhibitor demanded of the Mistress. "Maybe you'd win a cup with_that_, too. You seem to have gotten one for everything else youbrought along."
It was a celebration evening for the two prize dogs, when they gothome, but everybody was tired from the day's events, and by teno'clock the house was dark. Wolf, on his veranda mat, alone of all ThePlace's denizens, was awake.
Vaguely Wolf knew the other dogs had done some praiseworthy thing. Hewould have known it, if for no other reason, from the remorseful hugthe Boy had given him before going to bed.
Well, some must win honors and petting and the right to sleep indoors;
while others must plod along at the only work they were fit for, andmust sleep out, in thunderstorm or clear, in heat or freezingcold. That was life. Being only a dog, Wolf was too wise to complainof life. He took things as he found them, making the very best of hisshare.
He snoozed, now, in the warm darkness. Two hours later he got up,stretched himself lazily fore and aft, collie-fashion, and trottedforth for the night's first patrol of the grounds.
A few minutes afterward he was skirting the lake edge at the foot ofthe lawn, a hundred yards below the house. The night was pitchdark, except for pulses of heat-lightning, now and then, far towestward. Half a mile out on the lake two men in an anchored scow werecat-fishing.
A small skiff was slipping along very slowly, not fifty feet offshore.
Wolf did not give the skiff a second glance. Boats were no novelty tohim, nor did they interest him in the least--except when they showedsigns of running ashore somewhere along his beat.
This skiff was not headed for land, but was paralleling the shore. Itcrept along at a snail-pace and in dead silence. A man, its onlyoccupant, sat at the oars, scarcely moving them as he kept his boat inmotion.
A dog is ridiculously near-sighted. More so than almost any otherbeast. Keen hearing and keener scent are its chief guides. At threehundred yards' distance it cannot, by eye, recognize its master, nortell him from a stranger. But at close quarters, even in the darkestnight, a dog's vision is far more piercing and accurate than man'sunder like conditions.
Wolf thus saw the skiff and its occupant, while he himself was stillinvisible. The boat was no concern of his; so he trotted on to the farend of The Place, where the forest joined the orchard.
On his return tour of the lake edge he saw the skiff again. It hadshifted its direction and was now barely ten feet off shore--so nearto the bank that one of the oars occasionally grated on the pebblybottom. The oarsman was looking intently toward the house.
Wolf paused, uncertain. The average watchdog, his attention thusattracted, would have barked. But Wolf knew the lake was publicproperty. Boats were often rowed as close to shore as this withoutintent to trespass. It was not the skiff that caught Wolf's attentionas he paused there on the brink, it was the man's furtive scrutiny ofthe house.
A pale flare of heat-lightning turned the world, momentarily, from jetblack to a dim sulphur-color. The boatman saw Wolf standing, alertand suspicious, among the lakeside grasses, not ten feet away. Hestarted slightly, and a soft, throaty growl from the dog answered him.
The man seemed to take the growl as a challenge, and to accept it. Hereached into his pocket and drew something out. When the next faintglow of lightning illumined the shore, the man lifted the thing he hadtaken from his pocket and hurled it at Wolf.
With all the furtive swiftness bred in his wolf-ancestry, the dogshrank to one side, readily dodging the missile, which struck the lawnjust behind him. Teeth bared in a ferocious snarl, Wolf dashed forwardthrough the shallow water toward the skiff.
But the man apparently had had enough of the business. He rowed offwith long strokes into deep water, and, once there, he kept on rowinguntil distance and darkness hid him.
Wolf stood, chest deep in water, listening to the far-off oar-strokesuntil they died away. He was not fool enough to swim in pursuit; wellknowing that a swimming dog is worse than helpless against a boatman.
Moreover, the intruder had been scared away. That was all whichconcerned Wolf. He turned back to shore. His vigil was ended foranother few hours. It was time to take up his nap where he had leftoff.
Before he had taken two steps, his sensitive nostrils were full of thescent of raw meat. There, on the lawn ahead of him, lay a chunk ofbeef as big as a fist. This, then, was what the boatman had thrown athim!
Wolf pricked up his ears in appreciation, and his brush began tovibrate. Trespassers had once or twice tried to stone him, but thiswas the first time any of them had pelted him with delicious rawbeef. Evidently, Lad and Bruce were not the only collies on The Placeto receive prizes that day.
Wolf stooped over the meat, sniffed at it, then caught it up betweenhis jaws.
Now, a dog is the easiest animal alive to poison, just as a cat is thehardest, for a dog will usually bolt a mouthful of poisoned meatwithout pausing to chew or otherwise investigate it. A cat, onthe contrary, smells and tastes everything first and chews itscientifically before swallowing it. The slightest unfamiliar scent orflavor warns her to sheer off from the feast.
So the average dog would have gulped this toothsome windfall in asingle swallow; but Wolf was not the average dog. No collie is, andWolf was still more like his eccentric forefathers of the wildernessthan are most collies.
He lacked the reasoning powers to make him suspicious of this richgift from a stranger, but a queer personal trait now served him justas well.
Wolf was an epicure; he always took three times as long to empty hisdinner dish as did the other dogs, for instead of gobbling his meal,as they did, he was wont to nibble affectedly at each morsel, gnawingit slowly into nothingness; and all the time showing a fussily daintyrelish of it that used to delight the Boy and send guests into pealsof laughter.
This odd little trait that had caused so much ridicule now savedWolf's life.
He carried the lump of beef gingerly up to the veranda, laid it downon his mat, and prepared to revel in his chance banquet after his owndeliberate fashion.
Holding the beef between his forepaws, he proceeded to devour it inmincing little squirrel-bites. About a quarter of the meat haddisappeared when Wolf became aware that his tongue smarted and thathis throat was sore; also that the interior of the meat-ball had aranky pungent odor, very different from the heavenly fragrance of itsoutside and not at all appetizing.
He looked down at the chunk, rolled it over with his nose, surveyed itagain, then got up and moved away from it in angry disgust.
Presently he forgot his disappointment in the knowledge that he wasvery, very ill. His tongue and throat no longer burned, but his bodyand brain seemed full of hot lead that weighed a ton. He felt stupid,and too weak to stir. A great drowsiness gripped him.
With a grunt of discomfort and utter fatigue, he slumped down on theveranda floor to sleep off his sick lassitude. After that, for a time,nothing mattered.
For perhaps an hour Wolf lay sprawling there, dead to his duty, and toeverything else. Then faintly, through the fog of dullness thatenwrapped his brain, came a sound--a sound he had long ago learned tolisten for. The harshly scraping noise of a boat's prow drawn up onthe pebbly shore at the foot of the lawn.
Instinct tore through the poison vapors and roused the sick dog. Helifted his head. It was strangely heavy and hard to lift.
The sound was repeated as the prow was pulled farther up on thebank. Then came the crunch of a human foot on the waterside grass.
Heredity and training and lifelong fidelity took control of thelethargic dog, dragging him to his feet and down the veranda stepsthrough no volition of his own.
Every motion tired him. He was dizzy and nauseated. He craved sleep;but as he was just a thoroughbred dog and not a wise human, he did notstop to think up good reasons why he should shirk his duty because hedid not feel like performing it.
To the brow of the hill he trotted--slowly, heavily, shakily. Hissharp powers of hearing told him the trespasser had left his boat andhad taken one or two stealthy steps up the slope of lawn toward thehouse.
And now a puff of west wind brought Wolf's sense of smell intoaction. A dog remembers odors as humans remember faces. And the breezebore to him the scent of the same man who had flung ashore that bit ofmeat which had caused all his suffering.
He had caught the man's scent an hour earlier, as he had stoodsniffing at the boat ten feet away from him. The same scent had beenon the meat the man had handled.
And now, having played such a cruel trick on him, the joker wasactually daring to intrude on The Place!
A gust of resentful rage pierced the dullness of Wolf's brain and senta
thrill of fierce energy through him. For the moment this carried himout of his sick self and brought back all his former zest as awatch-dog.
Down the hill, like a furry whirlwind, flew Wolf, every tooth bared,his back a-bristle from neck to tail. Now he was well within sight ofthe intruder. He saw the man pausing to adjust something to one ofhis hands. Then, before this could be accomplished, Wolf saw him pauseand stare through the darkness as the wild onrush of the dog's feetstruck upon his hearing.
Another instant and Wolf was near enough to spring. Out of theblackness he launched himself, straight for the trespasser's face. Theman saw the dim shape hurtling through the air toward him. He droppedwhat he was carrying and flung up both hands to guard his neck.
At that, he was none too soon, for just as the thief's palm reachedhis own throat, Wolf's teeth met in the fleshy part of the hand.
Silent, in agony, the man beat at the dog with his free hand; but anattacking collie is hard to locate in the darkness. A bulldog willsecure a grip and will hang on; a collie is everywhere at once.
Wolf's snapping jaws had already deserted the robber's mangled handand slashed the man's left shoulder to the bone. Then the dog madeanother furious lunge for the face.
Down crashed the man, losing his balance under the heavy impact; Wolfatop of him. To guard his throat, the man rolled over on hisface, kicking madly at the dog, and reaching back for his ownhip-pocket. Half in the water and half on the bank, the two rolled andthrashed and struggled--the man panting and wheezing in mortal terror;the dog growling in a hideous, snarling fashion as might a wildanimal.
The thief's torn left hand found a grip on Wolf's fur-armoredthroat. He shoved the fiercely writhing dog backward, jammed a pistolagainst Wolf's head, and pulled the trigger!
The dog relaxed his grip and tumbled in a huddled heap on thebrink. The man staggered, gasping, to his feet; bleeding, disheveled,his clothes torn and mud-coated.
The echoes of the shot were still reverberating among the lakesidehills. Several of the house's dark windows leaped into suddenlight--then more windows in another room--and in another.
The thief swore roundly. His night's work was ruined. He bent to hisskiff and shoved it into the water; then he turned to grope for whathe had dropped on the lawn when Wolf's unexpected attack hadinterfered with his plans.
As he did so, something seized him by the ankle. In panic terror theman screamed aloud and jumped into the water, then, peering back, hesaw what had happened.
Wolf, sprawling and unable to stand, had reached forward from where helay and had driven his teeth for the last time into his foe.
The thief raised his pistol again and fired at the prostrate dog, thenhe clambered into his boat and rowed off with frantic speed, just as asalvo of barks told that Lad and Bruce had been released from thehouse; they came charging down the lawn, the Master at their heels.
But already the quick oar-beats were growing distant; and the gloomhad blotted out any chance of seeing or following the boat.
Wolf lay on his side, half in and half out of the water. He could notrise, as was his custom, to meet the Boy, who came running up, closebehind the Master and valorously grasping a target rifle; but the dogwagged his tail in feeble greeting, then he looked out over the blacklake, and snarled.
The bullet had grazed Wolf's scalp and then had passed along theforeleg; scarring and numbing it. No damage had been done that aweek's good nursing would not set right.
The marks in the grass and the poisoned meat on the porch told theirown tale; so did the neat kit of burglar tools and a rubber glovefound near the foot of the lawn; and then the telephone was put towork.
At dawn, a man in torn and muddy clothes, called at the office of adoctor three miles away to be treated for a half-dozen dog-bitesreceived, he said, from a pack of stray curs he had met on theturnpike. By the time his wounds were dressed, the sheriff and twodeputies had arrived to take him in charge. In his pockets were arevolver, with two cartridges fired, and the mate of the rubber glovehe had left on The Place's lawn.
"You--you wouldn't let Wolfie go to any show and win a cup forhimself," half-sobbed the Boy, as the Master worked over the injureddog's wound, "but he's saved you from losing all the cups the otherdogs ever won!"
Three days later the Master came home from a trip to the city. He wentdirectly to the Boy's room. There on a rug lounged the convalescentWolf, the Boy sitting beside him, stroking the dog's bandaged head.
"Wolf," said the Master, solemnly, "I've been talking about you tosome people I know. And we all agree----"
"Agree _what?_" asked the Boy, looking up in mild curiosity.
The Master cleared his throat and continued:
"We agree that the trophy-shelf in my study hasn't enough cups onit. So I've decided to add still another to the collection. Want tosee it, son?"
From behind his back the Master produced a gleaming silver cup--one ofthe largest and most ornate the Boy had ever seen--larger even thanBruce's "Best Dog" cup.
The Boy took it from his father's outstretched hand.
"Who won this?" he asked. "And what for? Didn't we get all the cupsthat were coming to us at the shows. Is it----"
The Boy's voice trailed away into a gurgle of bewildered rapture. Hehad caught sight of the lettering on the big cup. And now, his armaround Wolf, he read the inscription aloud, stammering with delight ashe blurted out the words:
"HERO CUP. WON BY WOLF, AGAINST ALL COMERS."
Lad: A Dog Page 11
