The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “How was it when the poor fellow reached a perch?”

  “The dogs sat down and waited until the pursuers came up and claimed the prisoner.”

  “Suppose the slave took to water?”

  “He was pretty sure to do that sooner or later, but it rarely availed against the marvelous scent of his enemies. After a time the man had to leave the creek or river, as it might be, and with two or three or more bloodhounds trotting along the bank with their muzzle to the ground, they were certain to pick up the scent with little or no loss of time.

  “This peculiarly Spanish product became famous during the war with the Seminole Indians of Florida some seventy years ago. You know that those redskins retreated into the swamps and everglades where our soldiers could not follow them, or, if they followed, could not find them. The war dragged on year after year until the patience of the government was worn out. In its perplexity a number of Cuban bloodhounds were imported; and, although our officers took pains to declare that the dogs would be used to track and not to rend the Seminoles, an indignant protest went up against the barbarity of the act.

  “But,” added young Burton with a laugh, “the crime, if it were such, worked its own remedy. Somehow or other the Indians learned to make friends with the black brutes which came to them in the swamps, and they trained them with so much skill that they used them to hunt down the stray soldiers and former owners. The use of bloodhounds in the Seminole war proved a farce.”

  The guest suddenly ceased talking for a moment and said:

  “It is time I heard from Zip.”

  “Some accident may have befallen him or perhaps he has gone astray.”

  “Both are improbable—listen!”

  CHAPTER XVII

  Wonderful Work

  Absolute hush followed the exclamation of young Burton and, as all were intently listening, there sounded through the soft stillness of the night a strange, piercing cry,—the baying of a bloodhound following the trail of a person. It was neither a bark nor a growl, but a mixture of the two,—a deep howl that might well fill a fleeing fugitive with shivering fear.

  “That’s Zip,” said his pleased owner; “he will be here in a few minutes.”

  “He has a remarkable voice,” said Scout Master Hall; “I never heard the like.”

  Mike Murphy, who had been one of the most absorbed of listeners and was seated near the guest, rose to his feet and emitted a cry which, so far as the listeners could tell, was an absolutely perfect imitation of that of the dog.

  “That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Burton; “it would deceive any one except the dog himself.”

  “And why not him?” asked Alvin Landon.

  “Because he does not answer—there he comes!”

  In the dim moonlight, as every eye was turned in the direction of the beach leading toward Uncle Elk’s cabin, the Scouts saw a black, medium sized dog approaching at full speed, his sturdy figure rapidly assuming definite form. It was to be noted that Burton had come through the wood itself, whereas the animal was traversing the beach, where the way was more open, yet he was keeping to the trail as unerringly as an arrow driven from the bow.

  “Hide yourself,” whispered Mr. Hall.

  “There is no place where I can hide from him.”

  The next instant the hound with undiminished speed bounded up the steps at the end of the porch, dashed between the boys, and impinged with such force against his standing master that he was knocked backward for a pace or two. Bending over, Burton patted the big head, and Zip in his excess of delight bounded round the youth and wagged his tail so hard that it swayed his haunches correspondingly, and it really seemed an instance of the tail wagging the dog.

  “Don’t you think Zip will appreciate something in the form of a meal?” asked Mr. Hall.

  “He certainly will; a dog is always hungry, and more than half a day has passed since he ate; nothing suits him better than raw meat.”

  “We have a supply, and he shall feast to his heart’s content.”

  So he did, the food being brought out and placed in front of the canine guest, who would have eaten a good deal more had his master permitted. Meekly accepting the decision, Zip lay down at young Burton’s feet, contented and happy throughout the remainder of the evening, and glad to stay outside until the youth rejoined him in the morning.

  “You know what matchless policemen the Belgian dogs make in that country, in France, and in New York and other cities. Some three years ago Long Island became so pestered by thieves that Robert E. Kerkham, superintendent of the railway police, saw that something drastic had to be done. The thieves dynamited station safes, burglarized private dwellings and more than once killed and injured railway policemen while they were trying to arrest the criminals. Those men used fleet horses and automobiles, and despite everything that could be done, grew bolder and more successful.

  “Superintendent Kerkham, finding that his patrolmen were powerless, decided to call in the help of dogs, with whose striking success abroad and at home he was familiar, but he made a new departure by taking bloodhounds instead of the usual police dogs, for the former would not only guard property but would track the thieves. He bought a pair from the stock imported from England more than twenty years ago. These are of the purest blood, and superior to all others. Zip is from the same stock. A peculiarity of this dog is that in no circumstances will he take up a doubtful trail, but will pick up the true scent, no matter how faint, and never abandon it so long as it actually exists. They know not the meaning of fear, and will stick to their work so long as they can move or breathe. Some of those dogs have pedigrees that reach backward to the time of William the Conqueror.

  “The couple which Mr. Kerkham purchased are named Bob and Nellie. They had to be trained, but they learned fast. They will take the scent from any article that has been lately handled by the person they are after.”

  “How old a trail will serve them?” asked the Scout Master.

  “Of course the freshest scent is the best. Zip was all of seven hours behind me today. I have tested him on double that time and he seemed to have little or no difficulty. They have taken a trail twenty-four hours old, and precisely what it is that guides them in such a case is more than any one can understand. A man is known to have left a house at a certain time, and twenty hours later it is decided to pursue him with the aid of a bloodhound. A glove, or hat, or shoe that he is known to have worn is held in front of the dog; he sniffs at it, dashes out of doors, circles back and forth and around the grounds until he strikes the corresponding scent; up goes his head, his tail wags and he bays his pleasure. A hundred yards farther, and he drops his nose to the ground to make sure he has not lost his clue.

  “Perhaps the scent grows faint or disappears. In that case he runs back and circles about until he picks it up again, when he is off once more. You must remember that while all this is going on there is a man tugging at the leash, for this is necessary to protect the thief. As the trail grows fresher, the fierce eagerness of the hound increases; he knows he is close upon his quarry and sharp words and powerful pulling are necessary to prevent him from bounding straight at the throat of the cowering wretch. Should he start to run it is almost impossible to restrain the dog, but when he sees the criminal is under arrest, he is satisfied, becomes quiet, and is ready to tackle the next job.”

  “Will you tell us of some of the exploits of Bob and Nellie, who you say are perfect specimens of their kind?”

  “I cannot recall a quarter of them. One thing that Bob did was astonishing because it was at the beginning of his training and the scent was fourteen hours old. He caught it from a bag which the thieves had used to wrap about their hands in breaking a window. As true as the needle to the pole, Bob led his master through alleys and side streets, across vacant lots, along the purlieus of a straggling village to a house near the highway. This was circled once, and then he dashed to a barn at the rear, through the open door, and sprang at a young man who was engaged in skinning a m
uskrat he had trapped.

  “The fellow was indignant and denied all knowledge of the crime, declaring that he did not know where the freight house was located, but Bob’s trainer was certain the dog was right, and searched the place. All the missing property was found in a trunk, and the thief is now in Sing Sing, convicted on the testimony of the dog.

  “Last summer a farmer in Kansas was murdered and a pack of hounds were put on the trail. They led the trainers and officers through a broken country for six miles, never hesitating or turning aside for a minute, until they reached a house where a man lived who had never been suspected. He was arrested, corroborative evidence obtained, and he was convicted by the Supreme Court of the state and executed.

  “One night the safe of the Hicksville station on the Long Island Railroad was blown open and the contents stolen. Three of the dogs were brought up the next day a little before noon and put on the trail, about twelve hours after the robbery had been committed.”

  “It seems to me,” remarked Scout Master Hall, “that in all such cases the hounds are very liable to blunder.”

  “Why?”

  “There must be a good many tracks about the premises; how can they differentiate those of the thieves?”

  “They took the scent without the least difficulty from the window through which the robbers had entered and from the articles they had handled. Tugging at their leashes, the hounds led their masters up the railway track for an eighth of a mile, and then turned off across the open country to the trolley track, which they followed to the next stop, where the trail ended. Inquiries brought out the fact that the car had stopped there about midnight,—something which it rarely did. Having boarded it, the thieves made their escape, and that became one of the few instances in which the skill of the bloodhounds came to naught.

  “But the dogs were not allowed to rust for want of work. Long Island gave them plenty to do, and continues to do so. When word came to headquarters that the station at Warwick Street on the Atlantic Division of the railway had been broken into and robbed, the dogs were put on the job with the least possible delay. They found the trail without trouble, and skurried down Atlantic Avenue to Logan Street, where the canines halted for consultation, since they had to face new conditions.

  “These wonderful brutes had been instant to detect that two thieves were concerned in the crime. At the point named, the trail divided, and of course the pursuers did the same. Our old friend Bob trotted along until he reached No. 129, where he sat down, threw up his head and began howling. Jim, the other dog, kept on to No. 219, where he joined in the dismal chorus. The two were on the same side of the street, not very far apart, and must have made a striking picture, as from their different stations they serenaded some persons within. I can’t help wondering,” added young Burton with a laugh, “whether the thieves noticed that howling, and peeping out of the windows suspected what it meant.

  “The trainers thought it possible a mistake had been made, and the dogs were taken back to the station and given the scent again. They followed it as unerringly as before, but oddly enough when they came to the forking of the trail, Bob and Jim changed places. It was as if one had proposed the shift to the other, who accepted it offhand.

  “Doubting no longer, the officers arrested a schoolboy in each house, whom the dogs identified. They confessed their guilt, and one was sent to the Juvenile Asylum at Dobbs Ferry and the other to the Elmira Reformatory.

  “Now,” said Burton, whose enthusiasm was natural, “can any one understand what it is that guides the bloodhound? Of course it is some sort of emanation, but how subtle it must be, and how fine the sense that can identify it among scores of others! In the incident I have just related, the trail led through busy streets, where hundreds of men, women and animals had trodden upon the invisible footprints, each with his or her peculiar odor, which lingered for hours, and was as distinct to the dogs as the call of a megaphone is to us. It is beyond my comprehension.”

  “It is beyond the comprehension of any one,” added Mr. Hall. “Bertillon has proved that the thumb prints of no two persons are the same, and so the scent of every one has a peculiarity of its own, but that doesn’t lessen our wonder.

  “There is no end to the proofs that have been given of their miraculous power.”

  “The dogs, I suppose, seem to enjoy tracking a criminal?”

  “It is their delight. Although not credited with a high order of intelligence, they know as well as their trainers what is expected of them, and enter into it with as much gusto as you boys do your vacation.”

  “Is a criminal when overtaken by the dogs in danger of being hurt by them?”

  “It depends upon himself. If he continues to run and puts up a fight they will attack him. If he quietly submits, they will mount guard and hold him unharmed until their master comes up and takes the criminal into custody. Then the dogs, seeing that that particular task is finished, show by their behavior that they are as eager as ever for their next job. But, for safety’s sake, they are generally held in leash, master and dog keeping company.”

  “How is it with Zip?”

  “He always runs free, and will not harm a fugitive unless ordered to do so. You understand that he and I are chums, and I have never used him to chase a criminal. He roams through the country, and I keep him on edge by such tests as today. He is so familiar with my scent that he will pick it up instantly, without first sniffing articles I have worn. The other day I played a mean trick on him. I left him at the Samoset House on Mouse Island and started for Boothbay Harbor on the steamer Wiwurna, but instead of getting off at the wharf, I slipped over the gunwale at the rear, and Captain Free McKown took me on board his motor boat Edith which was lying near, and started back to Mouse Island with me. Just before reaching the dock I met the Norman II starting for Boothbay and seated on his haunches at the prow was Zip. I was not expecting to see him and I should have got out of sight, but he discovered me and emitted the most dissatisfied howl I ever heard. It said as plain as so many words, ‘You played me a low down trick, and I don’t like it.’ He would have sprung overboard and tried to swim to me, had I not forbidden him. Perforce he went on to Boothbay and came back on the Norman II. I was in my room when he scratched on my door and I admitted him. He was so mad that he refused to eat the meat prepared for him, and pouted the rest of the day. I apologized and coaxed, and by night had won back his favor and the cloud between us passed away.”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A Match of Wits

  It may be said that Zip had become the hero of the Boy Scout camp on Gosling Lake. He belonged to the finest breed of bloodhounds in the world and had given an illustration of that gift of his species which approaches the miraculous. The stories told by his master of his other exploits, and of what had been done by his kind on Long Island and elsewhere, were absorbingly interesting. As young Burton remarked, his study of this canine species had given him more knowledge than could have been the case otherwise, and he naturally did most of the talking on that cool August night in front of the bungalow. The bloodhound is one of the most dignified of dogs, and resents anything in the nature of familiarity by strangers. Alvin, Chester, Mike and several others tried to make friends with Zip, but he showed them plainly that he preferred to be left to himself.

  “Ef it was meself that was as partic’lar as him to selict me associates,” said Mike, “I should faal mighty lonely, as Jim O’Toole remarked after he had been lost for six weeks in the woods. I’ll remimber yer coolness, Zip,” he added, shaking his finger at the dog nestling at the feet of Burton, “and to-morrer ye’ll faal so ashamed, after ye try to match wits wid me, that ye’ll resign as a bloodhound and become a poodle dog for the rist of yer days.”

  “Don’t boast too soon,” said the guest; “I’ll put my stake on Zip every time.”

  “And so will I,” added Alvin; “if Mike was half as smart as he thinks he is, we should all be fools compared with him.”

  “Some folks don’t naad th
e comparisin to show they’re lacking in the first ilimints of sense,” retorted the Irish youth with fine sarcasm.

  It was quite late when the boys retired for the night. No one would have objected to the presence of Zip in the bungalow, but his master preferred that he should spend the night outdoors, and he was waiting there the next morning when Burton, the first to arise, came out to have a romp with him before breakfast.

  It was about eight o’clock that the whole party of Boy Scouts including their guest gathered on the front porch, eagerly interested in the test that was to be made of the skill of Zip the bloodhound in following a scent. Every one was on the qui vive, for the novelty of the proceeding appealed to them.

  The arrangements, simple of themselves, had been made while the party was at breakfast. Three trials were to take place, involving that number of Boy Scouts. Each was to plunge into the woods and use every device possible to hide his trail from the dog, which was to take up his task an hour after the fugitive, as he may be called, left the bungalow.

  The first runner was the diminutive Isaac Rothstein, the second, the tall, long-limbed Hoke Butler, and the third Mike Murphy.

  “There is only one condition,” said young Burton, when everything was ready; “you must not make any use of the lake. Zip can track you only to the edge.”

  “The lake is the only water shut out?” remarked Hoke Butler inquiringly. The guest hesitated a moment, suspecting some intended trick by the questioner.

  “That is all.”

  “How about the Sheepscot River?” asked Mike.

  “If an hour’s start will enable you to reach that stream ahead of Zip, you win.”

  Scout Master Hall turned to Isaac, who was standing in the middle of the group on the porch. The bright-eyed youth nodded.

  Burton spoke to the hound which, knowing what was expected of him, came forward and sniffed around the Boy Scout’s feet and ankles. He did this for only two or three seconds, when he backed off and took his place beside his master.