The Dogs of Boytown

by Herbert Strang

  Produced by Mary Akers, Greg Bergquist and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

  Transcriber's note: Minor spelling inconsistencies, mainly hyphenated words, have been harmonized. Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. Bold text has been marked with =equal signs=. The original capitalization of words has been retained.

  Romulus and Remus]

  THE DOGS OF BOYTOWN

  BY

  WALTER A. DYER

  Author of "Pierrot, Dog of Belgium," "Gulliver the Great, and Other Dog Stories," "The Five Babbitts at Bonnyacres," etc.

  Printer's logo]

  NEW YORK

  HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

  1918

  COPYRIGHT, 1918.

  BY

  HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

  THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS RAHWAY, N. J.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I SAM BUMPUS AND HIS NAN 1

  II SAM'S SHACK 16

  III ROMULUS AND REMUS 33

  IV IN ROME 47

  V THE WILLOWDALE KENNELS 61

  VI ANXIOUS DAYS 81

  VII SOME OTHER DOGS, INCLUDING RAGS 96

  VIII DOG DAYS 120

  IX THE TRAINING OF ROMULUS 135

  X WILLOWDALE DOGS IN NEW YORK 152

  XI THE BOYTOWN DOG SHOW 166

  XII CAMP BRITCHES 183

  XIII THE PASSING OF RAGS 199

  XIV THE COMING OF TATTERS 215

  XV ROMULUS AT THE TRIALS 230

  XVI THE MASSATUCKET SHOW 245

  XVII THE TEST OF REMUS 265

  XVIII ON HULSE'S POND 280

  XIX EVERY DOG HIS DAY 293

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  PAGE

  ROMULUS AND REMUS _Frontispiece_

  ENGLISH SETTER 7

  CHOW CHOW 30

  ENGLISH BULLDOG 56

  WHITE ENGLISH BULL TERRIER 64

  AIREDALE TERRIER 70

  POMERANIAN 79

  PEKINGESE 84

  GREAT DANE 98

  TOY POODLE 117

  IRISH TERRIER 147

  BOSTON TERRIER 179

  COLLIE 202

  BEAGLES 250

  OLD ENGLISH SHEEPDOG 271

  THE DOGS OF BOYTOWN

  CHAPTER I

  SAM BUMPUS AND HIS NAN

  There are misguided people in this world who profess to believe thatonly grown-ups can fully appreciate the beauties of nature. Oh, thegrown-ups talk more about that sort of thing, to be sure, and know howto say poetic things about winter fields and sunsets that are usuallylocked in a boy's heart. But for the fullest appreciation of blueskies and autumn woods and sandy shores, and the most genuineenjoyment of broken sunshine on the forest floor, the smell of fallingoak leaves, and the song of the wind in the pines or rustling acrossbroad, rolling fields, give me a boy every time. I know, for I havebeen one.

  That is why I am going to begin this story about boys and dogs bytelling of a certain crisp October morning--a Saturday morning whenboyhood enjoys its weekly liberty. There had been frost the nightbefore and the air was still cool and very clear. It was like drinkingcold water to take long breaths of it. The golden sun was risinghigh above the rounded hills to the east and the sunlight turned toglistening silver the shreds of smoke that drifted lazily up from thechimneys of Boytown in the little valley a mile or so away.

  I must digress for a moment to speak of Boytown. You will not find iton the map, for that is not its real name. It is not always wise tocall people and places by their real names in a book, and so I havegiven this name to the Connecticut town where lived all the boys andthe dogs that I am going to tell about. It was a nice old town, justabout the right size, with a broad main street where the stores andbusiness buildings were, and in the upper end of which a narrow greenran down the middle with a row of big elm trees in it. Most of thepeople lived on the side streets, some of which ran for quite adistance up Powder Mill Hill to the west. But most of the pleasantplaces in this part of the world lay to the east. The railroad ranalong that side of the town, and beyond it were the brickyards andHulse's Pond. If you were in search of adventure, you skirted thispond, went up over a long, grassy hill, and at length entered thewoods which stretched all the way to Oakdale, broken now and then byfarms and open stretches of hilly meadow or pasture land.

  Here in the woods there was much to be seen on this fine Octoberday. There were squirrels everywhere, busy with the harvesting oftheir winter's supply of nuts, and if you were lucky you might catch aglimpse of a cottontail rabbit disappearing into a thicket, or agrouse shooting off among the trees with a great whirring of wings.The autumn foliage was at its finest, the deep green of pine andhemlock mingling with the crimson of the oaks, the flaming scarlet ofthe maples, and the translucent gold of the silvery-stemmed birches.Above the trees the sky was that soft blue color that you like to lieon your back and look at, with here and there fleecy little cloudsconstantly changing into all sorts of odd and whimsical shapes. Fromthe branches of a tall pine a flock of sooty crows, alarmed by thesound of human voices, arose all together and floated off over alittle clearing in company formation, cawing loudly.

  If you had been one of those crows, you would have looked down at thefigures of two boys emerging from the woods. One was a slender lad ofabout twelve, quite tall for his age, with straight black hair andbright black eyes. The other, who was perhaps three years younger, wasso plump as almost to deserve the nickname of "Fatty." He had lighterhair and eyes and there were freckles across the bridge of his notvery prominent nose. Both boys were dressed in their old clothes andcarried white cloth flour bags which already contained a few quartsof chestnuts. They stood gazing with practised eyes at the tree-topsaround the little clearing.

  "There ought to be some here, Jack," said the older boy. "The biggesttrees always grow near the edges."

  "They're the easiest to get at, too," responded Jack.

  They walked together around the margin of the clearing and at lengthlocated a tree to their liking. With much boosting on the part ofJack, the older boy at last gained the lower branches and was soonmaking the brown nuts rattle down upon the leafy ground.

  After they had stripped three or four trees of their treasure, Jackthrew himself upon his back and began squinting up at a hawk sweepinghigh up in the blue sky.

  "I'm tired, Ernest," he said. "Let's go over to the Cave."

  "Oh, it's early yet," replied Ernest, "and we haven't got half asackful."

  "We have twelve quarts at home," said Jack. "We don't need any more.Besides, we haven't been to the Cave for two weeks. It rained so hardlast Saturday that it may need cleaning out."

  "All right," said Ernest. "Come along."

  Jack scrambled to his feet and together they set off into the woodsagain. A walk of half a mile or so brought them to a brook which the
yfollowed upstream until they came to a leaky dam of stones and logswhich they had built the previous spring and which held back enoughwater to make a small pond above. This they called their Beaver Damand Beaver Pond, and in the sandy bank at one side was Trapper's Cave.

  Beaver Pond lay just within the edge of the wood, and from the Caveone's eyes commanded a view of an old, disused pasture, now grown upto sumacs and blueberry bushes, which stretched up and over a longhill that seemed to bear the rim of the blue sky on its shoulder. Onecould sit unobserved in the mouth of the Cave, quite hidden by thesaplings and undergrowth of the wood's edge, and watch all that wenton outside, with the depths of the dark, mysterious, whispering forestat one's back.

  The Cave itself would hardly have housed a family of realCave-Dwellers. It was neither very large nor very skilfully built, butit amply served the purpose for which it was intended. It was dug outof the soft sand of the bank. Two boards in the ceiling supported bytwo birch props did not entirely prevent the sand from falling in, andevery visit to the Cave was attended by housecleaning. Nevertheless,it was a delectable rendezvous for adventurers.

  At one side was a low bench built of fence boards and at the other asoap box with a hinged cover, hasp, and padlock, which served as atreasure chest and which contained, among other things, a hatchet, anold and not very sharp hunting knife, a dozen potatoes, and a supplyof salt and pepper. At first the boys had attempted to build afireplace at the back of the Cave, with a hole cut through the roof tothe surface of the ground above to serve as a chimney, but it provedunsuccessful, and a circular pile of stones in front, with a rustykettle supported on two forked sticks, now served as campfire and cookstove.

  The boys filled the kettle at the little pond, not because they wishedto boil anything, but because it made a fire seem more worth while.Then they kindled a blaze beneath it, and when there were enough redcoals, they thrust four of the potatoes among them.

  "Now for a good feed," said Ernest.

  At length, when the potatoes were burned black on the outside, theypronounced them done and drew them out of the coals. They broke themopen gingerly, for they were very hot, and disclosed the mealyinsides, not at all troubled by the fact that the edible portion wasliberally sprinkled with black specks from the charred skins. Addingsalt and pepper, and using their jackknives as spoons, they proceededto eat with a relish which their mother would have found itdifficult to understand.

  As they were engaged in this pleasant occupation, Ernest suddenly roseto his feet and peered out through the saplings.

  "What is it?" demanded Jack.

  English Setter]

  "Sh!" cautioned the older boy. "It's a man. He's coming down the hill.He's got a gun and a dog with him."

  Jack arose and stood on tiptoe beside his brother. Together theywatched the approach of a strange figure--a tall, lanky, raw-bonedindividual wearing a rusty old felt hat and with an old corduroyhunting coat flapping about him. In his hand he carried adouble-barreled shotgun which appeared to be the best-kept thing abouthim. Running ahead of him was a beautiful English setter, speckledwhite with black markings. Her every motion was swift and graceful asshe ran sniffing from one clump of shrubbery to another. Sometimes theman would give a peculiar little whistle, and then the dog would pauseand look up, and then dart off to right or to left in obedience to awave of the man's arm.

  Suddenly the dog stopped and stood rigid as a statue, her tail heldout straight behind, one foreleg raised, and her neck and nosestretched toward a patch of sheep laurel. The man stealthilyapproached while the dog stood perfectly motionless with quiveringnostrils.

  They were quite near the boys now. There was a sudden movement in thesheep laurel, a whir of wings, and four or five birds rose swiftlyinto the air and shot off toward the woods.

  "Bang!" went the man's gun, and both boys jumped so that they scarcelynoticed a bird fall.

  "Bang!" went the other barrel almost immediately, and another birdfell fluttering to earth. Then the dog broke her point and brought thebirds back to her master in her sensitive mouth.

  To tell the truth, the boys were a little frightened at thisgun-fire so close at hand, especially Jack, and they watched anxiouslyas the man reloaded his gun. But the birds had disappeared and the manstarted off in the direction they had taken. He whistled to his dog,but a new scent had attracted her attention, and she trotted downtoward the brook and began sniffing the air.

  "She smells our potatoes," said Ernest.

  Jack forgot his fears in this new interest.

  "Let's call her over," said he.

  "Come here, sir!" called Ernest, making a kissing noise with his lips."Come here!"

  The dog lightly leaped the brook and came slowly up the bank towardthe Cave, her tail waving in a friendly manner. Ernest scraped out abit of potato and held it out to her. She stood for a moment,sniffing, as if in doubt. Then she came forward and daintily took theproffered food. In a few minutes both boys were smoothing the silkyhead, looking into the fine eyes, and talking to their visitor.

  "Tryin' to steal my dog?"

  They had not noticed the man's approach, he had stepped so softly, andthe gruff voice so close beside them startled them.

  "Oh, no," protested Ernest, hurriedly. "She--we----"

  The man's face was very solemn, but there was a humorous twinkle inhis eyes that somehow made the boys feel easier. The dog placed herpaw on Jack's arm as though begging for more petting.

  "Won't you sit down?" asked Ernest, in an effort to be polite.

  The man's face broke into many wrinkles and he laughed aloud.

  "Don't know but what I will," said he, "if you ain't afraid I'll hurtyour parlor chairs."

  It was now the boys' turn to laugh, and the ice was broken. The mansquatted down beside the fire as though glad of a chance to rest, andthe dog stretched herself out at his feet.

  "I'm glad you didn't mean to steal her," said the man, "because then Iwouldn't have no one to find birds for me. Then what would I do?"

  There seemed to be no answer to this, so Ernest asked him if he hadshot many.

  "Five this morning," said the man, and tumbled the pretty dead thingsout of his pockets.

  "They're quail, aren't they?" asked Ernest, stroking one of them.

  "Yep," said he, "Bob-Whites. They're runnin' pretty good this year,too."

  Something in the man's friendly manner inspired a sort of boldness inyoung Jack.

  "Don't you hate to shoot them?" he asked.

  The man looked into Jack's frank brown eyes for a moment and thenmoved a little closer.

  "Say," he said, "I'll tell you a secret. I s'pose I've shot more birdsand rabbits than any man in this county, if I do say it, and I neverbring down a partridge or kill a chicken that I don't feel sorry forit. I ain't never got over it and I guess I never shall. But it's theonly thing old Sam Bumpus is good for, I reckon, and it has to bedone. Folks has to eat and I have to make a livin'. I don't do it forfun, though I don't know any finer thing in this world than trampin'off 'cross country with a gun and a good dog on a fine mornin'. It'smy business, you see."

  "Gee!" exclaimed Ernest. "I'd like that business better thaninsurance, I guess. That's what my father is."

  "Who is your father?" inquired Sam Bumpus. "You see I'm verypartic'lar who I know."

  "He's Mr. Whipple. We're Ernest and Jack Whipple."

  "Oh, you live down on Washburn Street?"

  Ernest nodded.

  "Well, that's all right," said Sam. "I guess you'll pass."

  He seemed in no great hurry to be getting on. Taking an old black pipefrom his pocket he filled it from a greasy pouch and lighted it. Hetook a few reflective puffs before he spoke again.

  "What do you know about dogs?" he asked, abruptly.

  "Why--not very much, I guess," confessed Ernest.

  "We like them, though," added Jack.

  "Well, that's half the game," said Sam. "There's two kinds of peoplein this world, them that likes dogs and them that don't, and
you can'tnever make one kind understand how the other kind feels about it. Itjust ain't possible. And if you don't like dogs you can't never knowdogs, and if you don't know dogs you're missin'--well, I can't tellyou how much."

  "I've known Nan here," he continued, stroking the setter's head, whileshe looked up at him with adoration in her eyes, "I've known Nan forgoin' on seven years, and I learn somethin' new about her every day. Iraised her from a puppy, broke her to birds, and lived with her summerand winter, and I tell you I never seen a man or a woman that knowsany more than what she does or one that I could trust so far. That'sthe thing about a dog; you can trust 'em. There's bad dogs and gooddogs, and no two is just alike, but if you once get a good one, hangonto him, for you'll never find another friend that'll stick to youlike him."

  The man seemed so much in earnest that the boys remained silent for atime. Then Jack asked, "Can she do tricks?"

  "If you mean sit up and roll over and play dead, no," said Sam. "Idon't believe in spoilin' a good bird dog by teachin' 'em things thatdon't do 'em no good. But what she don't know about huntin' ain'tworth knowin'. It positively ain't."

  For half an hour more Sam Bumpus told the boys of various incidentsthat proved the sagacity of Nan and the other dogs he had owned. Hetold how once, when a burning log rolled from his fireplace in thenight and set his little house on fire, a pointer named Roger had seenthe flames through the window, had broken his collar, plunged throughthe mosquito netting across the window, and had wakened his master bypulling off the bedclothes and barking.

  "If that dog hadn't known how to think and plan, I wouldn't be hereto-day talkin' to you boys."

  Suddenly he jumped to his feet.

  "That reminds me," said he. "I've been sittin' talkin' here too long.I've got to be about my business and your folks'll wonder why youdon't come home to dinner. Come, Nan, old girl."

  The setter sprang up, yawned, and then stood ready for the nextcommand. Both boys patted her and then held out their hands to Sam.

  "I hope we'll see you again sometime," said Ernest. "We like to hearyou tell about your dogs."

  The man's tanned face seemed to soften a little as he shook hands withthe boys.

  "Well," said he, "I guess you can see me if you want to. My socialengagements ain't very pressin' just now. I ain't got one of mybusiness cards with me, but you can just call anywhere in these woodsand ask for Sam Bumpus. The dogs'll know me if the men don't. So long,boys," and he strode off down the bank with Nan dashing joyouslyahead.

  "Good-by, Mr. Bumpus," called Ernest and Jack.

  He paused in the act of leaping the brook and looked around, with thetwinkle in his eyes.

  "Say," he called back, "if I ever hear you call me that again I'll setthe dog on you. My name's Sam, d'ye hear?" Then he slipped in amongthe underbrush and was gone.

  Talking animatedly about their new acquaintance and about dogs, thetwo boys hastened to lock up their treasure chest and depart.

  "Say, Ernest," said Jack, as they started off through the woods withtheir bags of chestnuts over their shoulders, "the Cave is a greatplace for adventures, isn't it?"

  That evening, as the family were gathered in the living-room onWashburn Street, and Mrs. Whipple was trying to repair the damagethat chestnutting had wrought in a pair of Ernest's stockings, theboys asked their father if he knew Sam Bumpus.

  "Bumpus?" he asked. "Oh, yes, he's that queer fellow that lives allalone in a shack in the woods off on the Oakdale Road. An oddcharacter, I guess, from all I hear, but they say he's a wonderfulshot and people take their bird dogs to him to be broken. How did youhear about him?"

  The boys told their story, and then Ernest asked wistfully, "Papa,when can we have a dog?"

  "When your mother says you can," replied Mr. Whipple, with a smile.

  Sorrowfully the boys went off to bed, well knowing what that meant.For Mrs. Whipple was one of the people that Sam Bumpus had spokenof--the kind that don't like dogs.