Buff: A Collie, and Other Dog-Stories

by Albert Payson Terhune

  THE GRUDGE

  This is the strange yarn of three dogs. If the dogs had been humans,the story would have been on stage and screen long ago.

  Frayne's Farms is the alliterative name for the hundred-acre tract ofrich bottom land; in the shadow of the Ramapo Mountains,--a range thatsplits North Jersey's farm country for some twenty odd miles.

  Back in these mountains are queer folk; whose exploits sometimes serveas a page story for some Sunday newspaper. Within forty miles of NewYork City as the crow flits, the handful of mountaineers are well-nighas primitive as any South Sea Islanders. They are as a race apart; andwith their own barbarous codes and customs.

  Down from the mountains in the starvingly barren winter time, everyfew years, a band of huge black mongrel dogs used to swoop upon theValley, harrying it from end to end in search of food; and leaving atrail of ravaged henroosts and sheepfolds in their wake.

  These plunderers were the half-wild black dogs of themountaineers;--dogs blended originally from a tangle of diversebreeds; hound predominating; and with a splash of wolf-blood in theirrangy carcases.

  When famine and cold gripped the folk of the mountains, the dogs weredeprived of even such scanty crusts and bones as were their summerportion. And, under the goad of hunger, the black brutes banded for araid on the richer pickings of the Valley.

  At such times, every able-bodied farmer, from Trask Frayne to themembers of the Italian garden-truck colony, up Suffern-way, would armhimself and join the hunt. Rounding up the horde of mongrels, theywould shoot fast and unerringly. Such few members of the pack asmanaged to break through the cordon and make a dash for the mountainswere followed hotly up into the fastnesses of the grey rocks and wereexterminated by trained huntsmen.

  The mountaineers were too shrewd to make any effort to protect theirsheep-slaying and chicken-stealing pets from the hunters. Much as theyaffected to despise the stolid toilers of the Valley, yet they hadlearned from more than one bitter and long bygone experience that theValley men were not safe to trifle with when once righteousindignation drove them to the warpath.

  For years after such a battle, the Valley was wholly free from themarauding black-dog pack. Not only did the dogs seem to shun, byexperience, the peril of invading the lowlands; but their numbers wereso depleted that there was more than enough food for all of the fewsurvivors, in the meagre garbage of the mountain shacks. Not untilnumbers and forgetfulness again joined hands with famine, did the packrenew its Valley forays.

  When this story begins, a mere two years had passed since the latestof the mongrel hunts. Forty farmers and hired men, marshalled and ledby young Trask Frayne, had rounded up not less than seventy-five ofthe great black raiders at the bank of the frozen little Ramapo river,which winds along at the base of the mountain wall, dividing theValley from the savage hinterland.

  The pack's depredations had beaten all records, that season. And thefarmers were grimly vengeful. Mercilessly, they had poured volleyafter volley into the milling swarm of freebooters. Led by a giantdog, ebony black and with the forequarters of a timber wolf, thehandful of remaining pillagers had burst through the cordon andcrossed the river to the safety of the bleak hills.

  It was Trask Frayne who guided the posse of trackers in pursuit. Forthe best part of two days the farmers kept up the hunt. An occasionalfar-off report of a shotgun would be wafted to the Valley below, intoken of some quarry trailed to within buckshot range.

  The gaunt black giant leading the pack seemed to be invulnerable. Noless than five times during that two-day pursuit some farmer caughtmomentary sight of him; only to miss aim by reason of the beast'suncanny craftiness and speed.

  Trask Frayne himself was able to take a hurried shot at the ebonycreature as the fugitive slunk shadowlike between two hillockboulders.

  At the report of Trask's gun, the huge mongrel had whirled about,snarling and foaming at the mouth and had snapped savagely at his ownshoulder; where a single buckshot had just seared a jagged groove.But, before Frayne could fire a second shot, the dog had vanished.

  Thus the hunt ended. Nearly all the black dogs of the mountaineers hadmet the death penalty. It was the most thorough and successful of thehistoric list of such battles. The raiders were practicallyexterminated. Many a year must pass before the pack could hope againto muster numbers for an invasion. And the Valley breathed easier.

  Yet, Trask Frayne was not content. He knew dog-nature, as it is givento few humans to know it. And he could not forget the wily blackgiant that had led the band of mongrels. The Black was a super-dog,for cunning and strength and elusiveness. That had been proven bycertain ultra-devastating features of the raid; as well as by his ownescape from the hunters.

  And the Black still lived;--still lived, and with no worse reminder ofhis flight than a bullet-cut on one mighty shoulder. Such a dog was amenace; so long as he should continue alive.

  Wherefore Trask Frayne wanted to kick himself for his own ill-luck innot killing him. And he was obsessed by a foreboding that the Valleyhad not seen the last of the Black. He could not explain thispremonition.

  He could not explain it, even to himself. For Valley history showedthat each battle served as a wholesome lesson to the black dogs foryears thereafter. Never, between forays, was one of them seen on thehither side of the Ramapo. Yet the idea would not get out of Frayne'shead.

  Trask had hated the necessary job of destroying the mongrels. For heloved dogs. Nothing short of stark need would have lured him intoshooting one of them. His own two thoroughbred collies, Tam-o'-Shanterand Wisp, were honoured members of the Frayne household.

  Dogs of the same breed differ as much in character as do humans of thesame race. For example, no two humans could have been more widelydivergent in nature than were these two collies of Trask's.

  Tam-o'-Shanter was deep-chested, mighty of coat, tawny; as befittedthe son of his illustrious sire, old Sunnybank Lad. Iron-firm ofpurpose and staunchly loyal to his master, Tam was as steady of soulas a rock. Whether guarding the farm-buildings or rounding up a bunchof scattered sheep that had broken bounds, he was calmly reliable.

  He adored Trask Frayne with a worship that was none the lessall-absorbing because it was so undemonstrative. And he cared fornothing and nobody else on earth--except Wisp.

  Wisp had been the runt of a thoroughbred litter. He was slender andfragile and wholly lovable; a dainty little tricolour, scarce fortypounds in weight. Not strong enough for heavy work, yet Wisp was agallant guard and a gaily affectionate house dog--the cherished petand playfellow of the three Frayne babies. Also, he was Tam's dearestfriend.

  The larger collie, from puppyhood, had established a protection overWisp; ever conceding to him the warmest corner of the winter hearth,the shadiest spot in the dooryard in summer, the best morsels of theirjoint daily meal. He would descend from his calm loftiness to rompwith the frolicsome Wisp;--though the sight of stately Tam, trying toromp, was somehow suggestive of Marshal Joffre playing pat-a-cake.

  In short, he loved Wisp, as he loved not even Trask Frayne. More thanonce, in the village, when a stray cur misunderstood Wisp's gayfriendliness and showed his teeth at the frail little dog, Tam so fardeparted from his wonted noble dignity as to hurl himself upon theaggressor and thrash the luckless canine into howling submission.

  He was Wisp's guardian, as well as his dearest comrade. Once in a verygreat while such inseparable friendships spring up between twocollies.

  One morning in June, Trask set forth for Suffern with a flock of sixtysheep. The day was hot; and the journey promised to be tiresome. So,when the two collies had worked the sixty out from the rest of theFrayne bunch of sheep and had started them, bleating and milling,toward the highroad, Trask whistled Wisp back to him.

  "Home, boy!" he ordered, patting the friendly uplifted head andplayfully rumpling the collie's silken ears. "Back home, and take careof things there to-day. It's a long hot trip for a pup that hasn't anymore stamina than you have, Wispy. Tam and I can handle them, allright. Chase back home!"


  The soft brown eyes of the collie filled with infinitely patheticpleading. Wisp understood the meaning of his master's words as well asmight any of the Frayne children. From birth he had been talked to;and his quick brain had responded; as does every clever collie's.

  Wisp knew he had been bidden to stay at home from this delightfulouting. And every inch of his body as well as his eloquent eyes criedaloud in appeal to be taken along. Yet, when, once more, Frayne pettedhis head and pointed towards the dooryard, the good little chap turnedobediently back.

  As he passed Tam, the two dogs touched noses; as if exchanging speechof some sort;--as perhaps they were. Then, disconsolately, Wisptrotted to the house and curled up on the doormat in a small and furryand miserably unhappy heap. There he was still lying, his sorrowfuleyes fixed on his master and on his busily-herding chum; as the huddleof sheep were guided out of the gateway into the highroad beyond.

  Glancing back, Frayne smiled encouragingly at the pathetic littlewaiting figure at the door. Tam, too, paused, as he manoeuvred thelast silly sheep into the highroad; and stood beside Frayne, for asecond, peering back at his chum. Under their momentary glance, Wispmade shift to wag his plumy tail once; by way of affectionatefarewell.

  Long afterward, Trask Frayne could summon up memory of the daintilygraceful little dog, lying so obediently on the doormat and waggingsuch a brave goodbye to the master who had just deprived him of ajolly day's outing. Possibly the picture remained in Tam-o'-Shanter'smemory, too.

  It is to be hoped so. For never again were Frayne or Tam to see theirlovable little collie chum.

  Dusk was sifting down the valley from beyond the mountain wall thatafternoon, when Trask Frayne turned once more into the gateway leadingto his farm. At his side trotted Tam. It had been a hard day, both fordog and man. At best, it is no light task to marshal a flock of sixtybolting sheep along miles of winding road. But when that road isinfested with terrifying motor-cars and when it goes past two or threeblast-emitting stone-quarries and a railway, the labour is spectacularin spots and arduous at all times.

  But, at last, thanks to Tam, the sheep had reached Suffern without asingle mishap; and had been driven skilfully into the herd-pens. Theseven-mile homeward tramp had been, by contrast, a merepleasure-stroll. Yet, both the collie and his master were glad of theprospect of rest and of supper.

  Frayne, reviewing the labour of the day, was pleased with his ownforesight in making Wisp stay at home. He knew such an ordeal, in suchweather, would have tired the delicate collie half to death.

  Coming up the dusky lane from the house to meet the returningwanderers was a slender, white-clad woman. As he saw her, Frayne wavedhis hat and hurried forward at new speed. Thus, always, after one ofhis few absences from home, his pretty young wife came up the lane towelcome him. And, as ever, the sight of her made him forget hisfatigue.

  Yet, now, after that first glance, worry took the place of eagerness,in Frayne's mind. For his wife was advancing slowly and spiritlessly;and not in the very least with her wonted springy walk.

  "The heat's been too much for her!" he muttered worriedly to Tam."It's been a broiling day. She ought to have----"

  But Tam was no longer beside him. The big collie had started ahead,toward the oncoming woman.

  Usually, when Mildred Frayne came thus to greet her returning husband,Wisp was with her. The little dog would bound ahead of his mistress,as Frayne appeared; and come galloping merrily up to him and Tam. Tam,too, always cantered forward to touch noses with his chum.

  But, by this evening's dim light, Frayne could not see Wisp. Nor didTam rush forward as usual. Instead, he was pacing slowly towardMildred, with head and tail adroop.

  As Tam had turned in at the gate beside his master, the collie hadcome to a convulsive halt. His nostrils had gone upward in a series ofeagerly suspicious sniffs. Then, his shaggy body had quivered allover, as if with a spasm of physical pain. At that moment, Mildred'swhite-clad figure had caught his wandering eye. And he had movedforward, downcast and trembling, to meet her.

  It was Tam,--long before Trask,--who discovered that Mildred wasweeping. And this phenomenon, for the instant, turned his attentionfrom his vain search for Wisp and from the confusingly menacing scentswhich had just assailed his nostrils.

  Departing from his lifelong calm, the big dog whined softly, as hecame up with Mildred; and he thrust his cold muzzle sympathisinglyinto her loose-hanging hand. Within him stirred all his splendidrace's pitiful yearning to comfort a human in grief. So poignant wasthis craving that it almost made him forget the increasingly keenscents which had put him on his guard when he came in through thegateway.

  "Hello!" called Trask, cheerily, as he neared his wife. "Tired, dear?You shouldn't have bothered to walk all this way out to meet me. Aftera rotten day like this, you ought to be resting.... Where's Wisp? Ishe 'disciplining' me for making him stay home? I----"

  Then he, too, saw Mildred was crying. And before he could speak again,she had thrown her arms around his neck; and was sobbing out anincoherent story, broken by an occasional involuntary shiver. Holdingher close to him and asking eagerly futile questions, Trask Frayne,bit by bit, drew forth the reason for her grief.

  Harry and Janet, the two older children, had gone down to the river,that noon, to fish, off the dock, for perch. Mildred, at an upperwindow where she was sewing, had watched them from time to time. Forthe river was high and rapid from recent rains.

  But Wisp was with them; and she had experience in the little collie'ssleepless care over the youngsters. More than once, indoors, Wisp hadthrust his own slight body between a Frayne child and the fire. Againand again, at the dock, he had interposed his puny bulk and hadshoved with all his force; when one or another of the babies venturedtoo close to the edge.

  To-day, as she looked up from her sewing, she had seen the trio leavethe dock and start homeward. Janet had been in the lead; swinging thestring of perch and sunfish and shiners they had caught. They hadskirted a riverside thicket on their way to the home-path.

  Out from the bushes had sprung a gigantic lean dog, jet black exceptfor a zig-zag patch of white on one shoulder. The wind had been strongin the other direction. So no scent of the dog had reached Wisp, whowas dawdling along a bit to the rear of the children.

  The black had made a lightning grab at the carelessly swung string offish; and had snatched them away from Janet. As he turned to bolt backinto the thicket with his stolen feast, Harry had caught up a stickand had charged in pursuit of the string of laboriously-caught fish.The child had brought his stick down with a resounding thwack on thehead of the escaping beast.

  The blow must have stung. For, instantly, the Black dropped the fishand leaped upon the tiny chap. All this in a single second or less.

  But, before the mongrel's teeth could reach their mark, Wisp hadflashed past the two startled children and had launched his weak bodystraight at the Black's throat.

  Down went the two dogs in a tearing, snarling heap.

  Mildred, realising how hopelessly unequal was the contest, had run tothe aid of her beloved Wisp. Fleeing downstairs, she had snatchedTrask's gun from its peg above the mantel, had seized at random ahandful of shells; and ran out of the house and towards the river,loading the gun as she went.

  By the time she came in sight, the Black had already recovered theadvantage he had lost by Wisp's unexpected spring. By dint of strengthand of weight, he had torn himself free of Wisp's weak grip, had flungthe lighter dog to earth and had pinned him there. Right gallantly didlittle Wisp battle in the viselike grasp of the giant. Fiercely hestrove to bite at the rending jaws and to rip free from the crushingweight above him.

  But, as ever, mere courage could not atone for dearth of brutestrength and ferocity. Undeterred by his foe's puny efforts or by thefusillade of blows from Harry's stick and from Janet's pudgy fists,the Black had slung Wisp to one side and had lunged once more at him.

  This time he found the mark he sought:--the back of the neck, justbelow the base of the
brain. He threw all his vast jaw-power into oneterrific bite. And little Wisp's frantic struggles ceased. Thevaliant collie lay inert and moveless; his neck broken.

  Maddened by conquest, the Black tossed the lifeless body in air. Itcame to ground on the edge of the river. There, from the momentum ofthe toss, it had rebounded into the water. The swift current hadcaught it and borne it downstream.

  Then, for the first time, the Black seemed to realise that bothfrantically screaming children were showering futile blows on him.With a snarl he turned on Harry. But, as he did so, Mildred's flyingfeet brought her within range. Halting, she raised the gun and fired.

  She was a good shot. And excitement had not robbed her aim ofsteadiness. But excitement had made her catch up a handful ofcartridges loaded lightly with Number Eight shot; instead of anythingmore deadly.

  The small pellets buzzed, hornetlike, about the Black's head andshoulders; several of them stinging hotly. But at that distance, thebirdshot could do no lasting damage. Nor did any of it chance to reachone of his eyes.

  With a yell of pain he wheeled to face the woman. And she let him havethe second barrel. Memories of former clashes with gunners seemed towake in the brute's crafty brain. Snarling, snapping, shaking histormented head, he turned and plunged into the narrow river; gainingthe farther bank and diving into the waterside bushes before Mildredcould think to reload.

  The balance of the day had been spent in a vain search of the bank,downstream, for Wisp's lost body; and in trying to comfort theheart-broken children. Not until she had gotten the babies to bed andhad soothed them to sleep did Mildred have scope to think of her owngrief in the loss of the gentle dog who had been so dear to her.

  "He--he gave his life for them!" she finished her sobbing recital. "Heknew,--he _must_ have known,--that he had no chance against thathorrible monster. And Wisp had never fought, you know, from the day hewas born. He knew that brute would kill him. And he never hesitated atall. He gave his life for the children. And--and we can't--can't evensay a prayer over his grave!"

  But Trask Frayne, just then, was not thinking of prayers. Deep down inhis throat, he was cursing:--softly, but with much venom. And thenails of his hard-clenched fists bit deep into his palms.

  "Black, with a white scar on the shoulder?" he said, at last, his ownharsh voice not unlike a dog's growl. "Hound ears, and the build of atimber-wolf? Almost as big as a Dane; and bone-thin? H'm! That's mybuckshot-scar on his shoulder,--that zig-zag white mark. To-morrowmorning, I'm going hunting. Up in the mountains. Want to come along,Tam?"

  But, as before, Tam was not there, when his master turned to speak tohim. The collie had waited only long enough to note that the task ofcomforting the weeping Mildred had been taken over by more expertpowers than his. Then he had trotted off towards the house; not onlyto solve the problem of these sinister scents which hung so heavy onthe moist night air, but to find his strangely-absent chum, Wisp.

  Circling the house, he caught Wisp's trail. It was some hours old; butby no means too cold to be followed by a collie whose scenting powershad once tracked a lost sheep for five miles through a blizzard. WithWisp's trail was mingled that of two of the children. And it led tothe river-path.

  True, there were other trails of Wisp's, that the sensitive nostrilscaught. But all of them were older than this which led to the water.Therefore, as any tracking dog would have known, Wisp had goneriverward, since he had been near the house. And down the path, noseto ground, followed Tam-o'-Shanter.

  He did not move with his wonted stolidity. For, over and above themere trail scent, his nostrils were assailed by other and moredistressingly foreboding smells;--the smells he had caught as he hadentered the gate;--the smells which grew ranker at every loping stephe took.

  In half a minute he was at the bank. And before that time, he hadabandoned the nose-to-earth tracking. For now all around him was thatterrible scent.

  Back and forth dashed and circled and doubled Tam. And every evolutiontold him more of the gruesome story.

  Here among the bushes had lain a strange animal; an unwashen andpungent and huge animal; apparently sleeping after a gorge of chickenor lamb. Here, along the path, had come the children, with Wisp behindthem. Here the strange dog had leapt forth; and here,--alongside thatstring of forgotten and sun-blown fish on the ground,--Wisp and thestranger had clashed.

  The dullest of scents could have told the story from that point:--thetrampled earth, the spatters of dried blood, the indentation in thegrass, where Wisp's writhing body had striven so heroically to freeitself from the crushing weight above it and to renew the hopelessbattle.

  Wisp was dead. He was slain by that huge and rank-scented creature.His body had touched the river-brink, fully five feet from the sceneof the fight. After that it had disappeared. For running water willnot hold a scent.

  Yes, Wisp was dead. He had been murdered. He had been murdered,--thisadored chum of his,--by the great beast whose scent was already gravenso indelibly on Tam's heartsick memory.

  There, at the river-edge, a few minutes later, Trask Frayne foundTam-o'-Shanter; padding restlessly about, from spot to spot of thetragedy; whimpering under his breath. But the whimper carried no hintof pathos. Rather was it the expression of a wrath that lay too deepfor mere growling.

  At his master's touch, the great collie started nervously; and shrunkaway from the caress he had always craved. And his furtively swiftmotion, in eluding the loved hand, savoured far more of the wolf thanof the trained house dog. The collie, in look and in action, hadreverted to the wild.

  Tam trotted, for the tenth time, to the spot at the river-shore, wherethe Black had bounded into the water. Impatiently,--always with thatqueer little throaty whimper,--he cast up and down along the bank, inquest of some place where Wisp's slayer might perhaps have doubledback to land.

  Presently, Trask called to him. For the first time in his blamelesslife, Tam hesitated before obeying. He was standing, hock-deep, in theswirling water; sniffing the air and peering through the dusk alongthe wooded banks on the far side of the stream.

  Again, and more imperatively, Frayne called him. With visibledistaste, the collie turned and made his way back towards his master.Frayne had finished his own fruitless investigations and was startinghomeward.

  Half-way to the house he paused and looked back. Tam had ceased tofollow him and was staring once more at the patches of trampled anddyed earth. A third and sharper call from Trask brought the collie toheel.

  "I don't blame you, old boy," said Frayne, as they made their waytowards the lighted kitchen. "But you can't find him that way.To-morrow you and I are going to take a little trip through themountains. I'd rather have your help on a hunt like that than anyhound's. You won't forget his scent in a hurry. And you know, as wellas I, what he's done."

  On the way to the house, Frayne paused at the sheepfold; and made acareful detour of it. But the inspection satisfied him that the fence(built long ago with special regard to the mountainpack's forays) wasstill too stout to permit of any dog's breaking through it. And hepassed on to the house; again having to summon the newly-furtivecollie from an attempt to go back to the river.

  "He won't pay us another visit to-night, Tam," he told the sullen dog,as they went indoors. "He's tricky. And if he's really on the rampage,here in the Valley, he'll strike next in some place miles away fromhere. Wait till to-morrow."

  But once more Tam did not follow his overlord's bidding. For, at dawnof the morrow, when Trask came out of the house, shotgun in hand, thedog was nowhere to be found. Never before had Tam forsaken his dutiesas guardian of the farm to wander afield without Frayne.

  The jingle of the telephone brought Trask back into the house. On theother end of the wire was an irate farmer.

  "I'm sending word all along the line," came his message. "Last night adog bust into my hencoop and killed every last one of my prizeHamburgs and fifty-three other chickens, besides. He worked as quietas a fox. 'Twasn't till I heard a chicken squawk that I came out. Thatmust have
been the last of the lot; and the dog had got careless. Ihad just a glimpse of him as he sneaked off in the dark. Great bigcuss he was. As big as a house. Looked something like a wolf by thatbum light; and something like a collie, too. Last evening I got newsthat Gryce, up Suffern-way, lost a lamb, night before, from someprowling dog. D'you s'pose the dogs from the mountains is looseagain?"

  "One of them is," returned Frayne. "I'm going after him, now."

  He hung up the receiver, and, gun under arm, made his way to the scowlying at the side of the dock. Crossing the river, he explored thebank for a half mile in both directions. Failing to find sign or trailof the Black, he struck into the mountains.

  It was late that night when Trask slouched wearily into his own houseand laid aside his gun.

  "Any trace of him?" asked Mildred, eagerly.

  "Not a trace," answered Frayne. "I quartered the range, farther backthan we ever hunted before. And I asked a lot of questions at thatGod-forsaken mountaineer settlement, up there. That's all the good itdid. I might hunt for a year and not get any track of the beast. Thosemountaineers are all liars, of course. Not one of 'em, would admitthey'd ever seen or heard of the dog. If I'd had Tam with me, I mighthave caught the trail. To-morrow, I'll see he goes along. He----"

  "Tam?" repeated Mildred, in surprise. "Why, wasn't he with you? Hehasn't been home all day. He----"

  "Hasn't been home? Do you mean to say he didn't come back?"

  "No," said his wife, worriedly. "When I got up this morning and foundyou both gone, I thought of course you'd taken him along, as you saidyou were going to. Didn't----"

  "He wasn't anywhere around when I started," replied Frayne."He's--he's never been away for a whole day, or even for a whole hour,before. I wonder----"

  "Oh, do you suppose that horrible brute has killed Tam, too?" quaveredMildred, in new terror.

  "Not he," Trask reassured her. "Not he, or any other mortal dog. But,"he hesitated, then went on, shamefacedly, "but I'll tell you what I_do_ think. I believe Tam has gone hunting, on his own account. Ibelieve he's trailing that mongrel. If he is, he has a man's size jobcut out for him. For the Black is as tricky as a weasel. Tam thoughtmore of Wisp than he thought of anything else. And he was like anotheranimal when he found what had happened, down yonder. Take my word forit, he is after the dog that murdered his chum. Whether he'll ever gethim, is another matter. But, if he really is after him, he'll nevergive up the hunt, as long as he has a breath of life left in him.Either he'll overhaul the cur or--well, either that or we'll neversee him again. There's no sense in my poking around in the mountainswithout him. All we can do is wait. That and try to find Tam and chainhim up till he forgets this crazy revenge-idea."

  But even though the Fraynes did not see their cherished collie whenthey arose next morning, they did not lack for news of him. In themiddle of a silent and doleful breakfast a telephone ring summonedTrask from the table.

  "That you, Frayne?" queried a truculent voice. "This is Trippler,--atDarlington. I got rotten news for you. But it's a whole lot rottenerfor _me_. Last night my cow-yard was raided by a dog. He killed two ofthe month-old Jersey calves and pretty near ripped the throat out ofone of my yearlings. I heard the racket and I ran out with my gun anda flashlight. The cow-yard looked like a battlefield. The dog hadskipped. Couldn't see a sign of him, anywheres.

  "But about half an hour later he came back. He came back while I wasredding up the yard and trying to quiet the scared critters. He cameright to the cow-yard gate and stood sniffing there as bold as brass;like he was trying to catch the scent of more of my stock to kill. Iheard his feet a-pattering and I turned the flashlight on him.

  "He was _your_ dog, Frayne! That big dark coloured collie dog ofyours. I saw him as plain as day. I upped with my gun and I let himhave it. For I was pretty sore. But I must have missed him, clean. Forthere wasn't any blood near his footprints, in the mud, when I looked.He just lit out. But I'm calling up to tell you you'll have a big billto pay on this; and----"

  "Hold on," interrupted Frayne, quietly. "I'll be up there, in twentyminutes. Good-bye."

  As fast as his car could carry him, Trask made his way up the Valleyto Darlington, and to the Trippler farm. There an irately unlovinghost awaited him.

  "Before you go telling me the whole story all over again," Trask brokein on an explosive recital, "take me over to the exact spot where yousaw Tam standing and sniffing. The ground all around here is soakedfrom the shower we had last evening. I want to see the tracks you werespeaking of."

  Muttering dire threats and whining lamentations for his lost calves,Trippler led the way to the cow-yard; pointing presently to a gap inthe privet hedge which shut off the barns from the truck garden.Frayne went over to the gap and proceeded to inspect the muddy earth,inch by inch.

  "It was here Tam stood when you turned the light on him?" he asked.

  "Right just there," declared Trippler. "And I c'n swear to him.He----"

  "Come over here," invited Trask. "There are his footprints. As yousaid. And I'd know them anywhere. There's no other dog of his sizewith such tiny feet. He gets them from his sire, Sunnybank Lad. Thoseare Tam's footprints, I admit that. I'd know them anywhere;--even ifthey didn't show the gash in the outer pad of the left forefoot; wherehe gouged himself on barbed wire when he was a pup."

  "You admit it was him, then!" orated Trippler. "That's all I need tohear you say! Now, how much----?"

  "No, no," gently denied Frayne. "It isn't anywhere near all you needto hear. Now, let's go back into the cow-yard. As I crossed it, justnow, I saw dozens of dog-footprints, among the hoof-marks of thecalves. Let's take another look at them."

  Grumblingly, yet eager to add this corroboratory evidence, Tripplerfollowed him to the wallow of churned mud which marked the scene ofslaughter. At the first clearly defined set of footprints, Traskhalted.

  "Take a good look at those," he adjured. "Study them carefully. Here,these, for instance;--where the dog planted all fours firmly for aspring. They're the marks of splay feet, a third larger than Tam's;and not one of them has that gash in the pad;--the one I pointed outto you, back at the gap. Look for yourself."

  "Nonsense!" fumed Trippler, albeit a shade uneasily, as he stood upstiffly after a peering study of the prints. "Anyhow," he went on,"all it proves is that there was two of 'em. This big splay-footedcuss and your collie. They was working in couples, like killers oftendoes."

  "Were they?" Frayne caught him up. "Were they? Then suppose you lookcarefully all through this welter of cow-yard mud; and see if you canfind a single footprint of Tarn's. And while you're looking, let metell you something."

  As Trippler went over the yard's mud with gimlet eyes, Trask relatedthe story of Wisp's killing; and his own theory as to Tam.

  "He's trailing that black dog," he finished. "He struck his scentsomewhere, and followed him. He got here a half-hour too late. Andthen when you fired at him he run off to pick up the trail again. ButI doubt if he got it. For, the Black would probably be cunning enoughto take to the river, after a raid like this. He'd have sense enoughto know somebody would track him. That brute has true wolf-cunning."

  "Maybe--maybe you're right," hesitated Trippler, after a minute searchof the yard had failed to reveal a footprint corresponding withTam's. "And the county's got to pay for 'any damage done to stock byan unknown dog.' That's the law. I'm kind of glad, too. You see, Ilike old Tam. Besides, I c'n c'llect more damages from the county thanI c'd c'llect from a lawsoot with a neighbour. What'll we do now? Fixup a posse; like we did, the other times?"

  "No," replied Trask. "It would do no good. The Black is too clever.And in summer there are too many ways to throw off the scent. Tam willget him,--if anyone can. Let's leave it to him."

  But other farmers were not so well content to leave the punishment ofthe mysterious raider to Tam. As the days went on, there were more andmore tidings of the killer. Up and down the Valley he worked; nevertwice in succession in the same vicinity.

  Twice, an hour or so aft
er his visits, men saw Tam prowling along themongrel's cooling tracks. They reported to Frayne that the collie hadgrown lean and gaunt and that his beautiful coat was one mass of briarand burr; and that he had slunk away, wolf-fashion, when they calledto him.

  Frayne, himself, caught no slightest sight of his beloved dog; though,occasionally, in the mornings, he found empty the dish of food he hadset out on the previous night. Trask was working out the problem, forhimself, nowadays, deaf to all requests that he head another band ofhunters into the mountains. He was getting no sleep to speak of. Buthe was thrilling with the suspense of what sportsmen know as "thestill hunt."

  Every evening, when his chores and his supper were finished, Fraynewent to the sheepfold and led thence a fat wether that had a realgenius for loud bleating. This vocal sheep he would tether to a stakenear the river-bank. Then he himself would study the trend of thefaint evening breeze; and would take up a position in the bushes,somewhere to leeward of the sheep. There, gun across knees, he wouldsit, until early daylight.

  Sometimes he dozed. Oftener he crouched, tense and wakeful, in hiscovert; straining his eyes, through the gloom, for the hoped-for sightof a slinking black shadow creeping towards the decoy. Not alone toavenge the death of Wisp and to rid the Valley of a scourge did hespend his nights in this way. He knew Tam; as only a born dogman canknow his dog. He missed the collie, keenly. And he had solid faiththat on the death of the Black, the miserable quest would end and Tamwould return to his old home and to his old habits.

  So, night after night, Frayne would keep his vigil. Morning aftermorning, he would plod home, there to hear a telephoned tale of theBlack's depredations at some other point of the Valley. At first hisnightly watch was kept in dense darkness. But, soon the waxing moonlightened the river-bank; and made the first hours of the sentry dutyeasier.

  Frayne began to lose faith in his own scheme. He had an odd feelingthat the Black somehow knew of his presence in the thicket and thatFrayne's Farms was left unvisited for that reason. Trask's immunityfrom the Black's depredations was the theme of much neighboured talk,as time went on. Once more was revived Trippler's theory that Tam andthe Black were hunting in couples and that the collie (like so manydogs which have "gone bad") was sparing his late master's property.

  On all these unpleasant themes Trask Frayne was brooding, one night,late in the month; as he sat in uncomfortable stillness amid thebushes and stared glumly out at the occasionally-bleating wether. Hehad had a hard day. And the weeks of semi-sleeplessness were beginningto tell cruelly on him. His senses had taken to tricking him, of late.For instance, at one moment, this night, he was crouching there,waiting patiently for the full moon to rise above the eastern hills,to brighten his vigil. The next moment,--though he was certain he hadnot closed his eyes,--the moon had risen and was riding high in theclear heavens.

  Frayne started a little, and blinked. As he did so, his disturbed mindtold him he had not awakened naturally, but that he had been disturbedby some sound. He shifted his drowsy gaze towards the tethered sheep.And at once all slumber was wiped from his brain.

  The wether was lying sprawled on the ground, in a posture that natureneither intends nor permits. Its upflung legs were still jerkingconvulsively, like galvanised stilts. And above it was bending a hugedark shape.

  The moon beat down mercilessly on the tableau of the slain sheep, andof the Black, with his fangs buried deep in the twisting throat.

  Now that the longed-for moment had at last come, Trask found himselfseized by an unaccountable numbness of mind and of body. By a mightyeffort he regained control of his faculties. Slowly and in uttersilence he lifted the cocked gun from his knees and put its butt tothe hollow of his shoulder.

  The Black looked up, in quick suspicion, from his meal. Even in theexcitement of the instant, Frayne found scope to wonder at the brute'sability to hear so noiseless a motion. And his sleep-numbed fingersought the trigger.

  Then, in a flash, he knew why the Black's great head had lurched sosuddenly up from the interrupted meal. From out a clump of alder,twenty feet to shoreward of the river-bank orgy, whirled a tawnyshape. With the speed of a flung spear it sped; straight for thefeasting mongrel. And, in the mere breath of time it took to dashthrough the intervening patch of moonlight, Frayne recognised thenewcomer.

  The Black sprang up from beside the dead sheep, and faced the foe hecould no longer elude. Barely had he gained his feet when Tam was uponhim.

  Yet the mongrel was not taken unaware. His crafty brain was alert andthe master of his sinewy body. As Tam leaped, the black dog reared tomeet him. Then, in practically the same gesture, the Black shifted hisdirection, and dived beneath the charging collie, lunging for thelatter's unprotected stomach. It was a manoeuvre worthy of a wolf;and one against which the average dog must have been helpless.

  But the Black's opponent was a collie. And, in the back of his brain,though never in his chivalric heart, a collie is forever reverting tohis own wolf ancestors. Thus, as the Black changed the course of hislunge, Tam, in mid-air, changed his. By a violent twist of everywhalebone muscle, Tam whirled himself sidewise. And the Black'sravening jaws closed on nothing.

  In another instant,--even before he had touched ground,--Tam hadslashed with his curving eyeteeth. This is another trick known topractically no animal save the wolf and the wolf's direct descendant,the collie. The razorlike teeth cut the Black's left ear and cheek ascleanly as might a blade.

  But, in the same motion, the Black's flying head had veered; and hisjaws had found a hold above Tam's jugular. Again, with the normal dog,such a hold might well have ended the fight. But, the Providence whichordained that a collie should guard sheep on icy Highland moors alsogave him an unbelievably thick coat, to fend off the weather. And thiscoat serves as an almost invulnerable armour; especially at the sideof the throat. The Black's teeth closed upon a quantity of tangledfur; but on only the merest patch of skin and on none of the underflesh at all.

  Tam ripped himself free, leaving a double handful of ruff between theBlack's grinding jaws. As the mongrel spat out the encumbering gag offur, Tam's curved fang laid bare the scarred shoulder once grazed byTrask Frayne's buckshot. And, in a rolling, fighting heap, the twoenemies rolled over and over together on the dew-drenched grass.

  Frayne's gun was levelled. But the man did not dare fire. By thatdeceptive light, he had no assurance of hitting one dog without alsokilling the other. And, chafing at his own impotence, he stoodstock-still, watching the battle.

  Both dogs were on their feet again; rearing and rending in mute fury.No sound issued from the back-curled lips of either. This was no meredogfight, as noisy as it was pugnacious. It was a struggle to thedeath. And the dogs realised it.

  Thrice more, the Black struck for the jugular. Twice, thanks to Tam'slightning quickness, he scored a clean miss. The third time, heannexed only another handful of hair.

  With his slashes he was luckier. One of Tam's forelegs was bleedingfreely. So was a cut on his stomach, where the Black had sought todisembowel him. And one side of his muzzle was laid open. But thecollie had given over such mere fencing tactics as slashing. He wastearing into his powerful and wily foe with all the concentrated furyof his month's vain pursuit of vengeance.

  The Black dived for the collie's forelegs, seeking to crack theirbones in his mighty jaws and thus render his foe helpless. Nimbly,Tam's tiny white forefeet whisked away from the peril of each dive. Inredoubled fury he drove for the throat. And the two clashed, shoulderto shoulder.

  Then, amid the welter, came the final phase of the fight. The Black,as the two reared, lunged again for the collie's hurt throat. Tamjerked his head and neck aside to avoid the grip. And, as once before,the Black changed the direction of his lunge. With the swiftness of astriking snake, he made the change. And, before the other could thwartor so much as divine his purpose, he had secured the coveted hold, farup on Tam's left foreleg.

  No mere snap or slash, this; but a death grip. The Black's teeth sankdeep into the captured le
g; grinding with a force which presently mustsnap the bones of the upper leg and leave the collie crippled againsta practically uninjured and terrible antagonist. The rest would beslaughter.

  Tam knew his own mortal peril. He knew it even before Trask Fraynecame rushing out from his watching-place, brandishing the gun,club-fashion. The collie did not try to wrench free and thereby tohurry the process of breaking his leg or of tearing out theshoulder-muscles. He thought, as quickly as the mongrel had lunged.

  Rearing his head aloft, he drove down at the Black. The latter wasclinging with all his might to the collie's foreleg. And, in therapture of having gained at last a disabling grip, he ignored the factthat he had left an opening in his own defence;--an opening seldomsought in a fight, except by a wolf or a wolf's descendant.

  It was for this opening that Tam-o'-Shanter struck. In a trice hiswhite teeth had buried themselves in the exposed nape of the Black'sneck.

  Here, at the brain's base, lies the spinal cord, dangerously withinreach of long and hard-driven fangs. And here, Tam had fastenedhimself.

  An instant later,--but an instant too late,--the Black knew his peril.Releasing his grip on the collie's leg, before the bone had begun toyield, he threw his great body madly from side to side, fightingcrazily to shake off the death-hold. With all his mighty strength, hethrashed about.

  Twice, he lifted the seventy-pound collie clean off the ground. Oncehe fell, with Tam under him. But the collie held on. Tam did more thanhold on. Exerting every remaining atom of his waning power, he let hisbody be flung here and there, in the Black's struggles; and heconcentrated his force upon cleaving deeper and deeper into theneck-nape.

  This was the grip whereby the Black, a month agone, had crushed thelife out of friendly little Wisp. And, by chance or by fate, Tam hadbeen enabled to gain the same hold. Spasmodically, he set his fangsin a viselike tightening of his grip.

  At one instant, the Black was whirling and writhing in the fulness ofhis wiry might. At the next, with a sickening snapping sound, hisgiant body went limp. And his forequarters hung, a lifeless weight,from his conqueror's jaws.

  Tam relaxed his hold. The big black body slumped to earth and laythere. The collie, panting and swaying, stood over his dead enemy. Thebitterly long quest was ended. Heavenward went his bleeding muzzle.And he waked the solemn stillnesses of the summer night with an eeriewolf howl, the awesome primal yell of Victory.

  For a few seconds Trask Frayne, unnoticed, stared at his dog. And, ashe looked, it seemed to him he could see the collie change graduallyback from a wild thing of the forests to the staunch and adoringwatchdog of other days. Then the man spoke.

  "Tam!" he said, quietly. "_Tam!_ Old friend!"

  The exhausted victor lurched dizzily about, at sound of the voice.Catching sight of Trask, he trembled all over.

  He took a dazed step towards Frayne. Then, with something queerlylike a human sob, the collie sprang forward; and gambolled weaklyabout the man; licking Trask's feet and hands; springing up in agroggy effort to kiss his face; patting his master's chest with eagerforepaws; crying aloud in an ecstasy of joy at the reunion.

  Then, all at once, he seemed to remember he was a staid and dignifiedmiddle-aged dog and not a hoodlum puppy. Ceasing his unheard-ofdemonstrations, he stood close beside Frayne; looking up into Trask'seyes in silent worship.

  "You've done a grand night's work, Tam," said Frayne, seeking tosteady his own voice. "And your hurts need bathing. Come home."

  His plumed tail proudly wagging, his splendid head aloft,Tam-o'-Shanter turned and led the way to the house he loved.