CHAPTER I
AN ARRIVAL
There was no doubt that affairs were rather dull on the Bar O Ranch; atleast they seemed so to "Whitey," otherwise Alan Sherwood. Since he andhis pal, "Injun," had had the adventures incidental to the finding ofthe gold in the mountains, there had been nothing doing. So life seemedtame to Whitey, to whom so many exciting things had happened since hehad come West that he now had a taste for excitement.
It was Saturday, so there were no lessons, and it was a relief to befree from the teachings of John Big Moose, the educated Dakota, whoacted as tutor for Injun and Whitey. Not that John was impatient withhis pupils. He was too patient, if anything, his own boyhood not beingso far behind him that he had forgotten that outdoors, in the GoldenWest, is apt to prove more interesting to fifteen-year-old youth thanprinted books--especially when one half the class is of Indian blood.
As Whitey stood near the bunk house and thought of these things, his eyewas attracted by a speck moving toward him across the prairie. Hewatched it with the interest one might have in a ship at sea; as onewatches in a place in which few moving things are seen. The speck wassmall, and was coming toward Whitey slowly.
From around the corner of the bunk house Injun approached. It will beremembered by those who have read of Injun that he was very fond of pinkpajamas. As garments, pink pajamas seemed to Injun to be the real thing.It had been hard to convince him that they were not proper for everydaywear, but when he was half convinced of this fact, he had done the nextbest thing, and taken to a very pink shirt. This, tucked in a large pairof men's trousers, below which were beaded moccasins, was Injun'scostume, which he wore with quiet dignity.
"What do you s'pose that is?" asked Whitey, pointing at the speck.
"Dog," Injun answered briefly.
"A dog!" cried Whitey, who, though he had never ceased to wonder atInjun's keenness of sight, was inclined to question it now. "What can adog be doing out there?"
"Dunno," Injun replied. "Him dog." Injun's education had not as yet sunkin deep enough to affect his speech.
Whitey again turned his eyes toward the object, which certainly wasmoving slowly, as though tired, and, as the boys watched, sure enough,began to resolve itself into the shape of a dog. Here at last wassomething happening to break the dullness of the day. A strange dogtwenty-five miles from any place in which a dog would naturally be.
Furthermore, when the animal was near enough to be seen distinctly, hefurnished another surprise. He was entirely unlike any of the dogs ofthat neighborhood--the hounds, collies, or terriers. He was white,short, chunky. His head was very large for his size, his jaw undershot,his mouth enormous, and his lower lip drooped carelessly over a coupleof fangs on each side. Under small ears his eyes popped almost out ofhis head, and his snub nose could scarcely be said to be a nose at all.From a wide chest his body narrowed until it joined a short, twistedtail, and his front legs were bowed, as though he had been in the habitof riding a horse all his life.
Injun gazed at this strange being with something as near surprise as heever allowed himself. "Him look like frog," he declared.
"Why, it's a bulldog, an English bulldog!" exclaimed Whitey, who hadseen many of this breed in the East.
"More like bullfrog," Injun maintained solemnly. "What him do--eatbulls?"
The brute's appearance surely was forbidding enough, and if Injun hadbeen subject to fear, which he wasn't, he would have felt it now. He didnot know, as many better informed people do not, that beneath thisbreed's fierce appearance lies the deepest of dog love for amaster--and that's a pretty deep love--and that no other "friend of man"holds gentler, kinder feeling for the human race than this queerlyshaped animal. And this in spite of the fact that he owes the veryqueerness of his appearance to man, who has had him bred in that shape,through countless generations, to the end that the poor, faithful beastmay do brutal deeds in the bull ring and the dog pit.
Whitey did not know all this--that the wide jaws were designed for agrip on the enemy, the snub nose to permit breathing while that grip washeld, the widespread legs to secure a firm ground hold; in short, thathe was looking at an animal built for conflict, which had the courage ofa lion where his enemies were concerned, and the love of a wild thingfor its young where its human friends were concerned.
But Whitey knew the latter part of it--that bulldogs were friendly, andusually misunderstood, and he proceeded to let Injun in on hisknowledge. "You needn't be afraid of him," he said.
"No 'fraid, but no go too close," replied the cautious Injun.
Now that this dog was in reach of humans he sat down, opened hiscave-like mouth, allowing a few inches of tongue to loll out, panted,and looked amiably at the boys. He certainly was tired.
"He's not only tired, he's thirsty," said Whitey, and ran to the stablefor water.
And while he was gone the bulldog and Injun looked at each other--Injunwith his bronze skin, his long, straight hair, his calm face, and hissteady, dark eyes. This descendant of thousands of fighting men regardedthat descendant of thousands of fighting dogs. And what they thought ofeach other the dog couldn't tell, and Injun didn't, but ever after theywere friends.
Presently Whitey returned from the stable with a pan of water, and withBill Jordan, foreman of the Bar O, Charlie Bassett, Buck Higgins, andShorty Palmer, all the cowpunchers who happened to be on the place. Theyall knew bulldogs, and they regarded the newcomer with awe and respect.
Whitey put the water before the dog, who, after favoring him with agrateful glance and a quiver of his stub tail, went to it.
"He's sure awful dry," Bill said. "Ought t' take him up to Moose Lake.Looks like that pan o' water won't even moisten him."
"Where d'ye reck'n he come from?" asked Shorty.
"Dunno."
"Mebbe he was follerin' a wagon, an' got lost," Buck Higgins suggestedhopefully.
"Wagon nothin'!" snorted Bill. "Nobody in these parts'd have a dog likethat, an' if they did, what would he be doin' follerin' a wagon? Heain't built to run, he's built to fight."
Where the dog had come from was something of a mystery. Neighbors werenot near by, in those days, in Montana, the nearest being fourteen milesoff, and the railway twenty-two, and nothing there but a water tank.There was some discussion regarding the matter which ended in adeadlock. It was certain that none of the ranchmen in the vicinity ownedsuch a dog, and even so, or if a visitor owned him, how would he get tothe Bar O? Walk, with "them legs"?
While the discussion went on, the subject of it gulped down large chunksof beef which Whitey had begged from the cook, and after that he wentwith the men and boys to the ranch house, where, with an apologeticleer, and a wiggle of his tail, he stretched himself on the veranda, andfell into a deep sleep. He was very grateful, but he was also verytired.
In a lonely ranch house matters are of concern which would create littlecomment in a city. This dog's coming was in the nature of an event atthe Bar O. Bill, the foreman, and all the punchers were ready to neglectwork for a considerable time and talk about it. Even Injun occasionallylooked interested. But all the talk could not solve the problem of theanimal's presence.
The only one who knew lay sleeping on the veranda and couldn't tell. Itisn't likely that he dreamed, but if he did it might have been of beingtied to the handle of a trunk in an overland limited baggage car; of thetrain's stopping for water at a lonely tank; of the earthy, wholesomecountry smell that came through the door, left open for coolness.
There had been a stirring in the grass near the track. A glimpse of ananimal that looked something like a fox and something like a wolf, andwasn't either one, a wild animal that was sneaking around the train forthe odd bits of food that were sometimes left in its wake. As thepungent scent of this beast reached the bulldog's snub nose, the leashthat held him to the trunk became a thing of little worth. With aviolent lurch he broke it, leaped from the door, landed sprawlingalongside the track, and was off in pursuit of the strange animal.
Now, any one who knows h
ow a bulldog is built and how a coyote is builtcan imagine how much chance the first has to catch the second. The dogfollowed by sight, not by scent. With his head held as high as his shortneck would allow he dashed on. The coyote didn't bother very much. Aftergetting a good start he doubled on his tracks for a little way, turnedaside, and sat down. And if he wasn't too mean to laugh, he may atleast have smiled as his enemy rushed forward toward nowhere.
Then that bulldog ran and ran until he couldn't run any more. Then hewalked till he couldn't walk any farther. Then he slept all night, whileother coyotes howled dismally near by. And in the morning he started offagain, thinking he was going toward the train and his sorrowful master,really going in the opposite direction. But there was one thing that manhadn't taught him to do in all the years, and that was to quit, so hekept on. And at last, as any one will who keeps going long enough, hehad to arrive somewhere and he reached the Bar O Ranch.
So you and I and the dog know how he got there, but Bill Jordan, thepunchers, and the boys didn't, and presently they gave up trying tofigure it out.
"'Tain't likely his owner'll show up, so he's ours," said Bill Jordan.
"He's Whitey's," Buck Higgins maintained. "He saw him first."
This law was older than any ranch house, or any cowpuncher, so it heldgood, and Whitey became the proud owner of the dog. The matter of hisname came next in importance. Of course he had one, and he was awakened,and asked to respond to as many dog names as the party could think of.These were many, running from Towser to Nero, but they brought noresponse from the sleepy animal.
"Must be somep'n unusual," Buck Higgins decided, and he ventured on"Alphonse" and "Julius Caesar," but they didn't fit.
"Well, we jest nachally got t' give him a name," said Shorty Palmer.
Again the list was gone over, but nothing seemed quite right. "Oughta besomep'n' 'propriate," said Bill Jordan. "How 'bout Moses? He was lost inth' wilderness."
"Wilderness nothin'!" objected Buck. "In the bullrushes. Them ain'tprairie grass."
"Besides," said Whitey, "he ought to have a fighting name. Napoleon!"
"'Tain't English."
"Wellington."
"Too long."
As he seemed to have no choice in naming his own dog, Whitey turned indespair to Injun, who had stood solemnly by. "How about you?" Whiteyasked. "Haven't you a name to suggest?"
The dog knew that he was the subject of the talk, and possibly felt thathe ought to keep awake, for he sat on the veranda and blinked at thehumans. Injun gazed at him stolidly.
"Huh!" he grunted. "Sittin' Bull."
"Great!" cried all the others.
This matter settled, the men went away. Sitting Bull stretched himselfout on the veranda and again fell asleep, and Whitey told Injun that thedog's coming probably was a good omen. That there ought to be somethingdoing on the ranch now.
Injun and Whitey to the Rescue Page 2