The Dogs of Boytown

by Herbert Strang

  CHAPTER XVIII

  ON HULSE'S POND

  A week or so after the Massatucket Show, when Ernest Whipple's kennelpaper arrived, he and Jack scrutinized it eagerly for the account ofthe show. The man who reported it had a great deal to say, in more orless technical terms, about a good many of the dogs. He seemed topride himself on his ability to pick future winners and he was ratherfree with his predictions. Romulus he mentioned favorably in passing,referring to his enviable field-trial record. But to Remus he devotedan entire paragraph.

  "This dog," he wrote, "owned by Master Jack Whipple, is a twin brotherto the afore-mentioned Romulus. Barring a slight weakness in the loinsand a look of wispiness about the stern, he was set down in good shapeand easily defeated the other novices. He has the classic type ofLaverack head, and this had much to do with his being placed reserveto Ch. The Marquis in the winners class. He is a young dog, and withproper treatment he should figure in the primary contests of nextwinter. We predict a bright future on the bench for this Remus."

  Incidentally the boys were pleased to learn that Tippecanoe and TylerToo had won the prize for the best brace of beagles in the show,besides some individual honors, and they rejoiced for theirbright-faced little acquaintances of the baggage car.

  The triumph of Remus was not short-lived. The residents of Boytownlearned through the local papers what had happened, and began to lookwith a new interest upon these boys and their dogs as they passedalong the streets. Romulus came to be pointed out to strangers as acoming field-trial champion, and Remus as a famous bench-show winner.Such dogs were something for the citizens of any town to be proud of.And there were not a few persons who gained thereby a new interest indogs, to the lasting betterment of their characters.

  As the autumn days came on, Ernest began to feel the call of the woodsand fields, and begged to be allowed to have a gun and go hunting withSam Bumpus. He was now a tall, good-looking lad of fifteen, and hefelt himself quite old enough to become a hunter. Besides, what is theuse of owning a fine bird dog if you don't hunt with him?

  Mrs. Whipple strongly objected, for she was afraid of guns, and atlast a compromise was reached. Ernest was to be allowed to go huntingwith Sam provided he would not ask to own or use a gun until he wassixteen, and reluctantly he consented to this arrangement. Jack, whowas still only twelve, had not yet caught the hunting fever, and sincehe owned a dog that could not hunt anyway, he was content to remain athome, while Ernest spent his Saturdays afield with Sam.

  Sam Bumpus, during the past three years, had grown to be a less lonelyman. Through the boys he had made friends in town, and people began tolook upon him as less queer and to recognize his sterling virtues. Andall that made him happier.

  "It was a lucky day for me," he once said, "when I brought thosepuppies down in my pockets."

  "It was a luckier day for us," responded Ernest with warmth.

  Now, tramping together 'cross country with their dogs, they becameeven closer friends, and there was implanted in Ernest's character acertain honesty and a love of nature that never left him. And withal,it was great fun.

  Then came another winter, and one day, during the Christmas vacation,Mr. Hartshorn invited the whole crowd of boys up to his house to enjoyan indoor campfire. Mrs. Hartshorn, as usual, spread her table with awealth of good things to eat, and after the dinner they all gatheredin the big living-room, where huge logs were blazing and crackling inthe fireplace.

  "I only wish," said Ernest Whipple, "that there were more breeds ofdogs for you to tell us about, Mr. Hartshorn. I always enjoyed thosetalks so much."

  "Do you think you know all about all the breeds now?" asked Mr.Hartshorn, with a smile.

  "Well, no," confessed Ernest, "but I know something about them all,and I have one or two good books to refer to. I guess there's alwaysmore to be learned about everything."

  "That is true," said their host, "and fortunately there are alwaysgood things being written about dogs by men who know them. I never leta chance go by to add to my own fund of dog lore."

  Alfred Hammond and Horace Ames, who were home from college for theholidays, were present at the campfire, and Alfred was now loudlycalled upon for a dog story, Mr. Hartshorn insisting that he had toldevery one he knew. Finally Alfred acceded to the demand.

  "I ran across two anecdotes the other day which may fill the bill,"said he. "I think they are both about collies, but I am not sure. Thefirst is about a Scotchman and his dog Brutus. The Scotchman, havinggone far out of his way in a storm, stopped at a lonely house andasked for a shelter for the night. The owner of the house admitted himand showed him to a chamber, and the Scotchman, being very weary,prepared to go to bed.

  "Brutus, however, was not so readily satisfied with his strangesurroundings and proceeded to investigate. At length he returned tohis master and began tugging at the bedclothes. The Scotchman was atlast sufficiently aroused to follow the dog out of the room and downthe stairs, and Brutus led him to the door of a closed room andsniffed at it very cautiously. Light which made its way through thecracks indicated that the room was occupied. The Scotchman could findno hole to peep through, but much to his surprise he heard severalvoices, for he thought that he and his host were alone in the house.

  "He placed his ear to the door and heard enough to make him believethat his life was in danger. He was a brave man, and prompt actionseemed necessary. Suddenly he pushed open the door and rushed in,surprising half a dozen men. They reached for their weapons, but thetraveler was ready first. With his pistol he shot his host and crackedanother over the head. Brutus, meanwhile, attacked so vigorously andto such good purpose that the man and his dog were able to escapeuninjured. He afterwards learned that the house where he had soughthospitality was the resort of a gang of highwaymen.

  "The other story is rather tragic, but I guess I'll tell it, as it'sthe only one I have left. A traveling merchant in England was ridingalong on horseback, when he dropped a bag containing all his money. Hewas quite unconscious of his loss, but his dog had seen the bag fall.The dog began to run in front of the horse's head, barking, anddashing back along the road, but the merchant, who must have beenuncommonly stupid, I think, did not understand the meaning of hisstrange actions. The dog became more insistent, as the man urged hishorse ahead, barking in an unusual tone and snapping at the horse'sfeet.

  "The merchant, who apparently did not know dogs very well, began tofear that he was going mad. 'Mad dogs will not drink,' he reflected.'At the next ford I will watch, and if he does not drink I must shoothim.'

  "Of course, the dog was much too anxious and excited to drink at thenext ford, and his master shot him. After riding on a little way theman began to be troubled with doubts and misgivings, and he turned hishorse about. When he reached the ford again, the dog was not there,but the man traced him back along the road by the marks of his blood.

  "The merchant found his dog at last, lying beside the money-bag,protecting his master's property with his last gasp. Remorsefully themerchant stooped down and begged the dog's forgiveness. The faithfulanimal licked his hand and looked up at him with eyes that seemed tosay, 'It's all right, my master. You didn't understand.'"

  No more stories being forthcoming, the talk soon drifted to otherthings. The boys vied with one another in telling of instances whichillustrated the superior courage, intelligence, and faithfulness oftheir own dogs, and then fell into reminiscence. They talked of theawakening of interest in the dogs of Boytown and what it had meant toeach of them, of the activities of the Boytown Humane Society, of theBoytown Dog Show in Morton's barn, of the days at Camp Britches andthe death of beloved Rags, of the Eastern Connecticut field trials andthe winning of Romulus, of the Massatucket Dog Show and the triumph ofRemus, and of all the good times the boys and their dogs had hadtogether. They quoted Sam Bumpus's quaint sayings and Tom Poultice'sgood advice about the care of dogs, and they told dog stories thatthey had read.

  "I don't see how anybody can help loving dogs," said Elliot Garfield.

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p; "There are men who hate them, though," said Mr. Hartshorn. "Americansheep growers, for example, are bitterly opposed to dogs, and many ofthem would like to see the canine race annihilated. And it must beadmitted that the dog forms the greatest obstacle in the path ofincreasing the important sheep-raising industry in the United States.Dogs do kill sheep, and there's no denying it."

  "I thought there were laws to protect the sheep," said Ernest Whipple.

  "There are," said Mr. Hartshorn. "Some of them are good and some ofthem are bad. Some of them place it in the sheep man's power to takethe law into his own hands and act as judge, jury, and executioner onthe spot, which of course is all wrong. But unfortunately the best ofthe laws do not protect the sheep. The state may pay damages, but thatdoes not restore the slain sheep."

  "I don't see what can be done, then," said Theron Hammond, dolefully.

  "For one thing," said Mr. Hartshorn, "more study should be put onthese laws before they are passed. They should not be drawn up byeither partisans of the dog or of the sheep. They should aim toeliminate ownerless dogs and to make all owners responsible for theacts of their dogs. On the other hand, the sheep owners should not beallowed to collect damages unless they can show that they have takendue precautions on their own part, such as the erection of dog-tightfences. A man has to keep up his fences to keep his neighbor's cowsout of his corn, or he has no redress. Why shouldn't a sheep owner becompelled to do likewise? But the real cure for the menace of thesheep-killing dog is more dog. The American sheep men don't seem tohave learned the lesson that the past has tried to teach them. Forcenturies the trained shepherd dog has been the protection of theflock in all sheep-raising countries, and is so to-day in GreatBritain, Europe, and Australia. I don't believe there are a dozenfirst-class trained shepherd dogs in this country, except in the FarWest. In Scotland there are more dogs to the square mile than thereare in the United States, yet the Scotch don't try to legislate thedog out of existence. The Scotch shepherd never thinks of taking outhis flock without his trained collie, and the result is that few sheepare killed either by stray dogs or wild animals. When the Americansheep growers learn their lesson from the shepherds of othercountries, overcome their prejudice against the dog, and adopt themethod that has been successfully employed for centuries in othercountries, they will solve this problem, and not until then. I hope tosee the day come when the sheep man is numbered among the dog's bestfriends here as he is in Scotland."

  A lively discussion followed, and then, still talking dogs, the boystrudged home in the moonlight, over the crisp snow.

  A few days later the whole crowd was out skating on Hulse's Pond. Aweek of clear, cold weather following a thaw had made ideal skating,and Boytown was making the most of it. There were a number of youngmen and girls out and a few older devotees of the sport, but the boysand their dogs had full possession of one end of the pond. Here a gameof hockey was in progress, which was somewhat interfered with by theactivities of Tatters, who had grown into a fine, lively, sport-lovingdog. He seemed to think the game was arranged for his special benefit,and he chased the puck to and fro across the ice wherever it went.Another general favorite was Rover, who never tired of racing with theskaters and particularly enjoyed pulling the younger children about ontheir sleds. These small children had another name for him--SantaClaus--and he indeed looked the part. Others of the dogs were enjoyingthe sport, too, though Romulus and Remus showed a tendency to leavethe ice and go scouting off on imaginary trails in the neighborhood.

  Suddenly, while the fun was at its height, a sharp cry arose from theupper end of the pond where the brook ran in. It was different fromthe other shouts and cries that rang out over the ice; there wasterror in it. The loud, insistent barking of Tatters immediatelyfollowed.

  The hockey game was interrupted, and everyone looked toward that endof the pond to see what could be the matter. Tatters was runningexcitedly about the edge of a hole where the ice had broken in, and inthe black water appeared the head and shoulders of little EddieGreene, who had ventured too near a dangerous spot and had brokenthrough the thin ice.

  The sounds of merrymaking suddenly ceased, and there was a generalrush in that direction. The bigger boys threw themselves flat on theice and tried to reach out to Eddie with their hands, but the icecracked alarmingly beneath the weight of so many of them, and theydared not approach too close.

  "Get back, boys, get back!" cried Theron Hammond, who was always aleader. "Get back, or we'll all go in."

  They saw that such a catastrophe would only make bad matters worse andobeyed the command. Only Theron and Harry Barton remained to try toreach the frightened little fellow, and they could not get near him.

  The water was deep, and Eddie was struggling wildly to keep from goingunder the ice, which broke off wherever he grasped it.

  "Keep calm, Eddie," called Theron, but Eddie was terrified and couldnot keep calm. His head went under once, and he seemed to beweakening. Meanwhile Ernest Whipple and one or two of the others hadkicked off their skates and had run off in search of boards or fencerails to throw across the hole, but there seemed to be none near byand help was a long time coming. It began to look as though they wouldbe too late.

  It was a tense moment. Some of the little girls had begun to cry, andthere was one young lady who gave way to hysterics. No one seemed toknow what to do. It was awful to stand there and watch the littlefellow drown before their eyes.

  Then there came a sudden rush and a plunge and the black and whitehead of Remus appeared beside that of the drowning boy. Though anaristocrat of the bench show, this good dog had a brain that workedquickly and a heart that knew no fear.

  It was a good thing that Remus had learned to be such a good swimmerin days gone by; he had need of all his strength and skill now. Heseized the boy's collar in his teeth and struggled to drag him out.But it could not be done. The ice broke repeatedly under the dog'spaws, and it was all he could do to keep the boy's head and his ownabove water. He could only struggle bravely and cast imploring lookstoward the helpless humans. The water was ice-cold, of course, and itsapped the good dog's strength. His efforts weakened and he tried nomore to climb out, but he never relaxed his hold. He would have gonedown to his death with the boy before he would have done that.

  Both heads went below the surface and came up again, and the dogged,imploring look deepened in Remus's eyes. Jack Whipple called words ofencouragement, and it was pitiful to watch the noble dog's efforts torespond. It was wonderful the way he held out, and in the end he won.When it seemed as though the last atom of his strength must have beenspent, Ernest Whipple came running up with a plank which he threwacross the hole. Remus rested his paws on this and so was able to keepfrom going under, but he had no strength left to drag himself and theboy out. Eddie was now unconscious, and could not help himself. ThenElliot Garfield and two other boys arrived with boards and fencerails, and with these they built a sort of bridge across the dangerousgap. Theron crawled cautiously out upon this, with Harry Bartonholding to his feet. He grasped Remus's collar, and with Harry's helpdragged the boy and the dog to firm ice.

  Eddie was seized in friendly arms and was rubbed and rolled until herevived. Remus fell, faint and trembling, to the ice, and JackWhipple, unconscious of his own sobs, gathered the heroic dog to hisbreast.