BILLY TOPSAIL & COMPANY
CHAPTER I
_In Which Jimmie Grimm, Not Being Able to Help It, Is Born At Buccaneer Cove, Much to His Surprise, and Tog, the Wolf-Dog, Feels the Lash of a Seal-hide Whip and Conceives an Enmity_
Young Jimmie Grimm began life at Buccaneer Cove of the Labrador. Itwas a poor place to begin, of course; but Jimmie had had nothing to dowith that. It was by Tog, with the eager help of two hungry graywolves, that he was taught to take care of the life into which, muchto his surprise, he had been ushered. Tog was a dog with a bad name;and everybody knows that a dog with a bad name should be hangedforthwith. It should have happened to Tog. At best he was a wolfishbeast. His father was a wolf; and in the end Tog was as lean andsavage and cunningly treacherous as any wolf of the gray forest packs.When he had done with Jimmie Grimm--and when Jimmie Grimm's father haddone with Tog--Jimmie Grimm had learned a lesson that he never couldrecall without a gasp and a quick little shudder.
"I jus' don't like t' think o' Tog," he told Billy Topsail and ArchieArmstrong, long afterwards.
"You weren't _afraid_ of him, were you?" Archie Armstrong demanded, abit scornfully.
"_Was_ I?" Jimmie snorted. "Huh!"
The business with Tog happened before old Jim Grimm moved south toRuddy Cove of the Newfoundland coast, disgusted with the fishing ofBuccaneer. It was before Jimmie Grimm had fallen in with Billy Topsailand Donald North, before he had ever clapped eyes on Bagg, the Londongutter-snipe, or had bashfully pawed the gloved hand of ArchieArmstrong, Sir Archibald's son. It was before Donald North curedhimself of fear and the _First Venture_ had broken into a blaze in agale of wind off the Chunks. It was before Billy Topsail, a lad ofwits, had held a candle over the powder barrel, when the wreckersboarded the _Spot Cash_. It was before Bill o' Burnt Bay had beenrescued from a Miquelon jail and the _Heavenly Home_ was cut out ofSt. Pierre Harbour in the foggy night.
It was also before the _Spot Cash_ had fallen foul of the plot toscuttle the _Black Eagle_. It was before the big gale and all theadventures of that northward trading voyage. In short, it was beforeJim Grimm moved up from the Labrador to Ruddy Cove for betterfishing.
* * * * *
Tog had a bad name. On the Labrador coast all dogs have bad names;nor, if the truth must be told, does the reputation do them anyinjustice. If evil communications corrupt good manners, the desperatecharacter of Tog's deeds, no less than the tragic manner of his end,may be accounted for. At any rate, long before his abrupt departurefrom the wilderness trails and snow-covered rock of Buccaneer Cove, hehad earned the worst reputation of all the pack.
It began in the beginning. When Tog was eight weeks old his end wasforeseen. He was then little more than a soft, fluffy, black-and-whiteball, awkwardly perambulating on four absurdly bowed legs. Martha, JimGrimm's wife, one day cast the lean scraps of the midday meal to thepack. What came to pass so amazed old Jim Grimm that he dropped hissplitting-knife and stared agape.
"An' would you look at that little beast!" he gasped. "That one's awonder for badness!"
The snarling, scrambling heap of dogs, apparently inextricablyentangled, had all at once been reduced to order. Instead of aconfusion of taut legs and teeth and bristling hair, there was aprecise half-circle of gaunt beasts, squatted at a respectful distancefrom Tog's mother, hopelessly licking their chops, while, with hair onend and fangs exposed and dripping, she kept them off.
"It ain't Jinny," Jim remarked. "You can't blame she. It's that littlepup with the black eye."
You couldn't blame Jenny. Last of all would it occur to Martha Grimm,with a child of her own to rear, to call her in the wrong. With alitter of five hearty pups to provide for, Jenny was animated by aholy maternal instinct. But Tog, which was the one with the black eye,was not to be justified. He was imitating his mother's tactics withdiabolical success. A half-circle of whimpering puppies, keeping arespectful distance, watched in grieved surprise, while, with hair onend and tiny fangs occasionally exposed, he devoured the scraps of themidday meal.
"A wonder for badness!" Jim Grimm repeated.
"'Give a dog a bad name,'" quoted Martha, quick, like the woman shewas, to resent snap-judgment of the young, "'an'----'"
"'Hang un,'" Jim concluded. "Well," he added, "I wouldn't be s'prisedif it _did_ come t' that."
It did.
* * * * *
In Tog's eyes there was never the light of love and humour--no amiablejollity. He would come fawning, industriously wagging his hinderparts, like puppies of more favoured degree; but all the while hisblack eyes were alert, hard, infinitely suspicious and avaricious. Notonce, I am sure, did affection or gratitude lend them beauty. Abeautiful pup he was, nevertheless--fat and white, awkwardly big, hisbody promising splendid strength. Even when he made war on thefleas--and he waged it unceasingly--the vigour and skill of attack,the originality of method, gave him a certain distinction. But hiseyes were never well disposed; the pup was neither trustful nor to betrusted.
"If he lives t' the age o' three," said Jim Grimm, with a pessimisticwag of the head, "'twill be more by luck than good conduct."
"Ah, dad," said Jimmie Grimm, "you jus' leave un t' me!"
"Well, Jimmie," drawled Jim Grimm, "it might teach you more about dogsthan you know. I don't mind if I _do_ leave un t' you--for a while."
"Hut!" Jimmie boasted. "_I'll_ master un."
"May _be_," said Jim Grimm.
It was Jimmie Grimm who first put Tog in the traces. This was in theearly days of Tog's first winter--and of Jimmie's seventh. The dog wasa lusty youngster then; better nourished than the other dogs of JimGrimm's pack, no more because of greater strength and daring than amarvellous versatility in thievery. In a bored sort of way, being atthe moment lazy with food stolen from Sam Butt's stage, Tog submitted.He yawned, stretched his long legs, and gave inopportune attention toa persistent flea near the small of his back. When, however, the buttof Jimmie's whip fell smartly on his flank, he was surprised into anappreciation of the fact that a serious attempt was being made tocurtail his freedom; and he was at once alive with resentful protest.
_Courtesy of "The Outing Magazine"_TOG THAWED INTO LIMP AND SERVILE AMIABILITY.]
"Hi, Tog!" Jimmie complained. "Bide still!"
Tog slipped from Jimmie's grasp and bounded off. He turned with asnarl.
"Here, Tog!" cried Jimmie.
Tog came--stepping warily over the snow. His head was low, hisking-hairs bristling, his upper lip lifted.
"Ha, Tog, b'y!" said Jimmie, ingratiatingly.
Tog thawed into limp and servile amiability. The long, wiry white hairof his neck fell flat; he wagged his bushy white tail; he pawed thesnow and playfully tossed his long, pointed nose as he crept near. Buthad Jimmie Grimm been more observant, more knowing, he would haveperceived that the light in the lanky pup's eyes had not mellowed.
"Good dog!" crooned Jimmie, stretching out an affectionate hand.
Vanished, then, in a flash, every symptom of Tog's righteousness. Hislong teeth closed on Jimmie's small hand with a snap. Jimmie struckinstantly--and struck hard. The butt of the whip caught Tog on thenose. He dropped the hand and leaped away with a yelp.
"Now, me b'y," thought Jimmie Grimm, staring into the quivering dog'seyes, not daring to glance at his own dripping hand, "I'll master_you_!"
But it was no longer a question of mastery. The issue was life ordeath. Tog was now of an age to conceive murder. Moreover, he was of asize to justify an attempt upon Jimmie. And murder was in his heart.He crouched, quivering, his wolfish eyes fixed upon the boy's blazingblue ones. For a moment neither antagonist ventured attack. Bothwaited.
It was Jimmie who lost patience. He swung his long dog whip. The lashcracked in Tog's face. With a low growl, the dog rushed, and beforethe boy could evade the attack, the dog had him by the leg. Down camethe butt of the whip. Tog released his hold and leaped out of reach.He pawed about, snarling,
shaking his bruised head.
This advantage the boy sought to pursue. He advanced--alert, cool,ready to strike. Tog retreated. Jimmie rushed upon him. At a bound,Tog passed, turned, and came again. Before Jimmie had well faced him,Tog had leaped for his throat. Down went the boy, overborne by thedog's weight, and by the impact, which he was not prepared towithstand. But Tog was yet a puppy, unpracticed in fight; he hadmissed the grip. And a heavy stick, in the hands of Jimmie's father,falling mercilessly upon him, put him in yelping retreat.
"I 'low, Jimmie," drawled Jim Grimm, while he helped the boy to hisfeet, "that that dog _is_ teachin' you more 'n you knowed."
"I 'low, dad," replied the breathless Jimmie, "that he teached menothin' more than I forgot."
"I wouldn't forget again," said Jim.
Jimmie did not deign to reply.