CHAPTER VI. The Tracker
The child's parents were going to Europe for three months, that winter.The child himself was getting over a nervous ailment. The doctors hadadvised he be kept out of school for a term; and be sent to the country.
His mother was afraid the constant travel from place to place, inEurope, might be too much for him. So she asked leave of the Mistressand the Master,--one of whom was her distant relative,--for theconvalescent to stay at the Place during his parents' absence.
That was how it all started.
The youngster was eleven years old; lank and gangling, and blest with afretful voice and with far less discipline and manners than athree-month collie pup. His name was Cyril. Briefly, he was a pest,--anunspeakable pest.
For the first day or two at the Place, the newness of his surroundingskept Cyril more or less in bounds. Then, as homesickness and noveltyalike wore off, his adventurous soul expanded.
He was very much at home; far more so than were his hosts, andinfinitely more pleased than they with the situation in general. He hadan infinite genius for getting into trouble. Not in the delightfullynormal fashion of the average growing boy; but in furtively crafty waysthat did not belong to healthy childhood.
Day by day, Cyril impressed his odd personality more and more oneverything around him. The atmosphere of sweet peace which had brooded,like a blessing, over the whole Place, was dispersed.
The cook,--a marvel of culinary skill and of long service, gave tearfulwarning, and departed. This when she found the insides of all hercooking utensils neatly soaped; and the sheaf of home-letters in herwork-box replaced by cigar-coupons.
One of the workmen threw over his job with noisy blasphemy; when hisroom above the stables was invaded by stealth and a comic-paper pictureof a goat's head substituted for his dead mother's photograph in thewell-polished little bronze frame on his bureau.
And so on, all along the line.
The worst and most continuous sufferer from Cyril's loathed presence onthe Place was the massive collie, Lad.
The child learned, on the first day of his visit, that it would bewell-nigh as safe to play with a handful of dynamite as with Lad'sgold-and-white mate, Lady. Lady did not care for liberties from anyone.And she took no pains to mask her snappish first-sight aversion to thelanky Cyril. Her fiery little son, Wolf, was scarce less formidablethan she, when it came to being teased by an outsider. But gallant oldLad was safe game.
He was safe game for Cyril, because Lad's mighty heart and soul weremiles above the possibility of resenting anything from so pitifullyweak and defenseless a creature as this child. He seemed to realize, ata glance, that Cyril was an invalid and helpless and at a physicaldisadvantage. And, as ever toward the feeble, his big nature went outin friendly protection to this gangling wisp of impishness.
Which was all the good it did him.
In fact, it laid the huge collie open to an endless succession oftorment. For the dog's size and patience seemed to awaken every atom ofbullying cruelty in the small visitor's nature.
Cyril, from the hour of his arrival, found acute bliss in making Lad'slife a horror. His initial step was to respond effusively to thecollie's welcoming advances; so long as the Mistress and the Masterchanced to be in the room. As they passed out, the Mistress chanced tolook back.
She saw Cyril pull a bit of cake from his pocket and, with his lefthand, proffer it to Lad. The tawny dog stepped courteously forward toaccept the gift. As his teeth were about to close daintily on the cake,Cyril whipped it back out of reach; and with his other hand rapped Ladsmartly across the nose.
Had any grown man ventured a humiliating and painful trick of that sorton Lad, the collie would have been at the tormentor's throat, on theinstant. But it was not in the great dog's nature to attack a child.Shrinking back, in amaze, his abnormally sensitive feelings jarred, thecollie retreated majestically to his beloved "cave" under themusic-room piano.
To the Mistress's remonstrance, Cyril denied most earnestly that he haddone the thing. Nor was his vehemently tearful denial shaken by herassertion that she had seen it all.
Lad soon forgave the affront. And he forgave a dozen other and worsemal-treatments which followed. But, at last, the dog took to shunningthe neighborhood of the pest. That availed him nothing; except to makeCyril seek him out in whatsoever refuge the dog had chosen.
Lad, trotting hungrily to his dinner dish, would find his foodthick-strewn with cayenne pepper or else soaked in reeking gasoline.
Lad, seeking peace and solitude in his piano cave, would discover hisrug, there, cleverly scattered with carpet tacks, points upward.
Lad, starting up from a snooze at the Mistress's call, would be deftlytripped as he started to bound down the veranda steps, and would riskbruises and fractures by an ugly fall to the driveway below.
Wherever Lad went, whatever Lad did, there was a cruel trick awaitinghim. And, in time, the dog's dark eyes took on an expression of puzzledunhappiness that went straight to the hearts of the two humans wholoved him.
All his life, Lad had been a privileged character on the Place. Neverhad he known nor needed whip or chain. Never had he,--or any of thePlace's other dogs,--been wantonly teased by any human. He had known,and had given, only love and square treatment and stanch friendliness.He had ruled as benevolent monarch of the Place's Little People; hadgiven loyal service to his two deities, the Mistress and the Master;and had stood courteously aloof from the rest of mankind. And he hadbeen very, very happy.
Now, in a breath, all this was changed. Ever at his heels, ever waitingto find some new way to pester him, was a human too small and too weakto attack;--a human who was forever setting the collie's high-strungnerves on edge or else actively hurting him. Lad could not understandit. And as the child gained in health and strength, Lad's lot grewincreasingly miserable.
The Mistress and the Master were keenly aware of conditions. And theydid their best,--a useless best,--to mitigate them for the dog. Theylabored over Cyril, to make him leave Lad alone. They pointed out tohim the mean cowardice of his course of torture. They even threatenedto send him to nearer relatives until his parents' return. All in vain.Faced with the most undeniable proofs, the child invariably would lie.He denied that he had ever ill-used Lad in any way; and would weep, inrighteous indignation, at the charges. What was to be done?
"I thought it would brighten up the house so, to have a child in itagain!" sighed the Mistress as she and her husband discussed thematter, uselessly, for the fiftieth time, after one of these scenes. "Ilooked forward so much to his coming here! But he's--oh, he isn't likeany child I ever heard of before!"
"If I could devote five busy minutes a day to him," grunted the Master,"with an axe-handle or perhaps a bale-stick--"
"You wouldn't do it!" denied his wife. "You wouldn't harm him; any morethan Lad does. That's the trouble. If Cyril belonged to us, we couldpunish him. Not with a--a balestick, of course. But he needs a goodwholesome spanking, more than anyone else I can think of. That or someother kind of punishment that would make an impression on him. But whatcan we do? He isn't ours--"
"Thank God!" interpolated the Master, piously.
"And we can't punish other people's child," she finished. "I don't knowwhat we CAN do. I wouldn't mind half so much about the other sneakythings he does; if it wasn't for the way he treats Laddie. I--"
"Suppose we send Lad to the boarding kennels, at Ridgewood, till thebrat is gone?" suggested the Master. "I hate to do it. And the good oldchap will be blue with homesickness there. But at least he'll get kindtreatment. When he comes over to me and looks up into my eyes in thatterribly appealing way, after Cyril has done some rotten thing tohim,--well, I feel like a cur, not to be able to justify his faith thatI can make things all right for him. Yes, I think I'll send him to theboarding kennels. And, if it weren't for leaving you alone to facethings here, I'd be tempted to hire a stall at the kennels for myself,till the pest is gone."
The next day, came a ray of light in the
bothered gloom. And thequestion of the boarding kennels was dropped. The Mistress received aletter from Cyril's mother. The European trip had been cut short, forbusiness reasons; and the two travelers expected to land in New York onthe following Friday.
"Who dares say Friday is an unlucky day?" chortled the Master in glee,as his wife reached this stage of the letter.
"And," the Mistress read on, "we will come out to the Place, on thenoon train; and take darling Cyril away with us. I wish we could staylonger with you; but Henry must be in Chicago on Saturday night. So wemust catch a late afternoon train back to town, and take the nighttrain West. Now, I--"
"Most letters are a bore," interpolated the Master. "Or else they're abother. But this one is a pure rapture. Read it more slowly, won't,you, dear? I want to wallow in every blessed word of hope it contains.Go ahead. I'm sorry I interrupted. Read on. You'll never have suchanother enthusiastic audience."
"And now," the Mistress continued her reading, "I am going to ask bothof you not to say a single word to precious Cyril about our coming homeso soon. We want to surprise him. Oh, to think what his lovely facewill be like, when he sees us walking in!"
"And to think what MY lovely face will be like, when I see him walkingout!" exulted the Master. "Laddie, come over here. We've got thegorgeousest news ever! Come over and be glad!"
Lad, at the summons, came trotting out of his cave, and across theroom. Like every good dog who has been much talked to, he was as adeptas any dead-beat in reading the varying shades of the human voice. Thevoices and faces alike of his two adored deities told him somethingwonderful had happened. And, as ever, he rejoiced in their gladness.Lifting his magnificent head, he broke into a salvo of trumpetingbarks; the oddly triumphant form of racket he reserved for greatmoments.
"What's Laddie doing?" asked Cyril, from the threshold. "He sounds asif he was going mad or something."
"He's happy," answered the Mistress.
"Why's he happy?" queried the child.
"Because his Master and I are happy," patiently returned the Mistress.
"Why are YOU happy?" insisted Cyril.
"Because today is Thursday," put in the Master. "And that meanstomorrow will be Friday."
"And on Friday," added the Mistress, "there's going to be a beautifulsurprise for you, Cyril. We can't tell you what it is, but--"
"Why can't you tell me?" urged the child. "Aw, go ahead and tell me! Ithink you might."
The Master had gone over to the nearest window; and was staring outinto the gray-black dusk. Mid-winter gripped the dead world; and thetwilight air was deathly chill. The tall naked treetops stood gaunt andwraithlike against a leaden sky.
To the north, the darkness was deepest. Evil little puffs of galestirred the powdery snow into myriads of tiny dancing white devils. Ithad been a fearful winter, thus far; colder than for a score of years;so cold that many a wild woodland creature, which usually kept far backin the mountains, had ventured down nearer to civilization for forageand warmth.
Deer tracks a-plenty had been seen, close up to the gates of the Place.And, two days ago, in the forest, half a mile away, the Master had comeupon the half-human footprints of a young bear. Starvation stalkedabroad, yonder in the white hills. And need for provender had begun towax stronger among the folk of the wilderness than their inborn dreadof humans.
"There's a big snowstorm coming up," ruminated the Master, as hescanned the grim weather-signs. "A blizzard, perhaps. I--I hope itwon't delay any incoming steamers. I hope at least one of them willdock on schedule. It--"
He turned back from his musings, aware for the first time that a rightsprightly dialogue was going on. Cyril was demanding for the eighthtime:
"WHY won't you tell me? Aw, I think you might! What's going to happenthat's so nice, Friday?"
"Wait till Friday and see," laughed the Mistress.
"Shucks!" he snorted. "You might tell me, now. I don't want to wait andget s'prised. I want to know, NOW. Tell me!"
Under her tolerant smile, the youngster's voice scaled to an impatientwhine. He was beginning to grow red.
"Let it go at that!" ordained the Master. "Don't spoil your own fun, bytrying to find out, beforehand. Be a good sportsman."
"Fun!" snarled Cyril. "What's the fun of secrets? I want to know--"
"It's snowing," observed the Mistress, as a handful of flakes began todrift past the windows, tossed along on a puff of wind.
"I want to KNOW!" half-wept the child; angry at the change of subject,and noting that the Mistress was moving toward the next room, with Ladat her heels. "Come back and tell me!"
He stamped after her to bar her way. Lad was between the irate Cyriland the Mistress. In babyish rage at the dog's placid presence in hispath, he drew back one ungainly foot and kicked the astonished colliein the ribs.
At the outrage, Lad spun about, a growl in his throat. But he forboreto bite or even to show his teeth. The growl had been of indignantprotest at such unheard-of treatment; not a menace. Then the dogstalked haughtily to his cave, and lay down there.
But the human witnesses to the scene were less forbearing;--being onlyhumans. The Mistress cried out, in sharp protest at the little brute'saction. And the Master leaned forward, swinging Cyril clear of theground. Holding the child firmly, but with no roughness, the Mastersteadied his own voice as best he could; and said:--
"This time you've not even bothered to wait till our backs were turned.So don't waste breath by crying and saying you didn't do it. You're notmy child; so I have no right to punish you. And I'm not going to. But Iwant you to know you've just kicked something that's worth fifty ofyou."
"You let me down!" Cyril snarled.
"Lad is too white and clean and square to hurt anything that can't hitback," continued the Master. "And you are not. That's the differencebetween you. One of the several million differences,--all of them inLad's favor. When a child begins life by being cruel to dumb animals,it's a pretty bad sign for the way he's due to treat his fellow-humansin later years,--if ever any of them are at his mercy. For your ownsake, learn to behave at least as decently as a dog. If--"
"You let me down, you big bully!" squalled Cyril, bellowing withimpotent fury. "You let me down! I--"
"Certainly," assented the Master, lowering him to the floor. "I didn'thurt you. I only held you so you couldn't run out of the room, beforeI'd finished speaking; as you did, the time I caught you putting redpepper on Lad's food. He--"
"You wouldn't dare touch me, if my folks were here, you big bully!"screeched the child, in a veritable mania of rage; jumping up and downand actually foaming at the mouth. "But I'll tell 'em on you! See if Idon't! I'll tell 'em how you slung me around and said I was worsen adirty dog like Lad. And Daddy'll lick you for it. See if he don't! He--"
The Master could not choke back a laugh; though the poor Mistresslooked horribly distressed at the maniac outburst, and strovesoothingly to check it. She, like the Master, remembered now thatCyril's doting mother had spoken of the child's occasional fits of redwrath. But this was the first glimpse either of them had had of these.Hitherto, craft had served Cyril's turn better than fury.
At sound of the Master's unintentional laugh the unfortunate child wentquite beside himself in his transport of rage.
"I won't stay in your nasty old house!" he shrieked. "I'm going to thevery first house I can find. And I'm going to tell 'em how you hammereda little feller that hasn't any folks here to stick up for him. AndI'll get 'em to take me in and send a tel'gram to Daddy and Mother tocome save me. I--"
To the astonishment of both his hearers, Cyril broke off chokingly inhis yelled tirade; caught up a bibelot from the table, hurled it withall his puny force at Lad, the innocent cause of the fracas; and thenrushed from the room and from the house.
The Mistress stared after him, dumfounded; his howls and the jarringslam of the house door echoing direfully in her ears. It was the Masterwho ended the instant's hush of amaze.
"Whenever I've heard a grown man say he wishe
d he was a boy again," hemused, "I always set him down for a liar. But, for once in my life, Ihonestly wish I was a boy, once more. A boy one day younger and oneinch shorter and one pound lighter than Cyril. I'd follow him out ofdoors, yonder, and give him the thrashing of his sweet young life.I'd--"
"Oh, do call him back!" begged the Mistress. "He'll catch his death ofcold, and--"
"Why will he?" challenged the Master, without stirring. "For all hisnoble rage, I noticed he took thought to grab up his cap and hisovercoat from the hall, as he wafted himself away. And he still had hisarctics on, from this afternoon. He won't--"
"But suppose he should really go over to one of the neighbors," urgedthe Mistress, "and tell such an awful story as he threatened to? Orsuppose--"
"Not a chance!" the Master reassured her. "Now that the summer peopleare away, there isn't an occupied house within half a mile of here. Andhe's not going to trudge a half-mile through the snow, in this bittercold, for the joy of telling lies. No, he's down at the stables or elsehe's sneaked in through the kitchen; the way he did that other timewhen he made a grandstand exit after I'd ventured to lecture him on hisgeneral rottenness. Remember how worried about him you were, that time;till we found him sitting in the kitchen and pestering the maids? He--"
"But that time, he was only sulky," said the Mistress. "Not insanelyangry, as he is now. I do hope--"
"Stop worrying!" adjured the Master. "He's all right."
Which proved, for perhaps the trillionth time in history, that awoman's intuitions are better worth following than a man's saner logic.For Cyril was not all right. And, at every passing minute he was lessand less all right; until presently he was all wrong.
For the best part of an hour, in pursuance of her husband's counsel,the Mistress sat and waited for the prodigal's return. Then,surreptitiously, she made a round of the house; sent a man to ransackthe stables, telephoned to the gate lodge, and finally came into theMaster's study, big-eyed and pale.
"He isn't anywhere around," she reported, frightened. "It's dinnertime. He's been gone in hour. Nobody's seen him. He isn't on the Place.Oh, I wonder if--"
"H'm!" grumbled her husband. "He's engineering an endurance contest,eh? Well, if he can stand it, we can."
But at sight of the deepening trouble in his wife's face, he got upfrom his desk. Going out into the hall, he summoned Lad.
"We might shout our heads off," he said, "and he'd never answer; ifhe's really trying to scare us. That's part of his lovable nature.There's just one way to track him, in double time. LAD!"
The Master had been drawing on his mackinaw and hipboots as he spoke.Now he opened the front door.
"Laddie!" he said, very slowly and incisively to the expectantly eagercollie. "Cyril! Find CYRIL! FIND him!"
To the super-wise collie, there was nothing confusing in the command.Like many another good dog, he knew the humans of the household bytheir names; as well as did any fellow-human. And he knew from longexperience the meaning of the word, "Find!"
Countless times that word had been used in games and in earnest. Itssignificance, now, was perfectly plain to him. The Master wanted him tohunt for the obnoxious child who so loved to annoy and hurt him.
Lad would rather have found anyone else, at the Master's behest. But itdid not occur to the trained collie to disobey. With a visiblediminishing of his first eager excitement, but with submissive haste,the big dog stepped out on to the veranda and began to cast about inthe drifts at the porch edge.
Immediately, he struck Cyril's shuffling trail. And, immediately, hetrotted off along the course.
The task was less simple than ordinarily. For, the snow was coming downin hard-driven sheets; blotting out scent almost as effectively assight. But not for naught had a thousand generations of Lad'sthoroughbred ancestors traced lost sheep through snowstorms on theScottish moors. To their grand descendant they had transmitted theirweird trailing power, to the full. And the scent of Cyril, though faintand fainter, and smothered under swirling snow, was not too dim forLad's sensitive nostrils to catch and hold it.
The Master lumbered along, through the rising drifts, as fast as hecould. But the way was rough and the night was as black dark as it wascold. In a few rods, the dog had far outdistanced him. And, knowing howhard must be the trail to follow by sense of smell, he forbore to callback the questing collie, lest Lad lose the clew altogether. He knewthe dog was certain to bark the tidings when he should come up with thefugitive.
The Master by this time began to share his wife's worry. For the trailLad was following led out of the grounds and across the highway, towardthe forest.
The newborn snowstorm was developing into a very promising littleblizzard. And the icy lash of the wind proved the fallacy of the oldtheory, "too cold to snow." Even by daylight it would have been nolight task to steer a true course through the whirling and blindingstorm. In the darkness, the man found himself stumbling along withdrunkenly zigzag steps; his buffeted ears strained, through the noiseof the wind for sound of Lad's bark.
But no such sound came to him. And, he realized that snow and adversewinds can sometimes muffle even the penetrating bark of a collie. Theman grew frightened. Halting, he shouted with all the power of hislungs. No whimper from Cyril answered the hail. Nor, at his master'ssummons, did Lad come bounding back through the drifts. Again andagain, the Master called.
For the first time in his obedient life, Lad did not respond to thecall. And the Master knew his own voice could not carry, for a singlefurlong, against wind and snowfall.
"I'll go on for another half-hour," he told himself, as he sought todiscern the dog's all-but obliterated footsteps through the deepeningsnow. "And then I'll go back and raise a search party."
He came to a bewildered stop. Fainter and more indistinguishable hadLad's floundering tracks become. Now,--by dint of distance andsnow,--they ceased to be visible in the welter of drifted whitenessunder the glare of the Master's flashlight.
"This means a search-party," decided the man.
And he turned homeward, to telephone for a posse of neighbors.
Lad, being only a dog, had no such way of sharing his burden. He hadbeen told to find the child. And his simple code of life and of actionleft him no outlet from doing his duty; be that duty irksome or easy.So he kept on. Far ahead of the Master, his keen ears had not caughtthe sound of the shouts. The gale and the snow muffled them and drovethem back into the shouter's throat. Cyril, naturally, had not had theremotest intent of laboring through the bitter cold and the snow to thehouse of any neighbor; there to tell his woeful tale of oppression. Thesemblance of martyrdom, without its bothersome actuality, was quiteenough for his purpose. Once before, at home, when his father hadadministered a mild and much-needed spanking, Cyril had made a likethreat; and had then gone to hide in a chum's home, for half a day;returning to find his parents in agonies of remorse and fear, and readyto load him with peace-offerings. The child saw no reason why the sametactics should not serve every bit as triumphantly, in the present case.
He knew the maids were in the kitchen and at least one man was in thestables. He did not want his whereabouts to be discovered before heshould have been able to raise a healthy and dividend-bringing crop ofremorse in the hearts of the Mistress and the Master, so he resolved togo farther afield.
In the back of the meadow, across the road, and on the hither side ofthe forest, was a disused cattle-barrack, with two stalls under itsroof-pile of hay. The barrack was one of Cyril's favorite playhouses.It was dry and tight. Through his thick clothing he was not likely tobe very cold, there, for an hour or two. He could snuggle down in thewarm hay and play Indians, with considerable comfort; until such timeas the fright and penitence of his hosts should have come to a climaxand make his return an ovation.
Meanwhile, it would be fun to picture their uneasiness and fear for hissafety; and to visualize their journeyings through the snow to thehouses of various neighbors, in search of the lost child.
Buoyed up by such happy thought
s as these, Cyril struck out at a livelypace for the highroad and into the field beyond. The barrack, he knew,lay diagonally across the wide meadow, and near the adjoining woods.Five minutes of tramping through the snow ought to bring him to it. Andhe set off, diagonally.
But, before he had gone a hundred yards, he lost his first zest in theadventure. The darkness had thickened; and the vagrant wind-gusts hadtightened into a steady gale; a gale which carried before it a blindingwrack of stingingly hard-driven snow.
The gray of the dying dusk was blotted out. The wind smote and batteredthe spindling child. Mechanically, he kept on for five or six minutes,making scant and irregular progress. Then, his spirit wavered. Splendidas it would be to scare these hateful people, there was nothingsplendid in the weather that numbed him with cold and took away hisbreath and half-blinded him with snow.
What was the fun of making others suffer; if he himself were sufferingtenfold more? And, on reaching the barrack, he would have all thatfreezing and blast-hammering trip back again. Aw, what was the use?
And Cyril came to a halt. He had definitely abandoned his highenterprise. Turning around, he began to retrace his stumbling steps.But, at best, in a large field, in a blizzard and in pitch darkness,and with no visible landmarks, it is not easy to double back on one'sroute, with any degree of accuracy. In Cyril's case, the thing waswholly impossible.
Blindly, he had been traveling in an erratic half-circle. Anotherminute of walking would have brought him to the highroad, not far fromthe Place's gateway. And, as he changed his course, to seek the road,he moved at an obtuse angle to his former line of march.
Thus, another period of exhausting progress brought him up with a bumpagainst a solid barrier. His chilled face came into rough contact withthe top rail of a line fence.
So relieved was the startled child by this encounter that he forgot towhine at the abrasion wrought upon his cheek by the rail. He had begunto feel the first gnawings of panic. Now, at once, he was calm again.For he knew where he was. This was the line fence between the Place'supper section and the land of the next neighbor.
All he need do was to walk along in the shelter of it, touching therails now and then to make certain of not straying, until he shouldcome out on the road, at the gate lodge. It was absurdly easy; comparedto what he had been undergoing. Besides, the lee of the fence affordeda certain shelter from wind and snow. The child realized he had beenturned about in the dark; and had been going in the wrong direction.But now, at last, his course seemed plain to him.
So he set off briskly, close to the fence;--and directly away from thenearby road.
For another half-hour he continued his inexplicably long tramp; alwaysbuoyed up by the hope of coming to the road in a few more steps; anddoggedly sure of his bearings. Then, turning out from the fence, inorder to skirt a wide hazel thicket, he tripped over an outcrop ofrock, and tumbled into a drift. Getting to his feet, he sought toregain the fence; but the fall had shaken his senses and he flounderedoff in the opposite direction. After a rod or two of such futileplunging, a stumbling step took him clean off the edge of the world,and into the air.
All this, for the merest instant. Then, he landed with a jounce in aheap of brush and dead leaves. Squatting there, breathless, hestretched out his mittened hand, along the ground. At the end of lessthan another yard of this exploring, his fingers came again to the edgeof the world and were thrust out over nothingness.
With hideous suddenness, Cyril understood where he was; and what hadhappened to him and why. He knew he had followed the fence for a fullmile, AWAY from the road; through the nearer woods, and graduallyupward until he had come the line of hazels on the lip of theninety-foot ravine which dipped down into a swamp-stretch known as"Pancake Hollow."
That was what he had done. In trying to skirt the hazels, he hadstepped over the cliff-edge, and had dropped five feet or more to arather narrow ledge that juts out over the ravine.
Well did he remember this ledge. More than once, on walks with theMistress and the Master, he had paused to look down on it and to thinkfun it would be to imprison someone there and to stand above, guyingthe victim. It had been a sweet thought. And now, he, himself, wasimprisoned there.
But for luck, he might have fallen the whole ninety feet; for the ledgedid not extend far along the face of the cliff. At almost any otherspot his tumble might have meant--
Cyril shuddered a little; and pursued the grisly theme no further. Hewas safe enough, till help should come. And, here, the blast of thewind did not reach him. Also, by cuddling low in the litter of leavesand fallen brush, he could ward off a little of the icy cold.
He crouched there; shaking and worn out. He was only eleven. Hisfragile body had undergone a fearful hour of toil and hardship. As hewas drawing in his breath for a cry to any chance searchers, the boywas aware of a swift pattering, above his head. He looked up. The skywas shade or two less densely black than the ravine edge. As Cyrilgazed in terror, a shaggy dark shape outlined itself against thesky-line, just above him.
Having followed the eccentric footsteps of the wanderer, with great andgreater difficulty, to the fence-lee where the tracing was much easier,Lad came to the lip of the ravine a bare five minutes after the child'sdrop to the ledge.
There, for an instant, the great dog stood; ears cocked, headinquiringly on one side; looking down upon the ledge. Cyril shrank to aquivering little heap of abject terror, at sight of the indistinctanimal shape looming mountain-high above.
This for the briefest moment. Then back went Lad's head in a pealingbark that seemed to fill the world and to reecho from a myriaddirections at once. Again and again, Lad gave clamorous voice to hisdiscovery of the lost child.
On a clear or windless night, his racket must have penetrated to thedullest ears at the Place, and far beyond. For the bark of a dog hasmore carrying power than has any other sound of double its volume. But,in the face of a sixty-mile gale laden with tons of flying snow, thereport of a cannon could scarce have carried over the stretch ofwindswept ground between the ravine and the Place.
Lad seemed to understand this. For, after a dozen thunderous barks, hefell silent; and stood again, head on one side, in thought.
At first sound of the barking, Cyril had recognized the dog. And histerror had vanished. In its place surged a peevish irritation againstthe beast that had so frightened him. He groped for a rock-fragment tohurl up at the rackety collie.
Then, the child paused in his fumbling. The dog had scant reason tolove him or to seek his society. Of late, Lad had kept out of his wayas much as possible. Thus it was not likely the collie had come here ofhis own accord, on such a night; for the mere joy of being with histormentor.
His presence must mean that the Master was close behind; and that thewhole Place was in a ferment of anxiety about the wanderer. By stoningLad away and checking the barks, Cyril might well prevent the searchersfrom finding him. Too weak and too numb with cold to climb up thefive-foot cliff-face to the level ground above, he did not want to missany chance for rescue.
Hence, as Lad ceased to bark, the child set up a yell, with all hisslight lung-power, to attract the seekers' notice. He ordered Lad to"Speak!" and shook his fist angrily at the dog, when no answering barkfollowed.
Despairing of making anyone hear his trumpeting announcement that hehad found the child, Lad presently made up his mind as to the onlycourse that remained. Wheeling about, head down, he faced the stormagain; and set off at what speed he could compass, toward home, to leadthe Master to the spot where Cyril was trapped. This seemed the onlyexpedient left. It was what he had done, long ago, when Lady had caughther foot in a fox-trap, back in the woods.
As the dog vanished from against the gray-black sky-line, Cyril set upa howl of wrathful command to him to come back. Anything was betterthan to be in this dreary spot alone. Besides, with Lad gone, how couldLad's Master find the way to the ledge?
Twice the child called after the retreating collie. And, in another fewsteps, Lad had halted and begu
n to retrace his way toward the ledge.
He did not return because of Cyril's call. He had learned, by uglyexperience, to disregard the child's orders. They were wont to meanmuch unpleasantness for him. Nevertheless, Lad halted. Not in obedienceto the summons; but because of a sound and a scent that smote him as hestarted to gallop away. An eddy of the wind had borne both to the dog'sacute senses.
Stiffening, his curved eyeteeth baring themselves, his hacklesbristling, Lad galloped back to the ravine-lip; and stood theresniffing the icy air and growling deep in his throat. Looking down tothe ledge he saw Cyril was no longer its sole occupant. Crouched at theopening of a crevice, not ten feet from the unseeing child, wassomething bulky and sinister;--a mere menacing blur against the darkerrock.
Crawling home to its lair, supper-less and frantic with hunger, after aday of fruitless hunting through the dead forest world, a giant wildcathad been stirred from its first fitful slumber in the ledge's creviceby the impact of the child upon the heap of leaves. The human scent hadstartled the creature and it had slunk farther back into the crevice.The more so when the bark and inimical odor of a big dog were added tothe shattering of the ravine's solitude.
Then the dog had gone away. Curiosity,--the besetting trait of the cattribe,--had mastered the crevice's dweller. The wildcat had wrigglednoiselessly forward a little way, to learn what manner of enemy hadinvaded its lair. And, peering out, it had beheld a spindling child; ahuman atom, without strength or weapon.
Fear changed to fury in the bob-cat's feline heart. Here was noopponent; but a mere item of prey. And, with fury, stirredlong-unsatisfied hunger; the famine hunger of mid-winter which makesthe folk of the wilderness risk capture or death by raiding guardedhencoops.
Out from the crevice stole the wildcat. Its ears were flattened closeto its evil head. Its yellow eyes were mere slits of fire. Its clawsunsheathed themselves from the furry pads,--long, hooked claws, capableof disemboweling a grown deer at one sabre-stroke of the muscularhindlegs. Into the rubble and litter of the ledge the claws sank, andreceded, in rhythmic motion.
The compact yellow body tightened into a ball. The back quivered. Thefeet braced themselves. The cat was gauging its distance and makingready for a murder-spring. Cyril, his head turned the other way, wasstill peering up along the cliff-edge for sight of Lad.
This was what Lad's scent and hearing,--and perhaps somethingelse,--had warned him of, in that instant of the wind's eddying shift.And this was the scene he looked down upon, now, from the ravine-lip,five feet above.
The collie brain,--though never the collie heart,--is wont to flashback, in moments of mortal stress, to the ancestral wolf. Never in hisown life had Sunnybank Lad set eyes on a wildcat. But, in the primalforests, wolf and bob-cat had perforce met and clashed, a thousandtimes. There they had begun and had waged the eternal cat-and-dog feud,of the ages.
Ancestry now told Lad that there is perhaps no more murderouslydangerous foe than an angry wildcat. Ancestry also told him a wolf'sone chance of certain victory in such a contest. Ancestry's aid was notrequired, to tell him the mortal peril awaiting this human child whohad so grievously and causelessly tormented him. But the great loyalheart, in this stark moment, took no thought of personal grudges. Therewas but one thing to do,--one perilous, desperate chance to take; ifthe child were to be saved.
The wildcat sprang.
Such a leap could readily have carried it across double the space whichlay between it and Cyril. But not one-third of that space was coveredin the lightning pounce.
From the upper air,--apparently from nowhere,--a huge shaggy bodylaunched itself straight downward. As unerringly as the swoop of aneagle, the down-whizzing bulk flew. It smote the leaping wildcat, inmid-flight.
A set of mighty jaws,--jaws that could crack a beef-bone as a mancracks a filbert,--clove deep and unerringly into the cat's back, justbehind the shoulders. And those jaws flung all their strength into theravening grip.
A squall,--hideous in its unearthly clangor,--split the night silences.The maddened cat whirled about, spitting and yowling; and set itsfoaming teeth in the dog's fur-armored shoulder. But before theterrible curved claws could be called into action, Lad's rending jawshad done their work upon the spine.
To the verge of the narrow ledge the two combatants had rolled in theirunloving embrace. Its last lurch of agony carped the stricken wildcatover the edge and out the ninety-foot drop into the ravine. Lad wasall-but carried along with his adversary. He clawed wildly with histoes for a purchase on the smooth cliff wall; over which hishindquarters had slipped. For a second he hung, swaying, above theabyss.
Cyril, scared into semi-insanity by sight of the sudden brief battle,had caught up a stick from the rubbish at his feet. With this, not atall knowing what he did, he smote the struggling Lad with every atom ofhis feeble force, over the head.
Luckily for the gallant dog, the stick was rotten. It broke, in theblow; but not before its impact had well-nigh destroyed Lad'sprecarious balance.
One clawing hindfoot found toe-room in a flaw of rock. A tremendousheave of all his strained muscles; and Lad was scrambling to safety onthe ledge.
Cyril's last atom of vigor and resistance had gone into that panic blowat the dog. Now, the child had flung himself helplessly down, againstthe wall of the ledge; and was weeping in delirious hysterics. Ladmoved over to him; hesitated a moment, looking wistfully upward at thesolid ground above. Then, he seemed to decide which way his dutypointed. Lying down beside the freezing child, he pressed his greatshaggy body close to Cyril's; protecting him from the swirling snow andfrom the worst of the cold.
The dog's dark, deep-set eyes roved watchfully toward the crevice,alert for sign of any other marauder that might issue forth. His ownshaggy shoulder was hurting him, annoyingly, from the wildcat's bite.But to this he gave no heed. Closer yet, he pressed his warm, furrybody to the ice-cold youngster; fending off the elements as valorouslyas he had fended off the wildcat.
The warmth of the great body began to penetrate Cyril's numbed senses.The child snuggled to the dog, gratefully. Lad's pink tongue lickedcaressingly at the white face; and the collie whimpered crooningsympathy to the little sufferer.
So, for a time the dog and the child lay there; Cyril's numb bodywarming under the contact.
Then, at a swift intake of the windy air, Lad's whimper changed to athunder of wild barking. His nostrils had told him of the searchparty's approach, a few hundred yards to the windward.
Their dispiritingly aimless hunt changing into a scrambling rush in thedirection whence came the faint-heard barks, the searchers troopedtoward the ledge.
"Here we are!" shrilled the child, as the Master's halloo soundeddirectly above. "Here we are! Down here! A--a lion tackled us, awhileback. But we licked him;--I and Laddie!"