Produced by Dianne Bean. HTML version by Al Haines.
HIS DOG
by
ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE
1922
CONTENTS
I. The Derelict II. The Battle III. The Ordeal IV. The Choice
CHAPTER I.
The Derelict
Link Ferris was a fighter. Not by nature, nor by choice, but to keepalive.
His battleground covered an area of forty acres--broken, scrubby,uncertain side-hill acres, at that. In brief, a worked-out farm amongthe mountain slopes of the North Jersey hinterland; six miles from thenearest railroad.
The farm was Ferris's, by right of sole heritage from his father, aCivil-War veteran, who had taken up the wilderness land in 1865 andwho, for thirty years thereafter, had wrought to make it pay. At bestthe elder Ferris had wrenched only a meager living from the light androck-infested soil.
The first-growth timber on the west woodlot for some time had stavedoff the need of a mortgage; its veteran oaks and hickories grimlygiving up their lives, in hundreds, to keep the wolf from the door oftheir owner. When the last of the salable timber was gone Old ManFerris tried his hand at truck farming, and sold his wares from a wagonto the denizens of Craigswold, the new colony of rich folk, four milesto northward.
But to raise such vegetables and fruits as would tempt the eyes and thepurses of Craigswold people it was necessary to have more than merezeal and industry. Sour ground will not readily yield sweet abundance,be the toiler ever so industrious. Moreover, there was large andgrowing competition, in the form of other huckster routes.
And presently the old veteran wearied of the eternal uphill struggle.He mortgaged the farm, dying soon afterward. And Link, his son, wasleft to carry on the thankless task.
Link Ferris was as much a part of the Ferris farm as was the giantbowlder in the south mowing. He had been born in the paintless shackwhich his father had built with his own rheumatic hands. He had workedfor more than a quarter century, in and out of the hill fields and theramshackle barns. From babyhood he had toiled there. Scant had been thechances for schooling, and more scant had been the opportunities foroutside influence.
Wherefore, Link had grown to a wirily weedy and slouching manhood,almost as ignorant of the world beyond his mountain walls as were anyof his own "critters." His life was bounded by fruitless labor, variedonly by such sleep and food as might fit him to labor the harder.
He ate and slept, that he might be able to work. And he worked, that hemight be able to eat and sleep. Beyond that, his life was as barren asa rainy sea.
If he dreamed of other and wider things, the workaday grind speedilyset such dreams to rout. When the gnawing of lonely unrest was tooacute for bovine endurance--and when he could spare the time or themoney--he was wont to go to the mile-off hamlet of Hampton and thereget as nearly drunk as his funds would permit.
It was his only surcease. And as a rule, it was a poor one. For seldomdid he have enough ready money to buy wholesale forgetfulness. Moreoften he was able to purchase only enough hard cider or fuseloil whiskyto make him dull and vaguely miserable.
It was on his way home one Saturday night from such a rudimentarydebauch at Hampton that his Adventure had its small beginning.
For a half mile or so of Link's homeward pilgrimage--before he turnedoff into the grass-grown, rutted hill trail which led to his farm--hisway led along a spur of the state road which linked New York City withthe Ramapo hill country.
And here, as Link swung glumly along through the springtide dusk, hisears were assailed by a sound that was something between a sigh and asob--a sound as of one who tries valiantly to stifle a whimper of sharppain.
Ferris halted, uncertain, at the road edge; and peered about him. Againhe heard the sound. And this time he located it in the long grass ofthe wayside ditch. The grass was stirring spasmodically, too, as withthe half-restrained writhings of something lying close to earth there.
Link struck a match. Shielding the flame, he pushed the tangle of grassto one side with his foot.
There, exposed in the narrow space thus cleared and by the narrowerradius of match flare, crouched a dog.
The brute was huddled in a crumpled heap, with one foreleg stuckawkwardly out in front of him at an impossible angle. His tawny mass ofcoat was mired and oil streaked. In his deep-set brown eyes burned thefires of agony.
Yet, as he looked up at the man who bent above him, the dog's gaze wasneither fierce nor cringing. It held rather such an expression as,Dumas tells us, the wounded Athos turned to D'Artagnan--the aspect ofone in sore need of aid, and too proud to plead for it.
Link Ferris had never heard of Dumas, nor of the immortal musketeer.None the less, he could read that look. And it appealed to him, as nohowl of anguish could have appealed. He knelt beside the suffering dogand fell to examining his hurts.
The dog was a collie--beautiful of head, sweepingly graceful of line,powerful and heavy coated. The mud on his expanse of snowy chest frilland the grease on his dark brown back were easy to account for, even toLink Ferris's none-too-keen imagination.
Link, in his own occasional trudges along this bit of state road, hadoften seen costly dogs in the tonneaus of passing cars. He had seenseveral of them scramble frantically to maintain their footing on theslippery seats of such cars; when chauffeurs took the sharp curve, justahead, at too high speed. He had even seen one Airedale flung bodilyfrom a car's rear seat at that curve, and out into the roadway; where aclose-following motor had run over and killed it.
This collie, doubtless, had had such a fall; and, unseen by the frontseat's occupants, had struck ground with terrific force--a force thathad sent him whirling through mud and grease into the ditch, with abroken front leg.
How long the beast had lain there Link had no way of guessing. But thedog was in mortal agony. And the kindest thing to do was to put him outof his pain.
Ferris groped around through the gloom until, in the ditch, his fingersclosed over a ten-pound stone. One smashing blow on the head, with thismissile, would bring a swift and merciful end to the sufferer'stroubles.
Poising the stone aloft, Link turned back to where the dog lay.Standing over the victim, he balanced the rock and tensed his musclesfor the blow. The match had long since gone out, but Link'sdusk-accustomed vision could readily discern the outlines of thecollie. And he made ready to strike.
Then--perhaps it was the drink playing tricks with Ferris's mind--itseemed to him that he could still see those deep-set dark eyes staringup at him through the murk, with that same fearless and yet piteouslook in their depths. It was a look that the brief sputter ofmatch-light had photographed on Link's brain.
"I--I ain't got the heart to swat you while you keep lookin' that wayat me," he muttered half-aloud, as if to a human companion. "Jes' youturn your head the other way, pup! It'll be over quick, an' easy."
By the faint light Link could see the dog had not obeyed the order toturn his head. But at the man's tone of compassion the great plumytail began to thump the ground in feeble response.
"H'm!" grunted Link, letting the stone drop to the road, "got nerve,too, ain't you, friend? 'Tain't every cuss that can wag his tail whenhis leg's bust."
Kneeling down again he examined the broken foreleg more carefully.Gentle as was his touch, yet Link knew it must cause infinite torture.But the dog did not flinch. He seemed to understand that Ferris meantkindly, for he moved his magnificent head far enough to lick the man'shand softly and in gratitude.
The caress had an odd effect on the loveless Ferris. It was the firstvoluntary mark of affection he had encountered for longer than he likedto remember. It set old memories to working.
The Ferris farm, since Link's birth, had been perhaps the only home inall that wild region which did not boast
a dog of some kind. Link'sfather had had an inborn hatred of dogs. He would not allow one on theplace. His overt excuse was that they killed sheep and worried cattle,and that he could not afford to risk the well-being of his scanty hoardof stock.
Thus, Link had grown to manhood with no dog at his heels, and withoutknowing the normal human's love for canine chumship.
The primal instinct, long buried, stirred within him now; at touch ofthe warm tongue on his calloused hand and at sound of that friendlytail wagging in the dry grass. Ashamed of the stirrings in him, hesought to explain them by reminding himself that this was probably avaluable animal and that a reward might be offered for his return. Inwhich case Link Ferris might as well profit by the cash windfall asanyone else.
Taking off his coat, Ferris spread it on the ground. Then, lifting thestricken collie as gently as he could, he deposited him on the coat androlled its frayed edges about him. After which he picked up the swathedinvalid and bore him home.
During the mile trudge the collie's sixty pounds grew unbearably heavy,to the half-drunk Ferris. More than once he was minded to set down hisburden and leave the brute to his fate.
But always the tardy realization that the journey was more painful tothe dog than to himself gave Link a fresh grip on his determination.And at last,--a long and tiring last,--they reached the tumble-downfarmhouse where Link Ferris kept bachelor's hall.
Laying his patient on the kitchen table, Link lighted a candle and wentin search of such rude appliances as his father had been wont to keepin store for any of the farm's animals that might be injured.
Three times as a lad Link had seen his father set the broken leg of asheep, and once he had watched the older man perform a like office fora yearling heifer whose hind leg had become wedged between twobrookside stones and had sustained a compound fracture. From Civil Warhospital experience the father had been a deft bonesetter. Andfollowing his recollection of the old man's methods, Link himself hadlater set the broken leg of one of his lambs. The operation had been asuccess. He resolved now to duplicate it.
Slowly and somewhat clumsily he went to work at the injured dog. Thecollie's brave patience nerved him to greater tenderness and care. Aveterinary would have made neater work of the bonesetting, but hardlycould have rendered the job more effective.
When the task was achieved Link brought his patient a bowl of coldwater--which the collie drank greedily--and some bread and meat scrapswhich the feverish patient would not touch.
As he worked at his bonesetting task, Ferris had more chance to studyhis new acquisition. The dog was young--probably not more than twoyears old. The teeth proved that. He wore a thin collie collar with noinscription on its silver band.
Even to Link's inexperienced eye he was an animal of high breeding andof glorious beauty. Link told himself he would perhaps get as much asten dollars for the return of so costly a pet. And he wondered why thegolden prospect did not seem more alluring.
Three times in the night Link got up to give the collie fresh water andto moisten and re-adjust the bandages. And, every time, the sight ofhis rescuer would cause the dog's tail to thump a joyous welcome andwould fill the dark eyes with a loving gratitude which went straight toFerris's lonely heart.
In the morning the dog was prevailed upon to lap a saucer of warm milk,and even to nibble at a crust of soaked bread. Link was ashamed of hisown keen and growing interest in his find. For the first time herealized how bleakly lonesome had been his home life, since the deathof his father had left him solitary.
There was a mysteriously comforting companionship in the dog'spresence. Link found himself talking to him from time to time as to afellow human. And the words did not echo back in eerie hollowness fromthe walls, as when he had sometimes sought to ease his desolation bytalking aloud to himself.
He was embarrassed by his general ignorance of dogs, and by hisignorance of this particular dog's name. He sought to learn what thecollie had been called; by trying one familiar dog name after another.But, to such stand-by cognomens as Rover, Tige, Fido, Ponto, Shep andthe rest, the patient gave no further sign of recognition than afriendly wagging of his plumed tail. And he wagged it no moreinterestedly for one name than for another.
So Ferris ceased from the effort, and decided to give his pet abrand-new name for such brief space as they should be housemates. Afterlong deliberation he hit upon the name "Chum," as typical of the oddfriendship that was springing to life between the dog and himself. Andhe planned to devote much time to teaching the collie this name.
But, to his surprise, no such tedious period of instruction wasnecessary. In less than a single day Chum knew his name,--knew it pastall doubt.
Link was amazed at such cleverness. For three solid months, at onetime, he had striven to teach his horse and his cows and a few of hissheep to respond to given names. And at the end of the course ofpatient tutelage he had been morbidly certain that not one of hissolemn-eyed pupils had grasped the lessons.
It was surprisingly pleasant to drop in at the kitchen door nowadays,in intervals between chores or at the day's end, and be greeted by thatglad glint of the eye and the ecstatic pounding of the wavy tailagainst the floor. It was still pleasanter to see the gaze of wistfuladoration that strengthened daily as Chum and his new master grewbetter and better acquainted.
Pleasantest of all was it to sit and talk to the collie in theonce-tedious evenings, and to know that his every word was appreciatedand listened to with eager interest, even if the full gist of the talkitself did not penetrate to the listener's understanding.
Link Ferris, for the first time in his life, had a dog. Incidentally,for the first time in his life, he had an intimate friend--something ofwhose love and loyalty he waxed increasingly sure. And he was happy.
His brighter spirits manifested themselves in his farm work,transforming drudgery into contentment. And the farm began, in smallways, to show the effects of its owner's new attitude toward labor.
The day after he found Chum, Link had trudged to Hampton; and, there,had affixed to the clapboards of the general store a bit of paperwhereon he had scrawled:
"Found-One white and brown bird dog with leg broken. Owner can havesame by paying a reward."
On his next huckster trip to Craigswold he pinned a similar sign to thebulletin board of that rarefied resort's post-office. And he waited forresults.
He did more. He bought two successive copies of the county's dailypaper and scanned it for word of a missing dog. But in neither copy didhe find what he sought.
True, both editions carried display advertisements which offered aseventy-five dollar reward for information leading to the return of a"dark-sable-and-white collie lost somewhere between Hohokus andSuffern."
The first time he saw this notice Link was vaguely troubled lest itmight refer to Chum. He told himself he hoped it did. For seventy-fivedollars just now would be a godsend. And in self-disgust he choked backa most annoying twinge of grief at thought of parting with the dog.
Two things in the advertisement puzzled him. In the first place, asChum was longhaired and graceful, Link had mentally classified him asbelonging to the same breed as did the setters which accompaniedhunters on mountain rambles past his farm in the autumns. Being whollyunversed in canine lore, he had, therefore, classified Chum as a "birddog". The word "collie", if ever he had chanced to hear it before,carried no meaning to him.
Moreover, he did not know what "sable" meant. He asked Dominie Jansen,whom he met on the way home. And the dominie told him "sable" wasanother name for "black." Jansen went on to amplify the theme,dictionary-fashion, by quoting a piece of sacred poetry about "thesable wings of night."
A great load was off Link's heart. Chum, most assuredly, was not blackand white. So the advertisement could not possibly refer to him. Thereverend gentleman, not being a dog fancier, of course had no means ofknowing that "sable", in collie jargon, means practically every shadeof color except black or gray or white.
Link was ashamed of his own deligh
t in finding he need not give up hispet--even for seventy-five dollars. He tried to recall his father'sinvectives against dogs, and to remind himself that another mouth tofeed on the farm must mean still sharper poverty and skimping. Butlogic could not strangle joy, and life took on a new zest for thelonely man.
By the time Chum could limp around on the fasthealing foreleg, he andLink had established a friendship that was a boon to both and a starkastonishment to Ferris.
Link had always loved animals. He had an inborn "way" with them. Yethis own intelligence had long since taught him that his "farm critters"responded but dully to his attempts at a more perfect understanding.
He knew, for example, that the horse he had bred and reared and hadtaught to come at his call, would doubtless suffer the first passingstranger to mount him and ride him away, despite any call from hislifelong master. He knew that his presence, to the cattle and sheep,meant only food or a shift of quarters; and that an outsider coulddrive or tend them as readily as could he on whose farm they had beenborn. Their possible affection for him was a hazy thing, based solelyon what he fed them and on their occasional mild interest in beingpetted.
But with Chum it was all different. The dog learned quickly his newmaster's moods and met them in kind. The few simple tricks Link soughtto teach him were grasped with bewildering ease. There was a humanquality of sympathy and companionship which radiated almost visiblyfrom Chum. His keen collie brain was forever amazing Ferris by itsflashes of perception. The dog was a revelation and an endless sourceof pleasure to the hermit-farmer.
When Chum was whole of his hurt and when the injured leg had knit sofirmly that the last trace of lameness was gone, Link fell to recallinghis father's preachments as to the havoc wrought by dogs upon sheep. Hecould not afford to lose the leanest and toughest of his little sheepflock--even as price for the happiness