<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<div class="transnote">
<p>Transcriber's Note:</p>
<p>Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible, including inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation. Some
corrections of spelling and punctuation have been made. They are
listed at the end of the text.</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/cover.jpg" width-obs="392" height-obs="600" alt="" /></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</SPAN></span></p>
<h1><SPAN name="LAD_A_DOG" id="LAD_A_DOG"></SPAN>LAD: A DOG</h1>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN href="images/frontis_full.jpg"> <ANTIMG src="images/frontis.jpg" width-obs="467" height-obs="600" alt="" /></SPAN> <br/> <span class="caption">(<i>From a photograph by Lacy Van Wagenen</i>)</span></div>
<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2>LAD: A DOG</h2>
<p class="center">BY<br/>
ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE<br/>
<br/>
NEW YORK<br/>
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY<br/>
681 FIFTH AVENUE<br/></p>
<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</SPAN></span></p>
<p class="center">
Copyright 1919<br/>
By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY<br/>
<br/>
<i>All Rights Reserved</i><br/></p>
<table summary="Printings">
<tr><td><i>First Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>April, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Second Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>June, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Third Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>July, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Fourth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Fifth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Sixth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Seventh Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Eighth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Ninth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Tenth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>August, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Eleventh Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Twelfth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Thirteenth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Fourteenth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Fifteenth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Sixteenth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Seventeenth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>December, 1919</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Eighteenth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>August, 1921</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Nineteenth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>March, 1922</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Twentieth Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>August, 1922</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Twenty-first Printing,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>Sept., 1922</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><i>Twenty-second Pr'ting,</i></td>
<td class="right"><i>Feb., 1923</i></td></tr>
</table>
<p class="center">
<br/>
<i>Printed in the United States of America</i></p>
<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</SPAN></span></p>
<p class="center">
<span class="smcap lowercase">MY BOOK IS DEDICATED</span><br/>
<span class="smcap lowercase">TO THE MEMORY OF</span><br/>
<br/>
Lad<br/>
<br/>
<span class="smcap lowercase">THOROUGHBRED IN BODY AND SOUL</span><br/></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></SPAN>CONTENTS</h2>
<table width="50%" summary="Contents">
<tr>
<td class="td-chnum right smcap lowercase">CHAPTER</td>
<td />
<td class="right smcap lowercase">PAGE</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="right">I.</td>
<td class="smcap">His Mate</td>
<td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_1">1</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="right">II.</td>
<td class="smcap">"Quiet!"</td>
<td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_26">26</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="right">III.</td>
<td class="smcap">A Miracle of Two</td>
<td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_49">49</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="right">IV.</td>
<td class="smcap">His Little Son</td>
<td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_74">74</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="right">V.</td>
<td class="smcap">For a Bit of Ribbon</td>
<td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_97">97</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="right">VI.</td>
<td class="smcap">Lost!</td>
<td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_126">126</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="right">VII.</td>
<td class="smcap">The Throwback</td>
<td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_156">156</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="right">VIII.</td>
<td class="smcap">The Gold Hat</td>
<td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_180">180</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="right">IX.</td>
<td class="smcap">Speaking of Utility</td>
<td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_218">218</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="right">X.</td>
<td class="smcap">The Killer</td>
<td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_251">251</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="right">XI.</td>
<td class="smcap">Wolf</td>
<td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_297">297</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="right">XII.</td>
<td class="smcap">In the Day of Battle</td>
<td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_321">321</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td class="smcap">Afterword</td>
<td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_347">347</SPAN></td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="LAD_A_DOG2" id="LAD_A_DOG2"></SPAN>LAD: A DOG</h2>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></SPAN>CHAPTER I<br/> HIS MATE</h2>
<p>Lady was as much a part of Lad's everyday
happiness as the sunshine itself. She
seemed to him quite as perfect, and as
gloriously indispensable. He could no more have
imagined a Ladyless life than a sunless life. It
had never occurred to him to suspect that Lady
could be any less devoted than he—until Knave
came to The Place.</p>
<p>Lad was an eighty-pound collie, thoroughbred in
spirit as well as in blood. He had the benign dignity
that was a heritage from endless generations
of high-strain ancestors. He had, too, the gay
courage of a d'Artagnan, and an uncanny wisdom.
Also—who could doubt it, after a look into his
mournful brown eyes—he had a Soul.</p>
<p>His shaggy coat, set off by the snowy ruff and
chest, was like orange-flecked mahogany. His ab<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</SPAN></span>surdly
tiny forepaws—in which he took inordinate
pride—were silver white.</p>
<p>Three years earlier, when Lad was in his first
prime (before the mighty chest and shoulders had
filled out and the tawny coat had waxed so shaggy),
Lady had been brought to The Place. She had
been brought in the Master's overcoat pocket, rolled
up into a fuzzy gold-gray ball of softness no bigger
than a half-grown kitten.</p>
<p>The Master had fished the month-old puppy out
of the cavern of his pocket and set her down,
asprawl and shivering and squealing, on the veranda
floor. Lad had walked cautiously across the
veranda, sniffed inquiry at the blinking pigmy who
gallantly essayed to growl defiance up at the huge
welcomer—and from that first moment he had
taken her under his protection.</p>
<p>First it had been the natural impulse of the
thoroughbred—brute or human—to guard the helpless.
Then, as the shapeless yellow baby grew into
a slenderly graceful collie, his guardianship changed
to stark adoration. He was Lady's life slave.</p>
<p>And she bullied him unmercifully—bossed the
gentle giant in a shameful manner, crowding him
from the warmest spot by the fire, brazenly yet
daintily snatching from between his jaws the
choicest bone of their joint dinner, hectoring her
dignified victim into lawn-romps in hot weather
when he would far rather have drowsed under the
lakeside trees.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Her vagaries, her teasing, her occasional little
flurries of temper, were borne by Lad not meekly,
but joyously. All she did was, in his eyes, perfect.
And Lady graciously allowed herself to be idolized,
for she was marvelously human in some ways.
Lad, a thoroughbred descended from a hundred
generations of thoroughbreds, was less human and
more disinterested.</p>
<p>Life at The Place was wondrous pleasant for
both the dogs. There were thick woods to roam
in, side by side; there were squirrels to chase and
rabbits to trail. (Yes, and if the squirrels had
played fair and had not resorted to unsportsmanly
tactics by climbing trees when close pressed, there
would doubtless have been squirrels to catch as well
as to chase. As for the rabbits, they were easier
to overtake. And Lady got the lion's share of all
such morsels.)</p>
<p>There was the ice-cool lake to plunge into for
a swim or a wallow, after a run in the dust and
July heat. There was a deliciously comfortable old
rug in front of the living-room's open fire whereon
to lie, shoulder to shoulder, on the nights when
the wind screamed through bare trees and the snow
scratched hungrily at the panes.</p>
<p>Best of all, to them both, there were the Master
and the Mistress; especially the Mistress.</p>
<p>Any man with money to make the purchase may
become a dog's <i>owner</i>. But no man—spend he
ever so much coin and food and tact in the effort<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</SPAN></span>—may
become a dog's <i>Master</i> without the consent of
the dog. Do you get the difference? And he
whom a dog once unreservedly accepts as Master
is forever that dog's God.</p>
<p>To both Lad and Lady, from the first, the man
who bought them was not the mere owner but the
absolute Master. To them he was the unquestioned
lord of life and death, the hearer and answerer,
the Eternal Law; his the voice that must be obeyed,
whatever the command.</p>
<p>From earliest puppyhood, both Lad and Lady
had been brought up within the Law. As far back
as they could remember, they had known and obeyed
The Place's simple code.</p>
<p>For example: All animals of the woods might
lawfully be chased; but the Mistress' prize chickens
and the other little folk of The Place must be
ignored no matter how hungry or how playful
a collie might chance to be. A human, walking
openly or riding down the drive into The Place
by daylight, must not be barked at except by way
of friendly announcement. But anyone entering
the grounds from other ingress than the drive, or
anyone walking furtively or with a tramp slouch,
must be attacked at sight.</p>
<p>Also, the interior of the house was sacrosanct.
It was a place for perfect behavior. No rug must
be scratched, nothing gnawed or played with. In
fact, Lady's one whipping had followed a puppy-frolic
effort of hers to "worry" the huge stuffed<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</SPAN></span>
bald eagle that stood on a papier-maché stump in
the Master's study, just off the big living-room
where the fireplace was.</p>
<p>That eagle, shot by himself as it raided the flock
of prize chickens, was the delight of the Master's
heart. And at Lady's attempt on it, he had taught
her a lesson that made her cringe for weeks thereafter
at bare sight of the dog-whip. To this day,
she would never walk past the eagle without making
the widest possible detour around it.</p>
<p>But that punishment had been suffered while she
was still in the idiotic days of puppyhood. After
she was grown, Lady would no more have thought
of tampering with the eagle or with anything else
in the house than it would occur to a human to
stand on his head in church.</p>
<p>Then, early one spring, came Knave—a showy,
magnificent collie; red-gold of coat save for a black
"saddle," and with alert topaz eyes.</p>
<p>Knave did not belong to the Master, but to a
man who, going to Europe for a month, asked him
to care for the dog in his absence. The Master,
glad to have so beautiful an ornament to The Place,
had willingly consented. He was rewarded when,
on the train from town, an admiring crowd of commuters
flocked to the baggage-car to stare at the
splendid-looking collie.</p>
<p>The only dissenting note in the praise-chorus was
the grouchy old baggage-man's.</p>
<p>"Maybe he's a thoroughbred, like you say,"<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</SPAN></span>
drawled the old fellow to the Master, "but I
never yet saw a yellow-eyed, prick-eared dog I'd
give hell-room to."</p>
<p>Knave showed his scorn for such silly criticism
by a cavernous yawn.</p>
<p>"Thoroughbred?" grunted the baggage-man.
"With them streaks of pinkish-yeller on the roof
of his mouth? Ever see a thoroughbred that didn't
have a black mouth-roof?"</p>
<p>But the old man's slighting words were ignored
with disdain by the crowd of volunteer dog-experts
in the baggage-car. In time the Master alighted
at his station, with Knave straining joyously at the
leash. As the Master reached The Place and
turned into the drive, both Lad and Lady, at sound
of his far-off footsteps, came tearing around the
side of the house to greet him.</p>
<p>On simultaneous sight and scent of the strange
dog frisking along at his side, the two collies paused
in their madly joyous onrush. Up went their ruffs.
Down went their heads.</p>
<p>Lady flashed forward to do battle with the
stranger who was monopolizing so much of the
Master's attention. Knave, not at all averse to
battle (especially with a smaller dog), braced himself
and then moved forward, stiff-legged, fangs
bare.</p>
<p>But of a sudden his head went up; his stiff-poised
brush broke into swift wagging; his lips
curled down. He had recognized that his prospec<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</SPAN></span>tive
foe was not of his own sex. (And nowhere,
except among humans, does a full-grown male ill-treat
or even defend himself against the female
of his species.)</p>
<p>Lady, noting the stranger's sudden friendliness,
paused irresolute in her charge. And at that instant
Lad darted past her. Full at Knave's throat
he launched himself.</p>
<p>The Master rasped out:</p>
<p>"Down, Lad! <i>Down!</i>"</p>
<p>Almost in midair the collie arrested his onset—coming
to earth bristling, furious and yet with no
thought but to obey. Knave, seeing his foe was
not going to fight, turned once more toward Lady.</p>
<p>"Lad," ordered the Master, pointing toward
Knave and speaking with quiet intentness, "let him
alone. Understand? Let him <i>alone</i>."</p>
<p>And Lad understood—even as years of training
and centuries of ancestry had taught him to understand
every spoken wish of the Master's. He
must give up his impulse to make war on this
intruder whom at sight he hated. It was the Law;
and from the Law there was no appeal.</p>
<p>With yearningly helpless rage he looked on while
the newcomer was installed on The Place. With
a wondering sorrow he found himself forced to
share the Master's and Mistress' caresses with this
interloper. With growing pain he submitted to
Knave's gay attentions to Lady, and to Lady's<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</SPAN></span>
evident relish of the guest's companionship. Gone
were the peaceful old days of utter contentment.</p>
<p>Lady had always regarded Lad as her own
special property—to tease and to boss and to despoil
of choice food-bits. But her attitude toward
Knave was far different. She coquetted, human-fashion,
with the gold-and-black dog—at one moment
affecting to scorn him, at another meeting
his advances with a delighted friendliness.</p>
<p>She never presumed to boss him as she had
always bossed Lad. He fascinated her. Without
seeming to follow him about, she was forever at
his heels. Lad, cut to the heart at her sudden indifference
toward his loyal self, tried in every way
his simple soul could devise to win back her interest.
He essayed clumsily to romp with her as
the lithely graceful Knave romped, to drive rabbits
for her on their woodland rambles, to thrust himself,
in a dozen gentle ways, upon her attention.</p>
<p>But it was no use. Lady scarcely noticed him.
When his overtures of friendship chanced to annoy
her, she rewarded them with a snap or with an
impatient growl. And ever she turned to the all-conquering
Knave in a keenness of attraction that
was all but hypnotic.</p>
<p>As his divinity's total loss of interest in himself
grew too apparent to be doubted, Lad's big heart
broke. Being only a dog and a Grail-knight in
thought, he did not realize that Knave's newness
and his difference from anything she had known,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</SPAN></span>
formed a large part of Lady's desire for the visitor's
favor; nor did he understand that such interest
must wane when the novelty should wear off.</p>
<p>All Lad knew was that he loved her, and that for
the sake of a flashy stranger she was snubbing him.</p>
<p>As the Law forbade him to avenge himself in
true dog-fashion by fighting for his Lady's love,
Lad sadly withdrew from the unequal contest, too
proud to compete for a fickle sweetheart. No
longer did he try to join in the others' lawn-romps,
but lay at a distance, his splendid head between his
snowy little forepaws, his brown eyes sick with
sorrow, watching their gambols.</p>
<p>Nor did he thrust his undesired presence on them
during their woodland rambles. He took to moping,
solitary, infinitely miserable. Perhaps there is
on earth something unhappier than a bitterly aggrieved
dog. But no one has ever discovered that
elusive something.</p>
<p>Knave from the first had shown and felt for
Lad a scornful indifference. Not understanding
the Law, he had set down the older collie's refusal to
fight as a sign of exemplary, if timorous prudence,
and he looked down upon him accordingly. One
day Knave came home from the morning run
through the forest without Lady. Neither the
Master's calls nor the ear-ripping blasts of his dog-whistle
could bring her back to The Place.
Whereat Lad arose heavily from his favorite rest<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</SPAN></span>ing-place
under the living-room piano and cantered
off to the woods. Nor did he return.</p>
<p>Several hours later the Master went to the woods
to investigate, followed by the rollicking Knave. At
the forest edge the Master shouted. A far-off
bark from Lad answered. And the Master made
his way through shoulder-deep underbrush in the
direction of the sound.</p>
<p>In a clearing he found Lady, her left forepaw
caught in the steel jaws of a fox-trap. Lad was
standing protectingly above her, stooping now and
then to lick her cruelly pinched foot or to whine
consolation to her; then snarling in fierce hate at
a score of crows that flapped hopefully in the tree-tops
above the victim.</p>
<p>The Master set Lady free, and Knave frisked
forward right joyously to greet his released inamorata.
But Lady was in no condition to play—then
nor for many a day thereafter. Her forefoot
was so lacerated and swollen that she was
fain to hobble awkwardly on three legs for the
next fortnight.</p>
<p>It was on one pantingly hot August morning, a
little later, that Lady limped into the house in
search of a cool spot where she might lie and lick
her throbbing forefoot. Lad was lying, as usual,
under the piano in the living-room. His tail
thumped shy welcome on the hardwood floor as
she passed, but she would not stay or so much as
notice him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>On she limped, into the Master's study, where
an open window sent a faint breeze through the
house. Giving the stuffed eagle a wide berth, Lady
hobbled to the window and made as though to lie
down just beneath it. As she did so, two things
happened: she leaned too much weight on the sore
foot, and the pressure wrung from her an involuntary
yelp of pain; at the same moment a crosscurrent
of air from the other side of the house
swept through the living-room and blew shut the
door of the adjoining study. Lady was a prisoner.</p>
<p>Ordinarily this would have caused her no ill-ease,
for the open window was only thirty inches above
the floor, and the drop to the veranda outside was
a bare three feet. It would have been the simplest
matter in the world for her to jump out, had she
wearied of her chance captivity.</p>
<p>But to undertake the jump with the prospect of
landing her full weight and impetus on a forepaw
that was horribly sensitive to the lightest touch—this
was an exploit beyond the sufferer's will-power.
So Lady resigned herself to imprisonment. She
curled herself up on the floor as far as possible
from the eagle, moaned softly and lay still.</p>
<p>At sound of her first yelp, Lad had run forward,
whining eager sympathy. But the closed door
blocked his way. He crouched, wretched and
anxious, before it, helpless to go to his loved one's
assistance.</p>
<p>Knave, too, loping back from a solitary prowl<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</SPAN></span>
of the woods, seeking Lady, heard the yelp. His
prick-ears located the sound at once. Along the
veranda he trotted, to the open study window.
With a bound he had cleared the sill and alighted
inside the room.</p>
<p>It chanced to be his first visit to the study. The
door was usually kept shut, that drafts might not
blow the Master's desk-papers about. And Knave
felt, at best, little interest in exploring the interior
of houses. He was an outdoor dog, by choice.</p>
<p>He advanced now toward Lady, his tail a-wag,
his head on one side, with his most irresistible air.
Then, as he came forward into the room, he saw
the eagle. He halted in wonder at sight of the
enormous white-crested bird with its six-foot sweep
of pinion. It was a wholly novel spectacle to
Knave; and he greeted it with a gruff bark, half
of fear, half of bravado. Quickly, however, his
sense of smell told him this wide-winged apparition
was no living thing. And ashamed of his momentary
cowardice, he went over to investigate it.</p>
<p>As he went, Knave cast over his shoulder a look
of invitation to Lady to join him in his inspection.
She understood the invitation, but memory of that
puppyhood beating made her recoil from accepting
it. Knave saw her shrink back, and he realized
with a thrill that she was actually afraid of this
lifeless thing which could harm no one. With due
pride in showing off his own heroism before her,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</SPAN></span>
and with the scamp-dog's innate craving to destroy,
he sprang growling upon the eagle.</p>
<p>Down tumbled the papier-maché stump. Down
crashed the huge stuffed bird with it; Knave's white
teeth buried deep in the soft feathers of its breast.</p>
<p>Lady, horror-struck at this sacrilege, whimpered
in terror. But her plaint served only to increase
Knave's zest for destruction.</p>
<p>He hurled the bird to the floor, pinned it down
with his feet and at one jerk tore the right wing
from the body. Coughing out the mouthful of
dusty pinions, he dug his teeth into the eagle's
throat. Again bracing himself with his forelegs
on the carcass, he gave a sharp tug. Head and
neck came away in his mouth. And then before
he could drop the mouthful and return to the work
of demolition, he heard the Master's step.</p>
<p>All at once, now, Knave proved he was less
ignorant of the Law—or, at least, of its penalties—than
might have been supposed from his act of
vandalism. In sudden panic he bolted for the
window, the silvery head of the eagle still, unheeded,
between his jaws. With a vaulting spring, he shot
out through the open casement, in his reckless
eagerness to escape, knocking against Lady's injured
leg as he passed.</p>
<p>He did not pause at Lady's scream of pain, nor
did he stop until he reached the chicken-house.
Crawling under this, he deposited the incriminating
eagle-head in the dark recess. Finding no pursuer,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</SPAN></span>
he emerged and jogged innocently back toward the
veranda.</p>
<p>The Master, entering the house and walking
across the living-room toward the stairs, heard
Lady's cry. He looked around for her, recognizing
from the sound that she must be in distress.
His eye fell on Lad, crouching tense and eager in
front of the shut study door.</p>
<p>The Master opened the door and went into the
study.</p>
<p>At the first step inside the room he stopped,
aghast. There lay the chewed and battered fragments
of his beloved eagle. And there, in one
corner, frightened, with guilt writ plain all over
her, cowered Lady. Men have been "legally" done
to death on far lighter evidence than encompassed
her.</p>
<p>The Master was thunderstruck. For more than
two years Lady had had the free run of the house.
And this was her first sin—at that, a sin unworthy
any well-bred dog that has graduated from puppyhood
and from milk-teeth. He would not have
believed it. He <i>could</i> not have believed it. Yet
here was the hideous evidence, scattered all over
the floor.</p>
<p>The door was shut, but the window stood wide.
Through the window, doubtless, she had gotten into
the room. And he had surprised her at her vandal-work
before she could escape by the same opening.</p>
<p>The Master was a just man—as humans go; but<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</SPAN></span>
this was a crime the most maudlin dog-spoiler could
not have condoned. The eagle, moreover, had been
the pride of his heart—as perhaps I have said.
Without a word, he walked to the wall and took
down a braided dog-whip, dust-covered from long
disuse.</p>
<p>Lady knew what was coming. Being a thoroughbred,
she did not try to run, nor did she roll for
mercy. She cowered, moveless, nose to floor,
awaiting her doom.</p>
<p>Back swished the lash. Down it came, whistling
as a man whistles whose teeth are broken. Across
Lady's slender flanks it smote, with the full force
of a strong driving-arm. Lady quivered all over.
But she made no sound. She who would whimper
at a chance touch to her sore foot, was mute under
human punishment.</p>
<p>But Lad was not mute. As the Master's arm
swung back for a second blow, he heard, just behind,
a low, throaty growl that held all the menace
of ten thousand wordy threats.</p>
<p>He wheeled about. Lad was close at his heels,
fangs bared, eyes red, head lowered, tawny body
taut in every sinew.</p>
<p>The Master blinked at him, incredulous. Here
was something infinitely more unbelievable than
Lady's supposed destruction of the eagle. The Impossible
had come to pass.</p>
<p>For, know well, a dog does not growl at its
Master. At its owner, perhaps; at its Master,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</SPAN></span>
never. As soon would a devout priest blaspheme
his deity.</p>
<p>Nor does a dog approach anything or anybody,
growling and with lowered head, unless intent on
battle. Have no fear when a dog barks or even
growls at you, so long as his head is erect. But
when he growls and lowers his head—then look
out. It means but one thing.</p>
<p>The Master had been the Master—the sublime,
blindly revered and worshiped Master—for all the
blameless years of Lad's life. And now, growling,
head down, the dog was threatening him.</p>
<p>It was the supreme misery, the crowning hell,
of Lad's career. For the first time, two overpowering
loves fought with each other in his Galahad
soul. And the love for poor, unjustly blamed, Lady
hurled down the superlove for the Master.</p>
<p>In baring teeth upon his lord, the collie well
knew what he was incurring. But he did not flinch.
Understanding that swift death might well be his
portion, he stood his ground.</p>
<p>(Is there greater love? Humans—sighing
swains, vow-laden suitors—can any of <i>you</i> match
it? I think not. Not even the much-lauded
Antonys. They throw away only the mere world
of earthly credit, for love.)</p>
<p>The Master's jaw set. He was well-nigh as
unhappy as the dog. For he grasped the situation,
and he was man enough to honor Lad's proffered
sacrifice. Yet it must be punished, and punished in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</SPAN></span>stantly—as
any dog-master will testify. Let a dog
once growl or show his teeth in menace at his
Master, and if the rebellion be not put down in
drastic fashion, the Master ceases forever to be
Master and degenerates to mere owner. His mysterious
power over his dog is gone for all time.</p>
<p>Turning his back on Lady, the Master whirled
his dog-whip in air. Lad saw the lash coming
down. He did not flinch. He did not cower. The
growl ceased. The orange-tawny collie stood erect.
Down came the braided whiplash on Lad's shoulders—again
over his loins, and yet again and again.</p>
<p>Without moving—head up, dark tender eyes unwinking—the
hero-dog took the scourging. When
it was over, he waited only to see the Master throw
the dog-whip fiercely into a corner of the study.
Then, knowing Lady was safe, Lad walked majestically
back to his "cave" under the piano, and
with a long, quivering sigh he lay down.</p>
<p>His spirit was sick and crushed within him. For
the first time in his thoroughbred life he had been
struck. For he was one of those not wholly rare
dogs to whom a sharp word of reproof is more
effective than a beating—to whom a blow is not a
pain, but a damning and overwhelming ignominy.
Had a human, other than the Master, presumed to
strike him, the assailant must have fought for life.</p>
<p>Through the numbness of Lad's grief, bit by bit,
began to smolder and glow a deathless hate for
Knave, the cause of Lady's humiliation. Lad had<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</SPAN></span>
known what passed behind that closed study door
as well as though he had seen. For ears and scent
serve a true collie quite as usefully as do mere
eyes.</p>
<p>The Master was little happier than was his favorite
dog. For he loved Lad as he would have
loved a human son. Though Lad did not realize it,
the Master had "let off" Lady from the rest of her
beating, in order not to increase her champion's
grief. He simply ordered her out of the study.</p>
<p>And as she limped away, the Master tried to rekindle
his own indignation and deaden his sense of
remorse by gathering together the strewn fragments
of the eagle. It occurred to him that though
the bird was destroyed, he might yet have its fierce-eyed
silvery head mounted on a board, as a minor
trophy.</p>
<p>But he could not find the head.</p>
<p>Search the study as he would, he could not find
it. He remembered distinctly that Lady had been
panting as she slunk out of the room. And dogs
that are carrying things in their mouths cannot pant.
She had not taken the head away with her. The
absence of the head only deepened the whole annoying
domestic mystery. He gave up trying to solve
any of the puzzle—from Lady's incredible vandalism
to this newest turn of the affair.</p>
<p>Not until two days later could Lad bring himself
to risk a meeting with Lady, the cause and
the witness of his beating. Then, yearning for a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</SPAN></span>
sight of her and for even her grudged recognition
of his presence, after his forty-eight hours of isolation,
he sallied forth from the house in search
of her.</p>
<p>He traced her to the cool shade of a lilac clump
near the outbuildings. There, having with one
paw dug a little pit in the cool earth, she was
curled up asleep under the bushes. Stretched out
beside her was Knave.</p>
<p>Lad's spine bristled at sight of his foe. But ignoring
him, he moved over to Lady and touched her
nose with his own in timid caress. She opened one
eye, blinked drowsily and went to sleep again.</p>
<p>But Lad's coming had awakened Knave. Much
refreshed by his nap, he woke in playful mood.
He tried to induce Lady to romp with him, but
she preferred to doze. So, casting about in his
shallow mind for something to play with, Knave
chanced to remember the prize he had hidden beneath
the chicken-house.</p>
<p>Away he ambled, returning presently with the
eagle's head between his teeth. As he ran, he
tossed it aloft, catching it as it fell—a pretty trick
he had long since learned with a tennis-ball.</p>
<p>Lad, who had lain down as near to sleepily scornful
Lady as he dared, looked up and saw him approach.
He saw, too, with what Knave was playing;
and as he saw, he went quite mad. Here
was the thing that had caused Lady's interrupted
punishment and his own black disgrace. Knave<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</SPAN></span>
was exploiting it with manifest and brazen delight.</p>
<p>For the second time in his life—and for the
second time in three days—Lad broke the law. He
forgot, in a trice, the command "Let him alone!"
And noiseless, terrible, he flew at the gamboling
Knave.</p>
<p>Knave was aware of the attack, barely in time to
drop the eagle's head and spring forward to meet
his antagonist. He was three years Lad's junior
and was perhaps five pounds heavier. Moreover,
constant exercise had kept him in steel-and-whale-bone
condition; while lonely brooding at home had
begun of late to soften Lad's tough sinews.</p>
<p>Knave was mildly surprised that the dog he had
looked on as a dullard and a poltroon should have
developed a flash of spirit. But he was not at all
unwilling to wage a combat whose victory must
make him shine with redoubled glory in Lady's
eyes.</p>
<p>Like two furry whirlwinds the collies spun forward
toward each other. They met, upreared and
snarled, slashing wolf-like for the throat, clawing
madly to retain balance. Then down they went,
rolling in a right unloving embrace, snapping, tearing,
growling.</p>
<p>Lad drove straight for the throat. A half-handful
of Knave's golden ruff came away in his jaws.
For except at the exact center, a collie's throat is
protected by a tangle of hair as effective against assault
as were Andrew Jackson's cotton-bale breast<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</SPAN></span>works
at New Orleans. And Lad had missed the
exact center.</p>
<p>Over and over they rolled. They regained their
footing and reared again. Lad's saber-shaped tusk
ripped a furrow in Knave's satiny forehead; and
Knave's half deflected slash in return set bleeding
the big vein at the top of Lad's left ear.</p>
<p>Lady was wide awake long before this. Standing
immovable, yet wildly excited—after the age-old
fashion of the female brute for whom males
battle and who knows she is to be the winner's
prize—she watched every turn of the fight.</p>
<p>Up once more, the dogs clashed, chest to chest.
Knave, with an instinctive throwback to his wolf
forebears of five hundred years earlier, dived for
Lad's forelegs with the hope of breaking one of
them between his foaming jaws.</p>
<p>He missed the hold by a fraction of an inch.
The skin alone was torn. And down over the little
white forepaw—one of the forepaws that Lad was
wont to lick for an hour a day to keep them snowy—ran
a trickle of blood.</p>
<p>That miss was a costly error for Knave. For
Lad's teeth sought and found his left shoulder, and
sank deep therein. Knave twisted and wheeled
with lightning speed and with all his strength.
Yet had not his gold-hued ruff choked Lad and
pressed stranglingly against his nostrils, all the
heavier dog's struggles would not have set him free.</p>
<p>As it was, Lad, gasping for breath enough to fill<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</SPAN></span>
his lungs, relaxed his grip ever so slightly. And
in that fraction of a second Knave tore free, leaving
a mouthful of hair and skin in his enemy's jaws.</p>
<p>In the same wrench that liberated him—and as
the relieved tension sent Lad stumbling forward—Knave
instinctively saw his chance and took it.
Again heredity came to his aid, for he tried a
manœuver known only to wolves and to collies.
Flashing above his stumbling foe's head, Knave
seized Lad from behind, just below the base of
the skull. And holding him thus helpless, he proceeded
to grit and grind his tight-clenched teeth in
the slow, relentless motion that must soon or late
eat down to and sever the spinal cord.</p>
<p>Lad, even as he thrashed frantically about, felt
there was no escape. He was well-nigh as powerless
against a strong opponent in this position as is
a puppy that is held up by the scruff of the neck.</p>
<p>Without a sound, but still struggling as best he
might, he awaited his fate. No longer was he
growling or snarling.</p>
<p>His patient, bloodshot eyes sought wistfully for
Lady. And they did not find her.</p>
<p>For even as they sought her, a novel element
entered into the battle. Lady, hitherto awaiting
with true feminine meekness the outcome of the
scrimmage, saw her old flame's terrible plight, under
the grinding jaws. And, proving herself false to
all canons of ancestry—moved by some impulse
she did not try to resist—she jumped forward.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</SPAN></span>
Forgetting the pain in her swollen foot, she nipped
Knave sharply in the hind leg. Then, as if abashed
by her unfeminine behavior, she drew back, in
shame.</p>
<p>But the work was done.</p>
<p>Through the red war lust Knave dimly realized
that he was attacked from behind—perhaps that his
new opponent stood an excellent chance of gaining
upon him such a death-hold as he himself now held.</p>
<p>He loosed his grip and whizzed about, frothing
and snapping, to face the danger. Before Knave
had half completed his lightning whirl, Lad had him
by the side of the throat.</p>
<p>It was no death-grip, this. Yet it was not only
acutely painful, but it held its victim quite as powerless
as he had just now held Lad. Bearing down
with all his weight and setting his white little front
teeth and his yellowing tusks firmly in their hold,
Lad gradually shoved Knave's head sideways to
the ground and held it there.</p>
<p>The result on Knave's activities was much the
same as is obtained by sitting on the head of a kicking
horse that has fallen. Unable to wrench
loose, helpless to counter, in keen agony from the
pinching of the tender throat-skin beneath the
masses of ruff, Knave lost his nerve. And he forthwith
justified those yellowish streaks in his mouth-roof
whereof the baggage-man had spoken.</p>
<p>He made the air vibrate with his abject howls of
pain and fear. He was caught. He could not get<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</SPAN></span>
away. Lad was hurting him horribly. Wherefore
he ki-yi-ed as might any gutter cur whose tail is
stepped upon.</p>
<p>Presently, beyond the fight haze, Lad saw a
shadow in front of him—a shadow that resolved
itself in the settling dust, as the Master. And Lad
came to himself.</p>
<p>He loosed his hold on Knave's throat, and stood
up, groggily. Knave, still yelping, tucked his tail
between his legs and fled for his life—out of The
Place, out of your story.</p>
<p>Slowly, stumblingly, but without a waver of hesitation,
Lad went up to the Master. He was gasping
for breath, and he was weak from fearful exertion
and from loss of blood. Up to the Master he
went—straight up to him.</p>
<p>And not until he was a scant two yards away
did he see that the Master held something in his
hand—that abominable, mischief-making eagle's
head, which he had just picked up! Probably the
dog-whip was in the other hand. It did not matter
much. Lad was ready for this final degradation.
He would not try to dodge it, he the double breaker
of laws.</p>
<p>Then—the Master was kneeling beside him. The
kind hand was caressing the dog's dizzy head, the
dear voice—a queer break in it—was saying remorsefully:</p>
<p>"Oh Lad! Laddie! I'm so sorry. So sorry!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</SPAN></span>
You're—you're more of a man than I am, old
friend. I'll make it up to you, somehow!"</p>
<p>And now besides the loved hand, there was another
touch, even more precious—a warmly caressing
little pink tongue that licked his bleeding
foreleg.</p>
<p>Lady—timidly, adoringly—was trying to stanch
her hero's wounds.</p>
<p>"Lady, I apologize to you too," went on the foolish
Master. "I'm sorry, girl."</p>
<p>Lady was too busy soothing the hurts of her
newly discovered mate to understand. But Lad
understood. Lad always understood.</p>
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