<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></SPAN>CHAPTER X<br/> THE KILLER</h2>
<p>One of the jolliest minutes in Lad's daily
cross-country tramp with the Mistress and
the Master was his dash up Mount Pisgah.
This "mount" was little more than a foothill. It
was treeless, and covered with short grass and mullein;
a slope where no crop but buckwheat could
be expected to thrive. It rose out of the adjoining
mountain forests in a long and sweeping ascent.</p>
<p>Here, with no trees or undergrowth to impede
him, Lad, from puppyhood, had ordained a racecourse
of his own. As he neared the hill he would
always dash forward at top speed; flying up the
rise like a tawny whirlwind, at unabated pace, until
he stopped, panting and gloriously excited, on the
summit; to await his slower-moving human escorts.</p>
<p>One morning in early summer, Lad, as usual,
bounded ahead of the Mistress and the Master, as
they drew near to the treeless "mount." And, as
ever, he rushed gleefully forward for his daily
breather, up the long slope. But, before he had
gone fifty yards, he came to a scurrying halt, and
stood at gaze. His back was bristling and his lips<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</SPAN></span>
curled back from his white teeth in sudden annoyance.</p>
<p>His keen nostrils, even before his eyes, told him
something was amiss with his cherished race-track.
The eddying shift of the breeze, from west to north,
had brought to his nose the odor which had checked
his onrush; an odor that wakened all sorts of
vaguely formless memories far back in Lad's brain;
and which he did not at all care for.</p>
<p>Scent is ten times stronger, to a dog, than is
sight. The best dog is near sighted. And the
worst dog has a magic sense of smell. Wherefore,
a dog almost always uses his nose first and his eyes
last. Which Lad now proceeded to do.</p>
<p>Above him was the pale green hillside, up which
he loved to gallop. But its surface was no longer
smoothly unencumbered. Instead, it was dotted
and starred—singly or in groups—with fluffy grayish-white
creatures.</p>
<p>Lad was almost abreast of the lowest group of
sheep when he paused. Several of the feeding
animals lifted their heads, snortingly, from the short
herbage, at sight of him; and fled up the hill. The
rest of the flock joined them in the silly stampede.</p>
<p>The dog made no move to follow. Instead, his
forehead creased and his eyes troubled, he stared
after the gray-white surge that swept upward toward
the summit of his favored coursing ground.
The Mistress and the Master, too, at sight of the
woolly avalanche, stopped and stared.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>From over the brow of Mount Pisgah appeared
the non-picturesque figure of a man in blue denim
overalls—one Titus Romaine, owner of the sparse-grassed
hill. Drawn by the noisy multiple patter
of his flock's hoofs, he emerged from under a hilltop
boulder's shade; to learn the cause of their
flight.</p>
<p>Now, in all his life, Lad had seen sheep just once
before. That one exception had been when Hamilcar
Q. Glure, "the Wall Street Farmer," had corralled
a little herd of his prize Merinos, overnight,
at The Place, on the way to the Paterson Livestock
Show. On that occasion, the sheep had broken from
the corral, and Lad, acting on ancestral instinct,
had rounded them up, without injuring or scaring
one of them.</p>
<p>The memory was not pleasing to Lad, and he
wanted nothing more to do with such stupid creatures.
Indeed, as he looked now upon the sheep
that were obstructing his run, he felt a distinct aversion
to them. Whining a little, he trotted back to
where stood the Mistress and the Master. And, as
they waited, Titus Romaine bore wrathfully down
upon them.</p>
<p>"I've been expectin' something like that!" announced
the land-owner. "Ever since I turned
these critters out here, this mornin'. I ain't surprised
a bit. I——"</p>
<p>"What is it you've been expecting, Romaine?"
asked the Master. "And how long have you been<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</SPAN></span>
a sheep-raiser? A sheep, here in the North Jersey
hinterland, is as rare as——"</p>
<p>"I been expectin' some savage dog would be
runnin' 'em," retorted the farmer. "Just like I've
read they do. An' now I've caught him at it!"</p>
<p>"Caught <i>whom?</i>—at <i>what?</i>" queried the perplexed
Mistress; failing to note the man's baleful
glower at the contemptuous Lad.</p>
<p>"That big ugly brute of your'n, of course," declared
Romaine. "I caught him, red-handed, runnin'
my sheep. He——"</p>
<p>"Lad did nothing of the kind," denied the Mistress.
"The instant he caught sight of them he
stopped running. Lad wouldn't hurt anything that
is weak and helpless. Your sheep saw him and they
ran away. He didn't follow them an inch."</p>
<p>"I seen what I seen," cryptically answered the
man. "An' I give you fair warnin', if any of my
sheep is killed, I'll know right where to come to look
for the killer."</p>
<p>"If you mean Lad——" began the Master, hotly.</p>
<p>But the Mistress intervened.</p>
<p>"I am glad you have decided to raise sheep, Mr.
Romaine," she said. "Everyone ought to, who can.
I read, only the other day, that America is using
up more sheep than it can breed; and that the price
of fodder and the scarcity of pasture were doing
terrible things to the mutton-and-wool supply. I
hope you'll have all sorts of good luck. And you
are wise to watch your sheep so closely. But don't<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</SPAN></span>
be afraid of Lad harming any of them. He
wouldn't, for worlds, I know. Because I know
Lad. Come along, Laddie!" she finished, as she
turned to go away.</p>
<p>But Titus Romaine stopped her.</p>
<p>"I've put a sight of money into this flock of
sheep," he declared. "More'n I could reely afford.
An' I've been readin' up on sheep, too. I've been
readin' that the worst en'my to sheep is 'pred'tory
dogs.' An' if that big dog of your'n ain't 'pred'tory,'
then I never seen one that was. So I'm
warnin' you, fair——"</p>
<p>"If your sheep come to any harm, Mr. Romaine,"
returned the Mistress, again forestalling an untactful
outbreak from her husband, "I'll guarantee Lad
will have nothing to do with it."</p>
<p>"An' I'll guarantee to have him shot an' have
you folks up in court, if he does," chivalrously
retorted Mr. Titus Romaine.</p>
<p>With which exchange of goodfellowship, the
two groups parted, Romaine returning to his scattered
sheep, while the Mistress, Lad at her heels,
lured the Master away from the field of encounter.
The Master was fuming.</p>
<p>"Here's where good old Mr. Trouble drops in on
us for a nice long visit!" he grumbled, as they
moved homeward. "I can see how it is going to
turn out. Because a few stray curs have chased
or killed sheep, now and then, every decent dog
is under suspicion as a sheep-killer. If one of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</SPAN></span>
Romaine's wethers gets a scratch on its leg, from
a bramble, Lad will be blamed. If one of the mongrels
from over in the village should chase his
sheep, Lad will be accused. And we'll be in the
first 'neighborhood squabble' of our lives."</p>
<p>The Master spoke with a pessimism his wife
did not share, and which he, himself, did not really
believe. The folk at The Place had always lived
in goodfellowship and peace with their few rural
neighbors, as well as with the several hundred inhabitants
of the mile-distant village, across the
lake. And, though livestock is the foundation of
ninety rustic feuds out of ninety-one, the dogs of
The Place had never involved their owners in any
such row.</p>
<p>Yet, barely three days later, Titus Romaine bore
down upon The Place, before breakfast, breathing
threatenings and complaining of slaughter.</p>
<p>He was waiting on the veranda in blasphemous
converse with The Place's foreman, when the Master
came out. At Titus's heels stood his "hired
man"—a huge and sullen person named Schwartz,
who possessed a scarce-conquered accent that fitted
the name.</p>
<p>"Well!" orated Romaine, in glum greeting, as he
sighted the Master. "Well, I guessed right! He
done it, after all! He done it. We all but caught
him, red-handed. Got away with four of my best
sheep! Four of 'em. The cur!"</p>
<p>"What are you talking about?" demanded the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</SPAN></span>
Master, as the Mistress, drawn by the visitor's plangent
tones, joined the veranda-group. "'Bout that
ugly big dog of your'n!" answered Romaine. "I
knew what he'd do, if he got the chance. I knew
it, when I saw him runnin' my poor sheep, last
week. I warned you then. The two of you. An'
now he's done it!"</p>
<p>"Done what?" insisted the Master, impatient of
the man's noise and fury.</p>
<p>"What dog?" asked the Mistress, at the same
time.</p>
<p>"Are you talking about Lad? If you are——"</p>
<p>"I'm talkin' about your big brown collie cur!"
snorted Titus. "He's gone an' killed four of my
best sheep. Did it in the night an' early this mornin'.
My man here caught him at the last of 'em,
an' drove him off, just as he was finishin' the poor
critter. He got away with the rest of 'em."</p>
<p>"Nonsense!" denied the Master. "You're talking
rot. Lad wouldn't touch a sheep. And——"</p>
<p>"That's what all folks say when their dogs or
their children is charged with doin' wrong!" scoffed
Romaine. "But this time it won't do no good
to——"</p>
<p>"You say this happened last night?" interposed
the Mistress.</p>
<p>"Yes, it did. Last night an' early in the mornin',
too. Schwartz, here——"</p>
<p>"But Lad sleeps in the house, every night," objected
the Mistress. "He sleeps under the piano,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</SPAN></span>
in the music room. He has slept there every night
since he was a puppy. The maid who dusts the
downstairs rooms before breakfast lets him out,
when she begins work. So he——"</p>
<p>"Bolster it up any way you like!" broke in Romaine.
"He was out last night, all right. An' early
this morning, too."</p>
<p>"How early?" questioned the Master.</p>
<p>"Five o'clock," volunteered Schwartz, speaking
up, from behind his employer. "I know, because
that's the time I get up. I went out, first thing,
to open the barnyard gate and drive the sheep to
the pasture. First thing I saw was that big dog
growling over a sheep he'd just killed. He saw
me, and he wiggled out through the barnyard bars—same
way he had got in. Then I counted the
sheep. One was dead,—the one he had just killed—and
three were gone. We've been looking for their
bodies ever since, and we can't find them."</p>
<p>"I suppose Lad swallowed them," ironically put
in The Place's foreman. "That makes about as
much sense as the rest of the yarn. The Old Dog
would no sooner——"</p>
<p>"Do you really mean to say you saw Lad—saw
and <i>recognized</i> him—in Mr. Titus's barnyard,
growling over a sheep he had just killed?" demanded
the Mistress.</p>
<p>"I sure do," affirmed Schwartz. "And I——"</p>
<p>"An' he's ready to go on th' stand an' take oath
to it!" supplemented Titus. "Unless you'll pay me<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</SPAN></span>
the damages out of court. Them sheep cost me
exac'ly $12.10 a head, in the Pat'son market, one
week ago. An' sheep on the hoof has gone up a
full forty cents more since then. You owe me for
them four sheep exac'ly——"</p>
<p>"I owe you not one red cent!" denied the Master.
"I hate law worse than I hate measles. But I'll
fight that idiotic claim all the way up to the Appellate
Division before I'll——"</p>
<p>The Mistress lifted a little silver whistle that
hung at her belt and blew it. An instant later
Lad came galloping gaily up the lawn from the lake,
adrip with water from his morning swim. Straight,
at the Mistress' summons, he came, and stood, expectant,
in front of her, oblivious of others.</p>
<p>The great dog's mahogany-and-snow coat shone
wetly in the sunshine. Every line of his splendid
body was tense. His eyes looked up into the face
of the loved Mistress in eager anticipation. For
a whistle-call usually involved some matter of more
than common interest.</p>
<p>"That's the dog!" cried Schwartz, his thick voice
betraying a shade more of its half-lost German
accent, in the excitement of the minute. "That's the
one. He has washed off the blood. But that is
the one. I could know him anywhere at all. And
I knew him, already. And Mr. Romaine told me
to be looking out for him, about the sheep, too.
So I——"</p>
<p>The Master had bent over Lad, examining the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</SPAN></span>
dog's mouth. "Not a trace of blood or of wool!"
he announced. "And look how he faces us! If
he had anything to be ashamed of——"</p>
<p>"I got a witness to prove he killed my sheep,"
cut in Romaine. "Since you won't be honest
enough to square the case out of court, then the
law'll take a tuck in your wallet for you. The law
will look after a poor man's int'rest. I don't wonder
there's folks who want all dogs done 'way with.
Pesky curs! Here, the papers say we are short on
sheep, an' they beg us to raise 'em, because mutton
is worth double what it used to be, in open market.
Then, when I buy sheep, on that sayso, your dog
gets four of 'em the very first week. Think what
them four sheep would 'a meant to——"</p>
<p>"I'm sorry you lost them," the Master interrupted.
"Mighty sorry. And I'm still sorrier if
there is a sheep-killing dog at large anywhere in
this region. But Lad never——"</p>
<p>"I tell ye, he <i>did!</i>" stormed Titus. "I got proof
of it. Proof good enough for any court. An' the
court is goin' to see me righted. It's goin' to do
more. It's goin' to make you shoot that killer,
there, too. I know the law. I looked it up. An'
the law says if a sheep-killin' dog——"</p>
<p>"Lad is not a sheep-killing dog!" flashed the Mistress.</p>
<p>"That's what he is!" snarled Romaine. "An',
by law, he'll be shot as sech. He——"</p>
<p>"Take your case to law, then!" retorted the Mas<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</SPAN></span>ter,
whose last shred of patience went by the board,
at the threat. "And take it and yourself off my
Place! Lad doesn't 'run' sheep. But, at the word
from me, he'll ask nothing better than to 'run' you
and your German every step of the way to your own
woodshed. Clear out!"</p>
<p>He and the Mistress watched the two irately
mumbling intruders plod out of sight up the drive.
Lad, at the Master's side, viewed the accusers' departure
with sharp interest. Schooled in reading
the human voice, he had listened alertly to the
Master's speech of dismissal. And, as the dog
listened, his teeth had come slowly into view from
beneath a menacingly upcurled lip. His eyes, half
shut, had been fixed on Titus with an expression
that was not pretty.</p>
<p>"Oh, dear!" sighed the Mistress miserably, as
she and her husband turned indoors and made their
way toward the breakfast room. "You were right
about 'good old Mr. Trouble dropping in on us.'
Isn't it horrible? But it makes my blood boil to
think of Laddie being accused of such a thing.
It is crazily absurd, of course. But——"</p>
<p>"Absurd?" the Master caught her up. "It's the
most absurd thing I ever heard of. If it was
about any other dog than Lad, it would be good
for a laugh. I mean, Romaine's charge of the
dog's doing away with no less than four sheep
and not leaving a trace of more than one of them.
That, alone, would get his case laughed out of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</SPAN></span>
court. I remember, once in Scotland, I was stopping
with some people whose shepherd complained
that three of the sheep had fallen victim to a
'killer.' We all went up to the moor-pasture to
look at them. They weren't a pretty sight, but
they were all <i>there</i>. A dog doesn't devour a sheep
he kills. He doesn't even lug it away. Instead, he
just——"</p>
<p>"Perhaps you'd rather describe it <i>after</i> breakfast,"
suggested the Mistress, hurriedly. "This
wretched business has taken away all of my appetite
that I can comfortably spare."</p>
<p>At about mid-morning of the next day, the
Master was summoned to the telephone.</p>
<p>"This is Maclay," said the voice at the far end.</p>
<p>"Why, hello, Mac!" responded the Master,
mildly wondering why his old fishing-crony, the
village's local Peace Justice, should be calling him
up at such an hour. "If you're going to tell me
this is a good day for small-mouth bass to bite I'm
going to tell you it isn't. It isn't because I'm up
to my neck in work. Besides, it's too late for the
morning fishing, and too early for the bass to get
up their afternoon appetites. So don't try to tempt
me into——"</p>
<p>"Hold on!" broke in Maclay. "I'm not calling
you up for that. I'm calling up on business; rotten
unpleasant business, too."</p>
<p>"What's wrong?" asked the Master.</p>
<p>"I'm hoping Titus Romaine is," said the Justice.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</SPAN></span>
"He's just been here—with his North Prussian
hired man as witness—to make a complaint about
your dog, Lad. Yes, and to get a court order to
have the old fellow shot, too."</p>
<p>"What!" sputtered the Master. "He hasn't
actually——"</p>
<p>"That's just what he's done," said Maclay. "He
claims Lad killed four of his new sheep night before
last, and four more of them this morning or
last night. Schwartz swears he caught Lad at the
last of the killed sheep both times. It's hard luck,
old man, and I feel as bad about it as if it were
my own dog. You know how strong I am for
Lad. He's the greatest collie I've known, but the
law is clear in such——"</p>
<p>"You speak as if you thought Lad was guilty!"
flamed the Master. "You ought to know better
than that. He——"</p>
<p>"Schwartz tells a straight story," answered
Maclay, sadly, "and he tells it under oath. He
swears he recognized Lad first time. He says he
volunteered to watch in the barnyard last night.
He had had a hard day's work and he fell asleep
while he was on watch. He says he woke up in
gray dawn to find the whole flock in a turmoil, and
Lad pinning one of the sheep to the ground. He
had already killed three. Schwartz drove him
away. Three of the sheep were missing. One Lad
had just downed was dying. Romaine swears he
saw Lad 'running' his sheep last week. It——"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"What did you do about the case?" asked the
dazed Master.</p>
<p>"I told them to be at the courtroom at three this
afternoon with the bodies of the two dead sheep
that aren't missing, and that I'd notify you to be
there, too."</p>
<p>"Oh, I'll be there!" snapped the Master. "Don't
worry. And it was decent of you to make them
wait. The whole thing is ridiculous! It——"</p>
<p>"Of course," went on Maclay, "either side can
easily appeal from any decision I make. That is
as regards damages. But, by the township's new
sheep-laws, I'm sorry to say there isn't any appeal
from the local Justice's decree that a sheep-killing
dog must be shot at once. The law leaves me no
option if I consider a dog guilty of sheep-killing.
I have to order such a dog put to death at once.
That's what's making me so blue. I'd rather lose
a year's pay than have to order old Lad killed."</p>
<p>"You won't have to," declared the Master,
stoutly; albeit he was beginning to feel a nasty
sinking in the vicinity of his stomach.</p>
<p>"We'll manage to prove him innocent. I'll stake
anything you like on that."</p>
<p>"Talk the case over with Dick Colfax or any
other good lawyer before three o'clock," suggested
Maclay. "There may be a legal loophole out of
the muddle. I hope to the Lord there is."</p>
<p>"We're not going to crawl out through any
'loopholes,' Lad and I," returned the Master.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</SPAN></span>
"We're going to come through, <i>clean</i>. See if we
don't!"</p>
<p>Leaving the telephone, he went in search of the
Mistress, and more and more disheartened told her
the story.</p>
<p>"The worst of it is," he finished, "Romaine and
Schwartz seem to have made Maclay believe their
fool yarn."</p>
<p>"That is because they believe it, themselves," said
the Mistress, "and because, just as soon as even
the most sensible man is made a Judge, he seems
to lose all his common sense and intuition and become
nothing but a walking statute-book. But
you—you think for a moment, do you, that they
can persuade Judge Maclay to have Lad shot?"</p>
<p>She spoke with a little quiver in her sweet voice
that roused all the Master's fighting spirit.</p>
<p>"This Place is going to be in a state of siege
against the entire law and militia of New Jersey,"
he announced, "before one bullet goes into Lad.
You can put your mind to rest on that. But that
isn't enough. I want to <i>clear</i> him. In these days
of 'conservation' and scarcity, it is a grave offense
to destroy any meat-animal. And the loss of eight
sheep in two days—in a district where there has
been such an effort made to revive sheep raising——"</p>
<p>"Didn't you say they claim the second lot of
sheep were killed in the night and at dawn, just<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</SPAN></span>
as they said the first were?" interposed the Mistress.</p>
<p>"Why, yes. But——"</p>
<p>"Then," said the Mistress, much more comfortably,
"we can prove Lad's alibi just as I said yesterday
we could. Marie always lets him out in
the morning when she comes downstairs to dust these
lower rooms. She's never down before six o'clock;
and the sun, nowadays, rises long before that.
Schwartz says he saw Lad both times in the early
dawn. We can prove, by Marie, that Lad was safe
here in the house till long after sunrise."</p>
<p>Her worried frown gave way to a smile of positive
inspiration. The Master's own darkling face
cleared.</p>
<p>"Good!" he approved. "I think that cinches it.
Marie's been with us for years. Her word is certainly
as good as a Boche farmhand's. Even
Maclay's 'judicial temperament' will have to admit
that. Send her in here, won't you?"</p>
<p>When the maid appeared at the door of the
study a minute later, the Master opened the examination
with the solemn air of a legal veteran.</p>
<p>"You are the first person down here in the mornings,
aren't you, Marie?" he began.</p>
<p>"Why, yes, sir," replied the wondering maid.
"Yes, always, except when you get up early to go
fishing or when——"</p>
<p>"What time do you get down here in the mornings,"
pursued the Master.</p>
<p>"Along about six o'clock, sir, mostly," said the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</SPAN></span>
maid, bridling a bit as if scenting a criticism of
her work-hours.</p>
<p>"Not earlier than six?" asked the Master.</p>
<p>"No, sir," said Marie, uncomfortably. "Of
course, if that's not early enough, I suppose I
could——"</p>
<p>"It's quite early enough," vouchsafed the Master.
"There is no complaint about your hours. You always
let Lad out as soon as you come into the
music room?"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," she answered, "as soon as I get downstairs.
Those were the orders, you remember."</p>
<p>The Master breathed a silent sigh of relief. The
maid did not get downstairs until six. The dog,
then, could not get out of the house until that
hour. If Schwartz had seen any dog in the Romaine
barnyard at daybreak, it assuredly was not
Lad. Yet, racking his brain, the Master could not
recall any other dog in the vicinity that bore even
the faintest semblance to his giant collie. And
he fell to recalling—from his happy memories of
"<i>Bob, Son of Battle</i>"—that "Killers" often travel
many miles from home to sate their mania for
sheep-slaying.</p>
<p>In any event, it was no concern of his if some
distant collie, drawn to the slaughter by the queer
"sixth" collie-sense, was killing Romaine's new
flock of sheep. Lad was cleared. The maid's very
evidently true testimony settled that point.</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," rambled on Marie, beginning to take<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</SPAN></span>
a faint interest in the examination now that it
turned upon Lad whom she loved. "Yes, sir,
Laddie always comes out from under his piano the
minute he hears my step in the hall outside. And
he always comes right up to me and wags that big
plume of a tail of his, and falls into step alongside
of me and walks over to the front door, right beside
me all the way. He knows as much as many
a human, that dog does, sir."</p>
<p>Encouraged by the Master's approving nod, the
maid ventured to enlarge still further upon the
theme.</p>
<p>"It always seems as if he was welcoming me
downstairs, like," she resumed, "and glad to see
me. I've really missed him quite bad this past few
mornings." The approving look on the Master's
face gave way to a glare of utter blankness.</p>
<p>"This past few mornings?" he repeated, blitheringly.
"What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"Why," she returned, flustered afresh by the
quick change in her interlocutor's manner. "Ever
since those French windows are left open for the
night—same as they always are when the hot
weather starts in, you know, sir. Since then,
Laddie don't wait for me to let him out. When
he wakes up he just goes out himself. He used
to do that last year, too, sir. He——"</p>
<p>"Thanks," muttered the Master, dizzily. "That's
all. Thanks."</p>
<p>Left alone, he sat slumped low in his chair, try<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</SPAN></span>ing
to think. He was as calmly convinced as ever
of his dog's innocence, but he had staked everything
on Marie's court testimony. And, now, that
testimony was rendered worse than worthless.</p>
<p>Crankily he cursed his own fresh-air mania
which had decreed that the long windows on the
ground floor be left open on summer nights. With
Lad on duty, the house was as safe from successful
burglary in spite of these open windows, as if
guarded by a squad of special policemen. And the
night-air, sweeping through, kept it pleasantly cool
against the next day's heat. For this same coolness,
a heavy price was now due.</p>
<p>Presently the daze of disappointment passed
leaving the Master pulsing with a wholesome fighting-anger.
Rapidly he revised his defense and,
with the Mistress' far cleverer aid, made ready for
the afternoon's ordeal. He scouted Maclay's suggestion
of hiring counsel and vowed to handle the
defense himself. Carefully he and his wife went
over their proposed line of action.</p>
<p>Peace Justice Maclay's court was held daily in
a rambling room on an upper floor of the village's
Odd Fellows' Hall. The proceedings there were
generally marked by shrewd sanity rather than by
any effort at formalism. Maclay, himself, sat at
a battered little desk at the room's far end; his
clerk using a corner of the same desk for the
scribbling of his sketchy notes.</p>
<p>In front of the desk was a rather long deal table<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</SPAN></span>
with kitchen chairs around it. Here, plaintiffs and
defendants and prisoners and witnesses and lawyers
were wont to sit, with no order of precedent
or of other formality. Several other chairs were
ranged irregularly along the wall to accommodate
any overflow of the table's occupants.</p>
<p>Promptly at three o'clock that afternoon, the
Mistress and the Master entered the courtroom.
Close at the Mistress' side—though held by no
leash—paced Lad. Maclay and Romaine and
Schwartz were already on hand. So were the clerk
and the constable and one or two idle spectators.
At a corner of the room, wrapped in burlap, were
huddled the bodies of the two slain sheep.</p>
<p>Lad caught the scent of the victims the instant
he set foot in the room, and he sniffed vibrantly
once or twice. Titus Romaine, his eyes fixed
scowlingly on the dog, noted this, and he nudged
Schwartz in the ribs to call the German's attention
to it.</p>
<p>Lad turned aside in fastidious disgust from the
bumpy burlap bundle. Seeing the Judge and recognizing
him as an old acquaintance, the collie wagged
his plumed tail in gravely friendly greeting and
stepped forward for a pat on the head.</p>
<p>"Lad!" called the Mistress, softly.</p>
<p>At the word the dog paused midway to the embarrassed
Maclay's desk and obediently turned
back. The constable was drawing up a chair at
the deal table for the Mistress. Lad curled down<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</SPAN></span>
beside her, resting one snowy little forepaw protectingly
on her slippered foot. And the hearing
began.</p>
<p>Romaine repeated his account of the collie's
alleged depredations, starting with Lad's first view
of the sheep. Schwartz methodically retold his
own story of twice witnessing the killing of sheep
by the dog.</p>
<p>The Master did not interrupt either narrative,
though, on later questioning he forced the sulkily
truthful Romaine to admit he had not actually seen
Lad chase the sheep-flock that morning on Mount
Pisgah, but had merely seen the sheep running, and
the dog standing at the hill-foot looking upward
at their scattering flight. Both the Mistress and
the Master swore that the dog on that occasion, had
made no move to pursue or otherwise harass the
sheep.</p>
<p>Thus did Lad win one point in the case. But,
in view of the after-crimes wherewith he was
charged, the point was of decidedly trivial value.
Even if he had not attacked the flock on his first
view of them he was accused of killing no less than
eight of their number on two later encounters.
And Schwartz was an eye-witness to this—Schwartz,
whose testimony was as clear and as
simple as daylight.</p>
<p>With a glance of apology at the Mistress, Judge
Maclay ordered the sheep-carcasses taken from<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</SPAN></span>
their burlap cerements and laid on the table for
court-inspection.</p>
<p>While he and Schwartz arranged the grisly exhibits
for the judge's view, Titus Romaine expatiated
loudly on the value of the murdered sheep
and on the brutally useless wastage in their slaying.
The Master said nothing, but he bent over
each of the sheep, carefully studying the throat-wounds.
At last he straightened himself up from
his task and broke in on Romaine's Antony-like
funeral-oration by saying quietly:</p>
<p>"Your honor, these sheep's throats were not cut
by a dog. Neither by Lad nor by any 'killer.' Look
for yourself. I've seen dog-killed sheep. The
wounds were not at all like these."</p>
<p>"Not killed by a dog, hey?" loudly scoffed
Romaine. "I s'pose they was chewed by lightnin',
then? Or, maybe they was bit by a skeeter?
Huh!"</p>
<p>"They were not bitten at all," countered the
Master. "Still less, were they chewed. Look!
Those gashes are ragged enough, but they are as
straight as if they were made by a machine. If
ever you have seen a dog worry a piece of
meat——"</p>
<p>"Rubbish!" grunted Titus. "You talk like a
fool! The sheeps' throats is torn. Schwartz seen
your cur tear 'em. That's all there is to it.
Whether he tore 'em straight or whether he tore<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</SPAN></span>
'em crooked don't count in Law. He <i>tore</i> 'em.
An' I got a reli'ble witness to prove it."</p>
<p>"Your Honor," said the Master, suddenly. "May
I interrogate the witness?"</p>
<p>Maclay nodded. The Master turned to Schwartz,
who faced him in stolid composure.</p>
<p>"Schwartz," began the Master, "you say it was
light enough for you to recognize the sheep-killing
dog both mornings in Romaine's barnyard. How
near to him did you get?"</p>
<p>Schwartz pondered for a second, then made careful
answer:</p>
<p>"First time, I ran into the barnyard from the
house side and your dog cut and run out of it from
the far side when he saw me making for him.
That time, I don't think I got within thirty feet
of him. But I was near enough to see him plain,
and I'd seen him often enough before on the road
or in your car; so I knew him all right. The next
time—this morning, Judge—I was within five feet
of him, or even nearer. For I was near enough to
hit him with the stick I'd just picked up and to
land a kick on his ribs as he started away. I saw
him then as plain as I see you. And nearer than
I am to you. And the light was 'most good enough
to read by, too."</p>
<p>"Yes?" queried the Master. "If I remember
rightly you told Judge Maclay that you were on
watch last night in the cowshed, just alongside the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</SPAN></span>
barnyard where the sheep were; and you fell
asleep; and woke just in time to see a dog——"</p>
<p>"To see your dog——" corrected Schwartz.</p>
<p>"To see a dog growling over a squirming and
bleating sheep he had pulled down. How far away
from you was he when you awoke?"</p>
<p>"Just outside the cowshed door. Not six feet
from me. I ups with the stick I had with me and
ran out at him and——"</p>
<p>"Were he and the sheep making much noise?"</p>
<p>"Between 'em they was making enough racket
to wake a dead man," replied Schwartz. "What
with your dog's snarling and growling, and the
poor sheep's bl'ats. And all the other sheep——"</p>
<p>"Yet, you say he had killed three sheep while
you slept there—had killed them and carried or
dragged their bodies away and come back again;
and, presumably started a noisy panic in the flock
every time. And none of that racket waked you
until the fourth sheep was killed?"</p>
<p>"I was dog-tired," declared Schwartz. "I'd been
at work in our south-mowing for ten hours the
day before, and up since five. Mr. Romaine can
tell you I'm a hard man to wake at best. I sleep
like the dead."</p>
<p>"That's right!" assented Titus. "Time an'
again, I have to bang at his door an' holler myself
hoarse, before I can get him to open his eyes. My
wife says he's the sleepin'est sleeper——"</p>
<p>"You ran out of the shed with your stick," re<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</SPAN></span>sumed
the Master, "and struck the dog before he
could get away? And as he turned to run you
kicked him?"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir. That's what I did."</p>
<p>"How hard did you hit him?"</p>
<p>"A pretty good lick," answered Schwartz, with
reminiscent satisfaction. "Then I——"</p>
<p>"And when you hit him he slunk away like a
whipped cur? He made no move to resent it? I
mean, he did not try to attack you?"</p>
<p>"Not him!" asserted Schwartz, "I guess he was
glad enough to get out of reach. He slunk away
so fast, I hardly had a chance to land fair on him,
when I kicked."</p>
<p>"Here is my riding-crop," said the Master.
"Take it, please, and strike Lad with it just as you
struck him—or the sheep-killing dog—with your
stick. Just as hard. Lad has never been struck
except once, unjustly, by me, years ago. He has
never needed it. But if he would slink away like
a whipped mongrel when a stranger hits him, the
sooner he is beaten to death the better. Hit him
exactly as you hit him this morning."</p>
<p>Judge Maclay half-opened his lips to protest.
He knew the love of the people of The Place for
Lad, and he wondered at this invitation to a farmhand
to thrash the dog publicly. He glanced at
the Mistress. Her face was calm, even a little
amused. Evidently the Master's request did not
horrify or surprise her.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Schwartz's stubby fingers gripped the crop the
Master forced into his hand.</p>
<p>With true Teutonic relish for pain-inflicting, he
swung the weapon aloft and took a step toward
the lazily recumbent collie, striking with all his
strength.</p>
<p>Then, with much-increased speed, Schwartz took
three steps backward. For, at the menace, Lad had
leaped to his feet with the speed of a fighting
wolf, eluding the descending crop as it swished
past him and launching himself straight for the
wielder's throat. He did not growl; he did not
pause. He merely sprang for his assailant with a
deadly ferocity that brought a cry from Maclay.</p>
<p>The Master caught the huge dog midway in his
throatward flight.</p>
<p>"Down, Lad!" he ordered, gently.</p>
<p>The collie, obedient to the word, stretched himself
on the floor at the Mistress' feet. But he kept
a watchful and right unloving eye on the man who
had struck at him.</p>
<p>"It's a bit odd, isn't it," suggested the Master,
"that he went for you, like that, just now; when,
this morning, he slunk away from your blow, in
cringing fear?"</p>
<p>"Why wouldn't he?" growled Schwartz, his
stolid nerve shaken by the unexpected onslaught.
"His folks are here to back him up, and everything.
Why wouldn't he go for me! He was
slinky enough when I whaled him, this morning."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"H'm!" mused the Master. "You hit a strong
blow, Schwartz. I'll say that, for you. You
missed Lad, with my crop. But you've split the
crop. And you scored a visible mark on the
wooden floor with it. Did you hit as hard as that
when you struck the sheep-killer, this morning?"</p>
<p>"A sight harder," responded Schwartz. "My
mad was up. I——"</p>
<p>"A dog's skin is softer than a pine floor," said
the Master. "Your Honor, such a blow would
have raised a weal on Lad's flesh, an inch high.
Would your Honor mind passing your hand over
his body and trying to locate such a weal?"</p>
<p>"This is all outside the p'int!" raged the annoyed
Titus Romaine. "You're a-dodgin' the issue, I tell
ye. I——"</p>
<p>"If your Honor please!" insisted the Master.</p>
<p>The judge left his desk and whistled Lad across
to him. The dog looked at his Master, doubtfully.
The Master nodded. The collie arose and walked
in leisurely fashion over to the waiting judge.
Maclay ran an exploring hand through the magnificent
tawny coat, from head to haunch; then along
the dog's furry sides. Lad hated to be handled
by anyone but the Mistress or the Master. But at
a soft word from the Mistress, he stood stock still
and submitted to the inspection.</p>
<p>"I find no weal or any other mark on him,"
presently reported the Judge.</p>
<p>The Mistress smiled happily. The whole investi<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</SPAN></span>gation,
up to this point, and further, was along
eccentric lines she herself had thought out and had
suggested to her husband. Lines suggested by her
knowledge of Lad.</p>
<p>"Schwartz," went on the Master, interrupting
another fuming outbreak from Romaine, "I'm
afraid you didn't hit quite as hard as you thought
you did, this morning; or else some other dog is
carrying around a big welt on his flesh, to-day.
Now for the kick you say you gave the collie.
I——"</p>
<p>"I won't copy <i>that</i>, on your bloodthirsty dog!"
vociferated Schwartz. "Not even if the Judge
jails me for contempt, I won't. He'd likely kill
me!"</p>
<p>"And yet he ran from you, this morning," the
Master reminded him. "Well, I won't insist on
your kicking Lad. But you say it was a light
kick; because he was running away when it landed.
I am curious to know just how hard a kick it was.
In fact, I'm so curious about it that I am going to
offer myself as a substitute for Lad. My riding
boot is a good surface. Will you kindly kick me
there, Schwartz; as nearly as possible with the same
force (no more, no less) than you kicked the dog?"</p>
<p>"I protest!" shouted Romaine. "This measly
tomfoolishness is——"</p>
<p>"If your Honor please!" appealed the Master
sharply; turning from the bewildered Schwartz to
the no less dismayed Judge.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Maclay was on his feet to overrule so strange a
request. But there was keen supplication in the
Master's eye that made the Judge pause. Maclay
glanced again at the Mistress. In spite of the prospect
of seeing her husband kicked, her face wore a
most pleased smile. The Judge noted, though, that
she was stroking Lad's head and that she was unobtrusively
turning that head so that the dog faced
Schwartz.</p>
<p>"Now, then!" adjured the Master. "Whenever
you're ready, Schwartz! A German doesn't get a
chance, like this, every day, to kick an American.
And I'll promise not to go for your throat, as Laddie
tried to. Kick away!"</p>
<p>Awkwardly, shamblingly, Schwartz stepped forward.
Urged on by his racial veneration for the
Law—and perhaps not sorry to assail the man
whose dog had tried to throttle him—he drew back
his broganed left foot and kicked out in the general
direction of the calf of the Master's thick riding
boot.</p>
<p>The kick did not land. Not that the Master
dodged or blocked it. He stood moveless, and
grinning expectantly.</p>
<p>But the courtroom shook with a wild-beast yell—a
yell of insane fury. And Schwartz drew back
his half-extended left foot in sudden terror; as a
great furry shape came whizzing through the air
at him.</p>
<p>The sight of the half-delivered kick, at his wor<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</SPAN></span>shipped
master, had had precisely the effect on Lad
that the Mistress had foreseen when she planned
the manœuver. Almost any good dog will attack
a man who seeks to strike its owner. And Lad
seemed to comprehend that a kick is a more contemptuous
affront than is a blow.</p>
<p>Schwartz's kick at the Master had thrown the
adoring dog into a maniac rage against this defiler
of his idol. The memory of Schwartz's blow at
himself was as nothing to it. It aroused in the
collie's heart a deathless blood-feud against the
man. As the Mistress had known it would.</p>
<p>The Mistress' sharp command, and the Master's
hastily outflung arm barely sufficed to deflect Lad's
charge. He writhed in their dual grasp, snarling
furiously, his eyes red; his every giant muscle
strained to get at the cowering Schwartz.</p>
<p>"We've had enough of this!" imperatively ordained
Maclay, above the babel of Titus Romaine's
protests. "In spite of the informality of hearing,
this is a court of law: not a dog-kennel. I——"</p>
<p>"I crave your Honor's pardon," apologized the
Master. "I was merely trying to show that Lad is
not the sort of dog to let a stranger strike and kick
him as this man claims to have done with impunity.
I think I have shown, from Lad's own regrettable
actions, that it was some other dog—if <i>any</i>—which
cheered Romaine's barnyard, this morning,
and yesterday morning.</p>
<p>"It was <i>your</i> dog!" cried Schwartz, getting his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</SPAN></span>
breath, in a swirl of anger. "Next time I'll be on
watch with a shotgun and not a stick. I'll——"</p>
<p>"There ain't going to be no 'next time,'" asserted
the equally angry Romaine. "Judge, I call on you
to order that sheep-killer shot; an' to order his
master to indemnify me for th' loss of my eight
killed sheep!"</p>
<p>"Your Honor!" suavely protested the Master,
"may I ask you to listen to a counter-proposition?
A proposition which I think will be agreeable to
Mr. Romaine, as well as to myself?"</p>
<p>"The only prop'sition <i>I'll</i> agree to, is the shootin'
of that cur and the indemnifyin' of me for my
sheep!" persisted Romaine.</p>
<p>Maclay waved his hand for order; then, turning
to the Master, said:</p>
<p>"State your proposition."</p>
<p>"I propose," began the Master, "that Lad be
paroled, in my custody, for the space of twenty-four
hours. I will deposit with the court, here and
now, my bond for the sum of one thousand dollars;
to be paid, on demand, to Titus Romaine; if one or
more of his sheep are killed by any dog, during that
space of time."</p>
<p>The crass oddity of the proposal set Titus's
leathery mouth ajar. Even the Judge gasped aloud
at its bizarre terms. Schwartz looked blank, until,
little by little, the purport of the words sank into
his slow mind. Then he permitted himself the rare
luxury of a chuckle.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Do I und'stand you to say," demanded Titus
Romaine, of the Master, "that if I'll agree to hold
up this case for twenty-four hours you'll give me
one thousan' dollars, cash, for any sheep of mine
that gets killed by dogs in that time?"</p>
<p>"That is my proposition," returned the Master.
"To cinch it, I'll let you make out the written arrangement,
your self. And I'll give the court a bond
for the money, at once, with instructions that the
sum is to be paid to you, if you lose one sheep,
through dogs, in the next day. I furthermore agree
to shoot Lad, myself, if you lose one or more sheep
in that time, and in that way, I'll forfeit another
thousand if I fail to keep that part of my contract.
How about it?"</p>
<p>"I agree!" exclaimed Titus.</p>
<p>Schwartz's smile, by this time, threatened to split
his broad face across. Maclay saw the Mistress'
cheek whiten a little; but her aspect betrayed no
worry over the possible loss of a thousand dollars
and the far more painful loss of the dog she loved.</p>
<p>When Romaine and Schwartz had gone, the Master
tarried a moment in the courtroom.</p>
<p>"I can't make out what you're driving at," Maclay
told him. "But you seem to me to have done a
mighty foolish thing. To get a thousand dollars
Romaine is capable of scouring the whole country
for a sheep-killing dog. So is Schwartz—if only
to get Lad shot. Did you see the way Schwartz
looked at Lad as he went out? He hates him."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Yes," said the Master. "And I saw the way
Lad looked at <i>him</i>. Lad will never forget that
kick at me. He'll attack Schwartz for it, if they
come together a year from now. That's why we
arranged it. Say, Mac; I want you to do me a
big favor. A favor that comes within the square
and angle of your work. I want you to go fishing
with me, to-night. Better come over to dinner and
be prepared to spend the night. The fishing won't
start till about twelve o'clock."</p>
<p>"Twelve o'clock!" echoed Maclay. "Why, man,
nothing but catfish will bite at that hour.
And I——"</p>
<p>"You're mistaken," denied the Master. "Much
bigger fish will bite. <i>Much</i> bigger. Take my word
for that. My wife and I have it all figured out.
I'm not asking you in your official capacity; but
as a friend. I'll need you, Mac. It will be a big
favor to me. And if I'm not wrong, there'll be
sport in it for you, too. I'm risking a thousand
dollars and my dog, on this fishing trip. Won't you
risk a night's sleep? I ask it as a worthy and distressed——"</p>
<p>"Certainly," assented the wholly perplexed Judge,
impressed, "but I don't get your idea at all. I——"</p>
<p>"I'll explain it before we start," promised the
Master. "All I want, now, is for you to commit
yourself to the scheme. If it fails, you won't lose
anything, except your sleep. Thanks for saying
you'll come."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>At a little after ten o'clock that night the last
light in Titus Romaine's farmhouse went out. A
few moments later the Master got up from a rock
on Mount Pisgah's summit, on which he and
Maclay had been sitting for the past hour. Lad,
at their feet, rose expectantly with them.</p>
<p>"Come on, old Man," said the Master. "We'll
drop down there, now. It probably means a long
wait for us. But it's better to be too soon than
too late; when I've got so much staked. If we're
seen, you can cut and run. Lad and I will cover
your retreat and see you aren't recognized. Steady,
there, Lad. Keep at heel."</p>
<p>Stealthily the trio made their way down the hill
to the farmstead at its farther base. Silently they
crept along the outer fringe of the home-lot, until
they came opposite the black-gabled bulk of the
barn. Presently, their slowly cautious progress
brought them to the edge of the barnyard, and to
the rail fence which surrounds it. There they
halted.</p>
<p>From within the yard, as the huddle of drowsy
sheep caught the scent of the dog, came a slight
stirring. But, after a moment, the yard was quiet
again.</p>
<p>"Get that?" whispered the Master, his mouth
close to Maclay's ear. "Those sheep are supposed
to have been raided by a killer-dog, for the past
two nights. Yet the smell of a dog doesn't even
make them bleat. If they had been attacked by<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</SPAN></span>
<i>any</i> dog, last night, the scent of Lad would throw
them into a panic."</p>
<p>"I get something else, too," replied Maclay, in
the same all-but soundless whisper. "And I'm
ashamed I didn't think of it before. Romaine said
the dog wriggled into the yard through the bars,
and out again the same way. Well, if those bars
were wide enough apart for an eighty-pound collie,
like Lad, to get through, what would there be to
prevent all these sheep from escaping, the same way,
any time they wanted to? I'll have a look at those
bars before I pass judgment on the case. I begin
to be glad you and your wife coerced me into this
adventure."</p>
<p>"Of course, the sheep could have gotten through
the same bars that the dog did," answered the
Master. "For, didn't Romaine say the dog not only
got through, but dragged three dead sheep through,
after him, each night, and hid them somewhere,
where they couldn't be found? No man would keep
sheep in a pen as open as all that. The entire
story is full of air-holes."</p>
<p>Lad, at a touch from his Master, had lain softly
down at the men's feet, beside the fence. And so,
for another full hour, the three waited there.</p>
<p>The night was heavily overcast; and, except for
the low drone of distant tree-toads and crickets,
it was deathly silent. Heat lightning, once in a
while, played dimly along the western horizon.</p>
<p>"Lucky for us that Romaine doesn't keep a dog!"<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</SPAN></span>
whispered Maclay. "He'd have raised the alarm
before we got within a hundred yards of here."</p>
<p>"He told my foreman he gave his mongrel dog
away, when he stocked himself with sheep. And
he's been reading a lot of rot about dogs being non-utilitarian,
too. His dog would have been anything
but non-utilitarian, to-night."</p>
<p>A touch on the sleeve from Maclay silenced the
rambling whisper. Through the stillness, a house
door shut very softly, not far away. An instant
later, Lad growled throatily, and got to his feet,
tense and fiercely eager.</p>
<p>"He's caught Schwartz's scent!" whispered the
Master, exultantly. "Now, maybe you understand
why I made the man try to kick me? Down, Lad!
<i>Quiet!</i>"</p>
<p>At the stark command in the Master's whisper,
Lad dropped to earth again; though he still rumbled
deeply in his throat, until a touch from the Master's
fingers and a repeated "<i>Quiet</i>" silenced him.</p>
<p>The hush of the night was disturbed, once more—very
faintly. This time, by the muffled padding of
a man's bare feet, drawing closer to the barnyard.
Lad as he heard it made as if to rise. The Master
tapped him lightly on the head, and the dog sank
to the ground again, quivering with hard-held rage.</p>
<p>The clouds had piled thicker. Only by a dim
pulsing of far-away heat lightning could the watchers
discern the shadowy outline of a man, moving
silently between them and the far side of the yard.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</SPAN></span>
By the tiny glow of lightning they saw his silhouette.</p>
<p>By Lad's almost uncontrollable trembling they
knew who he must be.</p>
<p>There was another drowsy stirring of the sheep;
checked by the reassuring mumble of a voice the
animals seemed to know. And, except for the
stealthy motion of groping feet, the barnyard
seemed as empty of human life as before.</p>
<p>Perhaps a minute later another sulphur-gleam of
lightning revealed the intruder to the two men who
crouched behind the outer angle of the fence. He
had come out of the yard, and was shuffling away.
But he was fully a third wider of shoulder now,
and he seemed to have two heads, as his silhouette
dimly appeared and then vanished.</p>
<p>"See that?" whispered the Master. "He has a
sheep slung over his back. Probably with a cloth
wrapped around its head to keep it quiet. We will
give him twenty seconds' start and then——"</p>
<p>"<i>Good!</i>" babbled Maclay, in true buck-ague fever
of excitement. "It's worked out, to a charm! But
how in the blazes can we track him through this
dark? It's as black as the inside of a cow. And
if we show the flashlights——"</p>
<p>"Trust Lad to track him," rejoined the Master,
who had been slipping a leash around the dog's low-growling
throat. "That's what the old fellow's
here for. He has a kick to punish. He would fol<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</SPAN></span>low
Schwartz through the Sahara desert, if he had
to. Come on."</p>
<p>Lad, at a word from the Master, sprang to the
end of the leash, his mighty head and shoulders
straining forward. The Master's reiterated
"Quiet!" alone kept him from giving tongue. And
thus the trio started the pursuit.</p>
<p>Lad went in a geometrically straight line, swerving
not an inch; with much difficulty held back to
the slow walk on which the Master insisted. There
was more than one reason for this insistence. Not
only did the two men want to keep far enough
behind Schwartz to prevent him from hearing their
careful steps; but Lad's course was so uncompromisingly
straight that it led them over a hundred
obstacles and gullies which required all sorts of skill
to negotiate.</p>
<p>For at least two miles, the snail-like progress continued;
most of the way through woods. At last,
with a gasp, the Master found himself wallowing
knee-deep in a bog. Maclay, a step behind him, also
plunged splashingly into the soggy mire.</p>
<p>"What's the matter with the dog?" grumpily demanded
the Judge. "He's led us into the Pancake
Hollow swamp. Schwartz never in the world carried
a ninety pound sheep through here."</p>
<p>"Maybe not," puffed the Master. "But he has
carried it over one of the half-dozen paths that lead
through this marsh. Lad is in too big a hurry to
bother about paths. He——"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Fifty feet above them, on a little mid-swamp
knoll, a lantern shone. Apparently, it had just been
lighted. For it waxed brighter in a second or so.
The men saw it and strode forward at top speed.
The third step caused Maclay to stumble over a
hummock and land, noisily, on all fours, in a mud-pool.
As he fell, he swore—with a loud distinctness
that rang through the swampy stillnesses, like
a pistol shot.</p>
<p>Instantly, the lantern went out. And there was a
crashing in among the bushes of the knoll.</p>
<p>"After him!" yelled Maclay, floundering to his
feet. "He'll escape! And we have no real proof
who he is or——"</p>
<p>The Master, still ankle-high in sticky mud, saw
the futility of trying to catch a man who, unimpeded,
was running away, along a dry-ground path.
There was but one thing left to do. And the Master
did it.</p>
<p>Loosening the leash from the dog's collar he
shouted:</p>
<p>"Get him, Laddie! <i>Get</i> him!"</p>
<p>There was a sound as of a cavalry regiment galloping
through shallow water. That and a queerly
ecstatic growl. And the collie was gone.</p>
<p>As fast as possible the two men made for the
base of the knoll. They had drawn forth their
electric torches; and these now made the progress
much swifter and easier.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, before the Master had set foot on<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</SPAN></span>
the first bit of firm ground, all pandemonium burst
forth amid the darkness, above and in front of him.</p>
<p>The turmoil's multiple sounds were indescribable,
blending into one wild cacophony the yells
and stamping of a fear-demented man, the bleats
of sheep, the tearing of underbrush—through and
above and under all—a hideous subnote as of a
rabid beast worrying its prey.</p>
<p>It was this undercurrent of sound which put
wings on the tired feet of Maclay and the Master,
as they dashed up the knoll and into the path leading
east from it. It spoke of unpleasant—not to
say gruesome—happenings. So did the swift
change of the victim's yells from wrath to mortal
terror.</p>
<p>"Back Lad!" called the Master, pantingly, as he
ran. "Back! Let him <i>alone!</i>"</p>
<p>And as he cried the command he rounded a turn
in the wooded path.</p>
<p>Prone on the ground, writhing like a cut snake
and frantically seeking to guard his throat with
his slashed forearm, sprawled Schwartz. Crouching
above him—right unwillingly obeying the Master's
belated call—was Lad.</p>
<p>The dog's great coat was a-bristle. His bared
teeth glinted white and blood-flecked in the electric
flare. His soft eyes were blazing.</p>
<p>"Back!" repeated the Master. "Back here!"</p>
<p>Absolute obedience was the first and foremost of
The Place's few simple dog-rules. Lad had learned<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</SPAN></span>
it from earliest puppyhood. The collie, still shaking
all over with the effort of repressing his fury,
turned slowly and came over to his Master. There
he stood stonily awaiting further orders.</p>
<p>Maclay was on his knees beside the hysterically
moaning German roughly telling him that the dog
would do him no more damage, and at the same
time making a quick inspection of the injuries
wrought by the slashing white fangs in the shielding
arm and its shoulder.</p>
<p>"Get up!" he now ordered. "You're not too
badly hurt to stand. Another minute and he'd have
gotten through to your throat, but your clothes
saved you from anything worse than a few ugly
flesh-cuts. Get up! Stop that yowling and get
up!"</p>
<p>Schwartz gradually lessened his dolorous plaints
under the stern authority of Maclay's exhortations.
Presently he sat up nursing his lacerated forearm
and staring about him. At sight of Lad he shuddered.
And recognizing Maclay he broke into
violent and fatly-accented speech.</p>
<p>"Take witness, Judge!" he exclaimed. "I
watched the barnyard to-night and I saw that
schweinhund steal another sheep. I followed him
and when he got here he dropped the sheep and
went for me. He——"</p>
<p>"Very bad, Schwartz!" disgustedly reproved
Maclay. "Very bad, indeed. You should have
waited a minute longer and thought up a better<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</SPAN></span>
one. But since this is the yarn you choose to tell,
we'll look about and try to verify it. The sheep,
for instance—the one you say Lad carried all the
way here and then dropped to attack you. I seem
to have heard a sheep bleating a few moments ago.
Several sheep in fact. We'll see if we can't find
the one Lad stole."</p>
<p>Schwartz jumped nervously to his feet.</p>
<p>"Stay where you are!" Maclay bade him. "We
won't bother a tired and injured man to help in
our search."</p>
<p>Turning to the Master, he added:</p>
<p>"I suppose one of us will have to stand guard
over him while the other one hunts up the sheep.
Shall I——"</p>
<p>"Neither of us need do that," said the Master.
"Lad!"</p>
<p>The collie started eagerly forward, and Schwartz
started still more eagerly backward.</p>
<p>"Watch him!" commanded the Master. "<i>Watch</i>
him!"</p>
<p>It was an order Lad had learned to follow in
the many times when the Mistress and the Master
left him to guard the car or to do sentry duty
over some other article of value. He understood.
He would have preferred to deal with this enemy
according to his own lights. But the Master had
spoken. So, standing at view, the collie looked
longingly at Schwartz's throat.</p>
<p>"Keep perfectly still!" the Master warned the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</SPAN></span>
prisoner, "and perhaps he won't go for you. Move,
and he most surely will. <i>Watch</i> him, Laddie!"</p>
<p>Maclay and the Master left the captive and his
guard, and set forth on a flashlight-illumined tour
of the knoll. It was a desolate spot, far back in
the swamp and more than a mile from any road;
a place visited not three times a year, except in
the shooting season.</p>
<p>In less than a half-minute the plaintive ba-a-a
of a sheep guided the searchers to the left of the
knoll where stood a thick birch-and-alder copse.
Around this they circled until they reached a narrow
opening where the branch-ends, several feet
above ground, were flecked with hanks of wool.</p>
<p>Squirming through the aperture in single file,
the investigators found what they sought.</p>
<p>In the tight-woven copse's center was a small
clearing. In this, was a rudely wattled pen some
nine feet square; and in the pen were bunched six
sheep.</p>
<p>An occasional scared bleat from deeper in the
copse told the whereabouts of the sheep Schwartz
had taken from the barnyard that night and which
he had dropped at Lad's onslaught before he could
put it in the pen. On the ground, just outside the
enclosure, lay the smashed lantern.</p>
<p>"Sheep on the hoof are worth $12.50 per, at the
Paterson Market," mused the Master aloud, as
Maclay blinked owlishly at the treasure trove.
"There are $75 worth of sheep in that pen, and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</SPAN></span>
there would have been three more of them before
morning if we hadn't butted in on Herr Schwartz's
overtime labors. To get three sheep at night, it
was well worth his while to switch suspicion to
Lad by killing a fourth sheep every time, and
mangling its throat with a stripping-knife. Only,
he mangled it too efficiently. There was too much
<i>Kultur</i> about the mangling. It wasn't ragged
enough. That's what first gave me my idea. That,
and the way the missing sheep always vanished
into more or less thin air. You see, he probably——"</p>
<p>"But," sputtered Maclay, "why four each night?
Why——"</p>
<p>"You saw how long it took him to get one of
them here," replied the Master. "He didn't dare
to start in till the Romaines were asleep, and he
had to be back in time to catch Lad at the slaughter
before Titus got out of bed. He wouldn't dare
hide them any nearer home. Titus has spent most
of his time both days in hunting for them.
Schwartz was probably waiting to get the pen nice
and full. Then he'd take a day off to visit his
relatives. And he'd round up this tidy bunch and
drive them over to the Ridgewood road, through
the woods, and so on to the Paterson Market. It
was a pretty little scheme all around."</p>
<p>"But," urged Maclay, as they turned back to
where Lad still kept his avid vigil, "I still hold
you were taking big chances in gambling $1000<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</SPAN></span>
and your dog's life that Schwartz would do the
same thing again within twenty-four hours. He
might have waited a day or two, till——"</p>
<p>"No," contradicted the Master, "that's just what
he mightn't do. You see, I wasn't perfectly sure
whether it was Schwartz or Romaine—or both—who
were mixed up in this. So I set the trap at
both ends. If it was Romaine, it was worth
$1000 to him to have more sheep killed within
twenty-four hours. If it was Schwartz—well,
that's why I made him try to hit Lad and why I
made him try to kick me. The dog went for him
both times, and that was enough to make Schwartz
want him killed for his own safety as well as for
revenge. So he was certain to arrange another
killing within the twenty-four hours if only to force
me to shoot Lad. He couldn't steal or kill sheep
by daylight. I picked the only hours he could do it
in. If he'd gotten Lad killed, he'd probably have
invented another sheep-killer dog to help him swipe
the rest of the flock, or until Romaine decided to
do the watching. We——"</p>
<p>"It was clever of you," cordially admitted
Maclay. "Mighty clever, old man! I——"</p>
<p>"It was my wife who worked it out, you know,"
the Master reminded him. "I admit my own
cleverness, of course, only (like a lot of men's
money) it's all in my wife's name. Come on, Lad!
You can guard Herr Schwartz just as well by
walking behind him. We're going to wind up the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</SPAN></span>
evening's fishing trip by tendering a surprise party
to dear genial old Mr. Titus Romaine. I hope the
flashlights will hold out long enough for me to get
a clear look at his face when he sees us."</p>
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