THE POLICE DOG
Dillon pulled a whistle from his pocket and blew a short blast sharply.
Far down the road, we could hear faintly an answering bark. It came
nearer.
"They're taught to obey a police whistle and nothing else," remarked
Dillon, with satisfaction. "I wonder which one of the dogs that was. By
the way, just keep out of sight as much as you can--get back up in our
car. They are trained to worry anyone who hasn't a uniform. I'll take
this dog in charge. I hope it's Cherry. She ought to be around here, if
the men obeyed my orders. The others aren't keen on a scent even when
it is fresh, but Cherry is a dandy and I had the man bring her up
purposely."
We got back into our car and waited impatiently. Across the hills now
and then we could catch the sounds of dogs scouting around here and
there. It seemed as if every dog in the valley had been aroused. On the
other slope of the hill from the main road we could see lights in the
scattered houses.
"I doubt whether they have gone that way," commented Garrick following
my gaze. "It looks less settled over here to the right of the road, in
the direction of New York."
The low baying of the dog which had answered Dillon's call was growing
nearer every moment. At last we could hear it quite close, at the
deserted car ahead.
Cherry seemed to have many of the characteristics of the wild,
prehistoric animal, among them the full, upright ears of the wild dog,
which are such a great help to it. She was a fine, alert, up-standing
dog, hardy, fierce, and literally untiring, of a tawny light brown like
a lioness, about the same size and somewhat of the type of the
smooth-coated collie, broad of chest and with a full brush of tail.
Untamed though she seemed, she was perfectly under Dillon's control,
and rendered him absolute and unreasoning obedience.
"Now, Cherry, nice dog," we heard Dillon encouraging, "Here, up here.
And here."
He was giving the dog the scent from the deserted car. His voice rang
out sharply in the night air, "Come on Garrick and Marshall. She's got
it. I've got her on leash. Follow along, now, just a few feet behind."
Cherry was on the trail and it was a hot one. We could just see her
magnificent head, narrow and dome-like, between the keen ears. She was
working like a regular sleuthhound, now, too, slowly, picking up the
trail and following it, baying as she went.
She was now going without a halt or falter. Nose to the ground, she had
leaped from the bandit's car and made straight across a field in the
direction that Garrick had suspected they would take, only a little to
the west.
"This is a regular, old-fashioned man hunt," called back Dillon, as we
followed the dog and himself, as best we could.
It was pitch dark, but we plunged ahead over fields and through little
clumps of trees, around hedges, and over fences.
There was no stopping, no cessation of the deep baying of the dog.
Cherry was one of the best and most versatile that the police had ever
acquired and trained.
We came to the next crossroad, and the dog started up in the direction
of the main road, questing carefully.
We had gone not a hundred feet when a dark object darted out of the
bushes at the side of the road, and I felt myself unceremoniously
tumbled off my feet.
Garrick leaped aside, with a laugh.
"Dillon," he shouted ahead at the top of his voice, "one of the
Airedales has discovered Marshall. Come back here. Lie still, Tom. The
dog is trained to run between the legs and trip up anyone without a
police uniform. By Jupiter--here's another one--after me. Dillon--I
say--Dillon!"
The commissioner came back, laughing at our plight, and called off the
dogs, who were now barking furiously. We let him get a little ahead,
calling the Airedales to follow him. They were not much good on the
scent, but keen and intelligent along the lines of their training, and
perfectly willing to follow Dillon, who was trusting to the keen sense
of Cherry.
A little further down, the fugitives had evidently left the road after
getting their bearings.
"They must have heard the dogs," commented Garrick. "They are doubling
on their tracks, now, and making for the Ramapo River in the hope of
throwing the dogs off the scent. That's the game. It's an old trick."
We came, sure enough, in a few minutes to the river. That had indeed
been their objective point. Cherry was baffled. We stuck close to
Dillon, after our previous experience, as we stopped to talk over
hastily what to do.
Had they gone up or down, or had they crossed? There was not much time
that we could afford to lose here in speculation if we were going to
catch them.
Cherry was casting backward in an instinctive endeavour to pick up the
trail. Dillon had taken her across and she had not succeeded in finding
the scent on the opposite bank for several hundred yards on either side.
"They started off toward the southwest," reasoned Garrick quickly.
"Then they turned in this direction. The railroads are over there. Yes,
that is what they would make for. Dillon," he called, "let us follow
the right bank of the river down this way, and see if we can't pick
them up again."
The river was shallow at this point, but full of rocks, which made it
extremely hard, if not dangerous, to walk even close to the bank in the
darkness. "I don't think they'd stand for much of this sort of going,"
remarked Garrick. "A little of it would satisfy them, and they'd strike
out again."
He was right. Perhaps five minutes later, after wading in the cold
water, clinging as close to the bank as we could, we came to a sort of
rapids. Cherry, who had been urged on by Dillon, gave a jerk at her
leash, as she sniffed along the bank.
"She has it," cried Garrick, springing up the bank after Dillon.
I followed and we three men and three dogs struck out again in earnest
across country.
We had come upon a long stretch of woods, and the brambles and thick
growth made the going exceedingly difficult. Still, if it was hard for
us now, it must have been equally hard for them as they broke through
in the first place.
At last we came to the end of the woods. The trail was now fresher than
ever, and Dillon had difficulty in holding Cherry back so that the rest
of us could follow. As we emerged from the shadow of the trees into the
open field, it seemed as if guns were blazing on all sides of us.
We were almost up with them. They had separated and were not half a
mile away, firing at random in our direction, as they heard the dogs.
Dillon drew up, Cherry tugging ahead. He turned to the Airedales. They
had already taken in the situation, and were now darting ahead at what
they could see, if not scent.
I felt a "ping!" on my chest. I scarcely realized what it was until I
heard something drop the next instant in the stubble at my feet, and
felt a smarting sensation as if a sharp blow had struck me. I bent down
and from the stubble picked up a distorted bullet.
"These bullet-proof coats are some good, anyhow, at a distance,"
remarked Garrick, close beside me, as he took the bullet from my
fingers. "Duck! Back among the trees--until we get our bearings!"
Another bullet had whizzed just past his arm as he spoke.
We dodged back among the trees, and slowly skirted the edge of the
wood, where it bent around a little on the flank of the position from
which the continuous firing was coming.
At the edge we stopped again. We could go no further without coming out
into the open, and the moon, just rising, above the trees, made us an
excellent mark under such conditions. Garrick peered out to determine
from just where they were firing.
"Lucky for us that we had these coats," he muttered, "or they would
have croaked us, before we knew it. These are our old friends, the
anaesthetic bullets, too. Even a little scratch from one of them and we
should be hors de combat for an hour or two."
"Shall we take a chance?" urged Dillon.
"Just a minute," cautioned Garrick, listening.
The barking of the Airedales had ceased suddenly. Cherry was straining
at her leash to go.
"They have winged the two dogs," exclaimed Garrick. "Yes--we must try
it now--at any cost."
We broke from the cover, taking a chance, separating as much as we
could, and pushing ahead rapidly, Dillon under his breath keeping
Cherry from baying as much as possible.
I had expected a sharp fusillade to greet us as we advanced and
wondered whether the coats would stand it at closer range. Instead, the
firing seemed to have ceased altogether.
A quick dash and we had crossed the stretch of open field that
separated us from a dark object which now loomed up, and from behind
which it seemed had come the firing. As we approached, I saw it was a
shed beside the railroad, which was depressed at this point some twelve
or fifteen feet.
"They kept us off just long enough," exclaimed Garrick, glancing up at
the lights of the block signals down the road. "They must be desperate,
all right. Why, they must have jumped a freight as it slowed down for
the curve, or perhaps one of them flagged it and held it up. See? The
red signal shows that a train has just gone through toward New York.
There is no chance to wire ahead, either, from this Ducktown siding.
Here's where they stood--look!"
Garrick had picked up a handful of exploded cartridge shells, while he
was speaking. They told a mute story of the last desperate stand of the
gunmen.
"I'll keep these," he said, shoving them into his pocket. "They may be
of some use later on in connecting to-night's doings with what has gone
before."
We looked at each other blankly. There was nothing more to do that
night but to return to the now deserted house in the valley where we
had left Forbes in charge of Dillon's man.
Toilsomely and disgusted, we trudged back in silence.
Garrick, however, refused to be discouraged. Late as it was, he
insisted on making a thorough search of the captured house. It proved
to be a veritable arsenal. Here it seemed that all the new and deadly
weapons of the scientific gunman had been made. The barn, turned into
half garage and half workshop, was a mine of interest.
We found it unlocked and entered, Garrick flashing a light about.
"There's a sight that would do McBirney's eyes good," he exclaimed as
he bent the rays of the light before us.
Before us, in the back of the barn, stood Warrington's stolen car--at
last.
"They won't plot anything more--at least not up here," remarked
Garrick, bending over it.
In the house, we found Jim still with Forbes, who was now completely
recovered. In the possession of his senses, Forbes' tongue which the
anaesthetic gases seemed to have loosened, now became suddenly silent
again. But he stuck doggedly to his story of kidnapping, although he
would not or could not add anything to it. Who the kidnapper was he
swore he did not know, except that he had known his face well, by
sight, at the gambling joint.
I could make nothing of Forbes. But of one thing I was sure. Even if we
had not captured the scientific gunman, we had dealt him a severe and
crushing blow. Like Garrick, I had begun to look upon the escape
philosophically.