II

Several weeks went by, and the imposing stranger, as Blackstock had

anticipated, failed to return with his proofs. Then came a letter from

the lawyers at Exville, saying that they had something important to

communicate, and Blackstock hurried off to see them, planning to be

away for about a week.

On the day following his departure, to the delight of all the children

and of most of the rest of the population as well, there arrived at

Brine's Rip Mills a man with a dancing bear. He was a black-eyed,

swarthy, merry fellow, with a most infectious laugh, and besides his

trained bear he possessed a pedlar's pack containing all sorts of

up-to-date odds and ends, not by any means to be found in the very

utilitarian miscellany of Zeb Smith's corner store.

He talked a rather musical but very broken lingo that passed for

English, flashing a mouthful of splendid white teeth as he did so. He

appeared to be an Italian, and the men of Brine's Rip christened him a

"Dago" at once. There was no resisting his childlike bonhomie, or the

amiable antics of his great brown bear, which grinned through its

muzzle as if dancing to its master's merry piccolo were its one delight

in life. And the two did a roaring business from the moment they came

strolling into Brine's Rip.

"Tony" was what the laughing vagabond called himself, and his bear

answered to the name of Beppo. Business being so good, Tony could

afford to be generous, and he was continually pressing peppermint

lozenges upon the rabble of children who formed a triumphal procession

for him wherever he moved. When Tony's eyes first fell on Woolly

Billy, standing just outside the crowd, with one arm over the neck of

the big black dog, he was delighted.

"Com-a here, Bambino, com-a quick!" he cried, holding out some

peppermints. Woolly Billy liked him at once, and adored the bear, but

was too shy, or reserved, to push his way through the other children.

So Tony came to him, leading the bear. Woolly Billy stood his ground,

with a welcoming smile. The big black dog growled doubtfully, and then

lost his doubts in curious admiration of the bear, which plainly

fascinated him.

Woolly Billy accepted the peppermints politely, and put one into his

mouth without delay. Then, with an apologetic air, the Italian laid

one finger softly on Woolly Billy's curls, and drew back at once, as if

fearing he had taken a liberty.

"Jim likes the bear, sir, _doesn't_ he?" suggested Woolly Billy, to

make conversation.

"Everybody he like-a ze bear. Him vaira good bear," asserted the

bear's master, and laughed again, giving the bear a peppermint. "An'

you one vaira good bambino. Ze bear, he like-a you vaira much. See,

he shak-a you ze hand--good frens now."

Encouraged by the warmth of his welcome, the Italian had from the first

made a practice of dropping in at certain houses of the village just at

meal times--when he was received always with true backwoods

hospitality. On Woolly Billy's invitation he had come to the house of

Mrs. Amos. The old lady, too rheumatic to get about much out of doors,

was delighted with such a unique and amusing guest. To all he

said--which, indeed, she never more than half understood--she kept

ejaculating. "Well, I never!" and "Did ye ever hear the likes o' that?"

And the bear, chained to the gate-post and devouring her

pancakes-and-molasses, thrilled her with a sense of "furrin parts." In

fact, there was no other house at Brine's Rip where Tony and his bear

were made more warmly welcome than at Mrs. Amos'. The only member of

the household who lacked cordiality was Jim, whose coolness towards

Tony, however, was fully counter-balanced by his interest in the bear.

Towards Tony his attitude was one of armed neutrality.

On the fourth evening after the arrival of Tony and Beppo, Jim

discovered a most tempting lump of meat in the corner of Mrs. Amos'

garden. Having something of an appetite at the moment, he was just

about to bolt the morsel. But no sooner had he set his teeth into it

than he conceived a prejudice against it. He dropped it, and sniffed

at it intently. The smell was quite all right. He turned it over with

his paw and sniffed at the under side. No, there was nothing the

matter with it. Nevertheless, his appetite had quite vanished. Well,

it would do for another time. He dug a hole and buried the morsel, and

then went back to the house to see what Woolly Billy and Mrs. Amos were

doing.

A little later, just as Mrs. Amos was lighting the lamps in the

kitchen, the rattling of a chain was heard outside, followed by the

whimpering of Beppo, who objected to being tied up to the gate-post

when he wanted to come in and beg for pancakes. Woolly Billy ran to

the door and peered forth into the dusk. After a few moments Tony

entered, all his teeth agleam in his expansive smile.

He had a little bag of bon-bons for Woolly Billy--something much more

fascinating than peppermints--which he doled out to the child one by

one, as a rare treat. And for himself he wanted a cup of tea, which

hospitable Mrs. Amos was only too eager to brew for him. Jim, seeing

that Woolly Billy was too interested to need _his_ company, got up and

went out to inspect the bear.

Tony was in gay spirits that evening. In his broken English, and

helping out his meaning with eloquent gestures, he told of adventures

which made Woolly Billy's eyes as round as saucers and reduced Mrs.

Amos to admiring speechlessness. He made Mrs. Amos drink tea with him,

pouring it out for her himself while she hobbled about to find him

something to eat. And once in a while, at tantalizing intervals, he

allowed Woolly Billy one more bon-bon.

There was a chill in the night air, so Tony, who was always politeness

itself, asked leave to close the door. Mrs. Amos hastened also to

close the window. Or, rather, she tried to hasten, but made rather a

poor attempt, and sat down heavily in the big arm-chair beside it.

"My legs is that heavy," she explained, laughing apologetically. So

Tony closed the window himself, and at the same time drew the curtains.

Then he went on talking.

But apparently his conversation was less interesting than it had been.

There came a snore from Mrs. Amos' big chair. Tony glanced aside at

Woolly Billy, as if expecting the child to laugh. But Woolly Billy

took no notice of the sound. He was fast asleep, his fluffy fair head

fallen forward upon the red table-cloth.

Tony looked at the clock on the mantel-piece. It was not as late as he

could have wished, but he had observed that Brine's Rip went to bed

early. He turned the lamp low, softly raised the window, and looked

out, listening. There were no lights in the village, and all was

silence save for the soft roar of the Rip. He extinguished the lamp,

and waited a few moments till his eyes got quite accustomed to the

gloom.

At length he picked up the slight form of Woolly Billy (who was now in

a drugged stupor from which he would not awake for hours), and slung

him over his left shoulder. In his right hand he grasped his short

bear-whip, with its loaded butt. He stepped noiselessly to the door,

listened a few moments, and then opened it inch by inch with his left

hand, standing behind it, and grasping the whip so as to be ready to

strike with the butt. He was wondering where the big black dog was.

The door was about half open, when a black shape, appearing suddenly,

launched itself at the opening. The loaded butt came crashing

down--and Jim dropped sprawling across the threshold.

From the back of the bear Tony now unfastened a small pack, and

strapped it over his right shoulder. Then he unchained the great beast

noiselessly, and led it off to the waterside, to a spot where a heavy

log canoe was drawn up upon the beach. He hauled the canoe down,

making much disarrangement in the gravel, launched it, thrust it far

out into the water, and noted it being carried away by the current. He

had no wish to journey by that route himself, knowing that as soon as

the crime was discovered, which might chance at any moment, the

telephone would give the alarm all down the river.

Next he undid the bear's chain, and took off its muzzle, and threw them

both into the water, knowing that when freed from these badges of

servitude the animal would wander further and more freely. At first

the good-natured creature was unwilling to leave him. Its master, from

policy, had always treated it kindly, and fed it well, and it was in no

hurry to profit by its freedom.

However, the man ordered it off towards the woods, enforcing the

command by a vigorous push and a stroke of the whip. Shaking itself

till it realized its freedom, it slouched away a few paces down stream,

then turned into the woods. The man listened to its careless, crashing

progress.

"They'll find it easy following _that_ trail," he muttered with

satisfaction.

Assured that he had thus thrown out two false trails to distract

pursuers, the man now stepped into the water, and walked up stream for

several hundred yards, till he reached the spot which served as a ferry

landing. Here, in the multiplicity of footprints, he knew his own

would be indistinguishable to even the keenest of backwood eyes. He

came ashore, slipped through the slumbering village, and plunged into

the woods with the assurance of one to whom their mysteries were an

open book.

He was shaping his course--by the stars at present, but by compass when

it should become necessary--for an inlet on the coast, where there

would be a sturdy fishing-smack awaiting him and his rich prize. All

was working smoothly--as most plans were apt to work under his swift,

resourceful hands--and his hard lips relaxed in triumphant

self-satisfaction. One of the most accomplished and relentless of the

desperadoes of the Great North-West, he had peculiarly enjoyed his pose

as the childlike Tony.

For hour after hour he pushed on, till even his untiring sinews began

to protest. About the edge of dawn Woolly Billy awoke, but, still

stupid with the heavy drugging he had received, he did not seem to

realize what had happened. He cried a little, asking for Jim, and for

Tug Blackstock, and for Mrs. Amos, but was pacified by the most trivial

excuses. The man gave him some sweet biscuits, but he refused to eat

them, leaving them on the moss beside him. He hardly protested even

when the man cut off his bright hair, and proceeded to darken what was

left with some queer-smelling dye.

When the man undressed him and proceeded to stain his face and his

whole body, he apparently thought he was being got ready for bed, and

to certain terrible threats as to what would happen if he tried to get

away, or to tell any one anything, he paid no attention whatever. He

went to sleep again in the middle of it all.

Satisfied with his job, the man lay down beside him, knowing himself

secure from pursuit, and went to sleep himself.

Meanwhile, after lying motionless for several hours, where he had

dropped across the threshold, Jim at last began to stir. That crashing

blow, after all, had not fallen quite true. Jim was not dead, by any

means. He staggered to his feet, swayed a few moments, and then, for

all the pain in his head, he was practically himself again. He went

into the cottage, tried in vain to awaken Mrs. Amos in her chair,

hunted for Woolly Billy in his bed, and at last, realizing something of

what had happened, rushed forth in a panic of rage and fear and grief,

and remorse for a trust betrayed.

It was a matter of a few minutes to trail the party down to the

waterside. Then he darted off after the bear. The latter, grubbing

delightedly in a rotten stump, greeted him with a friendly "Woof." A

glance and a sniff satisfied Jim that Woolly Billy was not there, and

his instinct assured him that the bear was void of offence in the whole

matter. He knew the enemy. He darted back to the waterside, ran on up

stream to the ferry-landing, picked up the trail of Tony's feet,

followed it unerringly through the confusion of other footprints, and

darted silently into the woods in pursuit.

At daybreak an early riser, seeing the door of Mrs. Amos' cottage

standing open, looked in and saw the old lady still asleep in her

chair. She was awakened with difficulty, and could give but a vague

account of what had happened. The whole village turned out. Under the

leadership of Long Jackson, the big mill-hand who constituted himself

Woolly Billy's special guardian in Blackstock's absence, the "Dago" and

bear were traced down to the waterside.

Of course, it was clear to almost every one that the "Dago"--who was

now due for lynching when caught--had carried Woolly Billy off down

river in the vanished canoe. Instantly the telephones were brought

into service, and half-a-dozen expert canoeists, in the swiftest canoes

to be had, started off in pursuit. But the more astute of the

woodsmen--including Long Jackson himself--held that this river clue was

a false one, a ruse to put them off the track. This group went after

the bear.

In an hour or two they found him. And very glad to see them he

appeared to be. He was getting hungry, and a bit lonely. So without

waiting for an invitation, with touching confidence he attached himself

to the party, and accompanied it back to the village. There Big Andy,

who had always had a weakness for bears, took him home and fed him, and

shut him up in the back yard.

In the meantime Jim, travelling at a speed that the fugitive could not

hope to rival, had come soon after daybreak to the spot where the man

and Woolly Billy lay asleep.

[Illustration: "In the meantime, Jim, travelling at a speed that the

fugitive could not hope to rival, had come to the right spot."]

He arrived as soundlessly as a shadow. At sight of his enemy--for he

knew well who had carried off the child, and who had dealt that almost

fatal blow--his long white fangs bared in a silent snarl of hate. But

he had learnt, well learnt, that this man was a dangerous antagonist.

He crouched, stiffened as if to stone, and surveyed the situation.

His sensitive nose prevented him from being quite deceived by the

transformation in Woolly Billy's appearance. He was puzzled by it, but

he had no doubt as to the child's identity. Having satisfied himself

that the little fellow was asleep, and therefore presumably safe for

the moment, he turned his attention to his enemy.

The man was sleeping almost on his back, one arm thrown above his head,

his chin up, his brown, sinewy throat exposed. That bare throat

riveted Jim's vengeful gaze. He knew well that the man, though asleep

and at an utter disadvantage, was the most dangerous adversary he could

possibly tackle.

Step by step, so lightly, so smoothly, that not a twig crackled under

his feet, he crept up, his muzzle outstretched, his fangs gleaming the

hair rising along his back. When he was within a couple of paces of

his goal, the sleeper stirred slightly, as if about to wake up, or

growing conscious of danger. Instantly Jim sprang, and sank his fangs

deep, deep, into his enemy's throat.

With a shriek the sleeper awoke, flinging wide his arms and legs

convulsively. But the shriek was strangled at its birth, as Jim's

implacable teeth crunched closer. The great dog shook his victim as a

terrier shakes a rat. There was a choked gurgle, and the threshing

arms and legs lay still.

Jim continued his savage shaking till satisfied his foe was quite dead.

Then he let go, and turned his attention to Woolly Billy.

The child was sitting up, staring at him with round eyes of question

and bewilderment.

"Where am I, Jim?" he demanded. Then he gazed at the transformation in

himself--his clothes and his stained hands. He saw his old clothes

tossed aside, his curls lying near them in a bright, fluffy heap. He

felt his cropped head. And then his brain began to clear. He had a

dim memory of the man cutting his hair and changing his clothes.

Upon his first glimpse of the man, lying there dead and covered with

blood, he felt a sharp pang of sorrow. He had liked Tony. But the

pang passed, as he began to understand. If _Jim_ had killed Tony, Tony

must have been bad. It was evident that Tony had carried him off, and

that Jim had come to save him. Jim was licking his face now,

rapturously, and evidently coaxing him to get up and come away.

He flung his arms around Jim's neck. Then he saw the biscuits. He

divided them evenly between himself and Jim, and ate his portion with

good appetite. Jim would not touch his share, so Woolly Billy tucked

them into his pocket. Then he got up and followed where Jim was trying

to lead him, keeping his face averted from the terrible, bleeding thing

sprawled there upon the moss. And Jim led him safely home.

When Tug Blackstock, two days later, returned from his visit to

Exville, he brought news which explained why a certain gang of

criminals had planned to get possession of Woolly Billy. The child had

fallen heir to an immense property in England, and an ancient title,

and he was to have been held for ransom. From that moment Blackstock

never let him out of his sight, until, with a heavy heart, he handed

him over to his own people.

Thereafter, as he sat brooding on a log beside the noisy river, with

Jim stretched at his feet, Tug Blackstock felt that Brine's Rip, for

the lack of a childish voice and a head of flaxen curls, had lost all

savour for him. And his thoughts turned more and more towards the

arguments of a grey-eyed girl, who had urged him to seek a wider sphere

for his energies than the confines of Nipsiwaska County could afford.