THE POUND
Six months went by and the Pixleys had not returned, but Jan did not
know that Mr. Pixley was still very ill. The dog hid or skulked if he
met any person, and his deep growls and twitching nose were so
threatening that no one dared to go nearer. His silky hair was rough and
ragged, raw bleeding spots scarred his body, his eyes were bloodshot and
his tail was almost bare of the long hair that had once made it a
beautiful plume.
His only refuge was the orange grove, where he spent the days sleeping
or licking the bones he stole from garbage pails, for no one ever
thought to put food or water where he could find it. The servants feared
and hated him, and he hated them but did not fear them. He knew his own
strength. If any one threatened to abuse him, Jan was ready to leap and
use his sharp teeth, but so long as people let him alone, he would not
fight.
Late one afternoon, he saw William and a kindly-looking old man with a
long, white beard, talking together. They were watching Jan, as the dog
lay quietly in the hole that was now his only home; his eyes rolled but
he did not lift his head as they came closer.
"He has no use for me," said William, giving a rope to the other man.
"Maybe you can handle him alone, but I don't believe it. He's as big and
strong as a lion."
William pulled a paper from his pocket and held it to the older man,
saying, "Here's a letter from Miss Elizabeth Pixley; you can see what
she says. I wrote her about Jan and asked what we should do with him."
The name of Elizabeth caused Jan's ears to prick up and the fierce light
in his eyes faded. The strange man came close to the dog and spoke
gently. Jan wagged his tail slightly, but kept his eyes on the old man's
face.
"You had better look out," warned William. "He can't be trusted a
minute."
Jan glared at the stableman. "I wanted to love and help people, not hurt
them, until you made me fight," he growled.
"Look out!" cried William. "He's showing his teeth. He is the worst dog
I have ever seen in my life."
The older man studied the dog silently, then smiled and held out his
hand. Jan shrank back suspiciously but allowed the hand to touch his
back.
"I think I can manage him," said the stranger, then he added, "Come,
Jan. Come with me!"
The dog rose to his feet and followed unresistingly down the pathway to
the front of the Pixley home, and past the lawn where he had spent so
many happy hours, along the firm sand on which he had so often raced
beside his mistress's pony in the days gone by. And as he trudged
slowly, he kept wondering if she had sent for him. He remembered how Mr.
Pixley had led him away from the Hospice at the end of a rope, but at
the end of the journey Jan had found Elizabeth and happiness. He lifted
his big head and his anxious eyes saw a pitying face as a gentle hand
lightly touched his back. It was quite a long walk and the dog was weak
from improper food and care. When they entered a little cottage, the old
man brought food and water, then sat and watched the dog devour them
ravenously. After the dish had been emptied of all food, Jan stood
wagging his tail to show his gratitude. The old man laughed.
"Why, you're not any more vicious than I am, Prince Jan! But, you're in
pretty bad shape."
He did not tie the rope, but let it drop on the floor while he brought a
small tin tub full of warm suds, and gently sponged the dog's body. The
next thing was cool salve on the painful sores.
Then Jan was ready to follow this kind friend, and though his legs
trembled with weakness, he hastened with the old man into a large room
with dirt floor. It was late in the afternoon and the light from two
small windows left the place in partial darkness, so that Jan, coming
into it, could not see anything at first. But, he heard dogs whining and
barking all about him. When he grew accustomed to the dim light, the old
man had tied him and gone away.
A number of dogs were fastened by short ropes, and all were staring at
the big dog. Shrill yapping made Jan turn quickly to see a tiny, dirty
dog with long hair that had once been white but now was matted and
grimed, straining on its rope and squinting impudently at him.
"Gracious! You're the biggest dog I ever saw!" exclaimed the midget,
which was not much larger than a small kitten. "What is your name, and
where on earth did you come from?"
Prince Jan answered politely, then asked, "Is this the kennel where they
train dogs to help people in the Land of No Snow?"
"You must be crazy! This is the pound!" snapped the tiny creature,
thinking Jan was making fun of it.
"The pound?" echoed Prince Jan. "What is that?"
"Silly! You haven't much sense, even if you are so big! If the
dog-catchers get us they bring us to the pound, and if our folks don't
come for us pretty soon, we are all shot!"
Several dogs howled in despair, but the snippy little animal only
stretched out for a nap.
"Don't you feel badly, too?" questioned Jan.
"Good gracious, no! I travel around with my folks and we live in hotels,
and they make me wear a collar. I manage to get away without my collar,
sometimes, and some one always takes me to the pound, and my family come
there for me as soon as I am lost. They'll be here for me before long.
I've been in lots of pounds."
[Illustration: "'_You must be crazy! this is the pound!' snapped the
tiny creature._"]
Without further remarks, the spoiled pet curled itself into a dirty
ball and was fast asleep when the door opened and two young ladies
rushed in and grabbed up the blinking rascal. He yawned in the face of
the girl who held him; then, petted and scolded, he was carried away.
With hopeless eyes, Jan watched them pass through the doorway. He
understood now, that Elizabeth had not sent for him, that nobody cared
what happened to him. He lay down and shut his eyes and tried to shut
his ears to the misery of the other dogs, but he could not sleep. Jan
kept thinking how he had wanted to do what was right and how hard he had
tried to remember what his mother had taught him. In this strange land,
with no snow and no work to do, he had failed; and now, he would die in
disgrace after a useless life that meant dishonour to his father and
Barry, and the other dogs who had lived and died doing their duty as St.
Bernards.
Through the long hours of the night, though darkness shut away the sight
of the other dogs, Jan could hear restless movements and choked
whimpers, so that he could not forget where he was, and at last, when
morning broke, he lifted his head slowly and looked at the dogs around
him. Then he remembered that morning at the Hospice when he had wakened
early, waiting impatiently for his first lesson on the trail. But these
dogs around him, now, were pitiful things, cowering and shivering; the
eyes that met his own were dull and hopeless, and the ears all drooped
dejectedly.
The dogs started nervously as a key scraped in the lock of the door.
Then the old man came into the room and went from one dog to the other,
patting each in turn as he placed clean, freshly cooked meat and a pan
of water within easy reach. The poor animals shrank back, but as they
saw that he did not threaten any of them, the ragged tails flopped and
the eyes that followed him were less timid. When he reached Jan, the man
stood looking at him and shaking his head slowly. The dog, still
suspicious of every human being, bunched his muscles and waited, but the
smile and gentle voice, "You poor old fellow! I'm afraid I can't do
anything for you," made Jan look up with his great, wistful eyes
pleading for sympathy and kindness.
"I'll do the best I can, though," the old man said, at last, as he
untied the rope and turned toward the door.
The dog rose stiffly, for every bone in his gaunt body ached, his legs
trembled from weakness due to lack of proper food, but he moved
trustingly beside this kindly stranger. As they reached once more the
door of the little house where Jan had been washed and fed the night
before, the wrinkled hand holding the rope reached out and Prince Jan's
hot tongue touched it in a light caress.
Inside the tiny house the man fixed an old comforter then pointing at
it, he said, "Go lie down, Jan."
With a sigh that was half-weariness, half gratitude, the dog stretched
his tired body on the soft quilt, but his eyes watched every movement of
his new friend. Then Jan slept in peace, for the first time since
Elizabeth had deserted him.
The odor of warm, fresh meat from a dish near his nose wakened him. As
he moved toward it a tiny yellow bird flew across the room and lit on
the floor, watching him pertly and edging cautiously to the plate. It
paused with head perked impudently on one side and its bright little
eyes fixed on the big dog. Jan kept very still, and the old man,
sitting across the room, nodded approvingly when the dog allowed the
bird to peck at the plate of food. After tasting Jan's dinner, the bird,
perched on the edge of the dish, lifted its head and sang as though its
throat would burst with music. It finished the song, gave a funny little
shake of its wings, then flew across the room and lit on the shoulder of
the Poundmaster, where it stayed while he kept moving around the room.
"Go home, Cheepsie," said the old man, and the bird at once darted into
a cage hanging at the front window, but the Poundmaster did not shut the
cage door.
Then he led Jan to the back porch where the tub of clean soapsuds was
ready, and again the dog was washed thoroughly and the salve applied to
his sores. Though Jan's heart was almost bursting with gratitude, he
could only show it by poking his nose against the kindly hand, or
uttering low whimpers.
"I know, old fellow," his new friend said, "you're trying to thank me.
It's all right now. Don't worry!"
And Prince Jan knew that it was all right. That night he slept on the
soft comforter in the little house.
As day after day went past, Jan began to feel strong again, but it took
eight long months before his beautiful hair grew out and his eyes at
last lost their pitiful pleading. At first he could not understand about
his new friend, whom he heard other men call "Captain Smith, the
poundmaster." He remembered what the little white dog had said about
pounds being places where dogs were killed when they had no friends to
claim them, but Jan knew that his friend would not hurt any dog.
Each day, now, Jan followed the captain into the long room where dogs
were tied with ropes, just as he, himself, had been kept that first
night. During sunshiny days of the snowless winter, these dogs were led
into the back yard of the bungalow. It had a high board fence, so they
could run about and stretch, or lie in the warm grass.
None of these dogs ever stayed very long, but they all soon learned to
love the old captain and would rush around his feet or crawl against
him, wagging their tails. A few, bolder than the others, leaped up to
lick his hands, or pretended they were going to fight him, but when
they got near, they turned and raced about him in big circles, barking
and yelping as though they were laughing at the joke.
All the time, the old man stood smiling, his hands held out to caress
those nearest. New dogs came with the others, and often some of the
older dogs would disappear. Then Prince Jan would look at the captain,
wondering, but never doubting his friend who loved all dogs.