DOROTHY MAKES A DISCOVERY
The boys had a dog—Old Brindle he was called—and he had just enough
bull in him to make him a faithful friend and a good watchdog. But,
of course, he was of little use in the woods, and Joe and Roger were
always begging for a hunting dog.
“We’ve got these now—pump-rifles,” Roger said eagerly to Dorothy, whom
he thought able to accomplish any wonder she might undertake. “They
shoot fifty shots. Think of it, Sister! That’s a lot. And father taught
us how to use ’em long ago, of course. Just think! I could stand right
up and shoot down fifty people—just like that.”
“Oh, Roger!” gasped Dorothy. “Don’t say such awful things.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t, you know; but I could,” the boy said confidently. “Now
the law is off rabbits and partridges and quail. Joe and I saw lots of
’em when we went after those nuts the other day. If we’d had our guns
along maybe we might have shot some.”
“The poor little birds and the cunning little rabbits,” said Dorothy
with a sigh.
“Oh! they’re not like our pigeons and our tame rabbits. These are real
_wild_. If some of ’em weren’t shot they’d breed an’ breed till there
were so many that maybe it wouldn’t be safe to go out into the woods,”
declared the small boy, whose imagination never needed spurring.
Joe came up on the porch in time to hear this last. He chuckled, but
Dorothy was saying to Roger:
“How foolish, dear! Who ever heard of a rabbit being cross?”
“Just the same I guess you’ve heard of being as ‘mad as a March hare,’
haven’t you?” demanded Joe, his eyes twinkling. “And we _do_ want a
bird dog, Sis, to jump a rabbit for us, or to flush a flock of quail.”
“Those dear little bobwhites,” Dorothy sighed again. “Why is it that
boys want always to kill?”
“So’s to eat,” Joe said bluntly. “You know yourself, Dorothy Dale, that
you like partridge on toast and rabbit stew.”
She laughed at them. “I shall go hungry, then, I’m afraid, as far as
you boys are concerned.”
“Of course we can’t get any game if we don’t have a dog. Brindle
couldn’t jump a flea,” growled Joe.
“Say! the big fellows used to have lots more pets than we’ve got,”
complained Roger, referring to Ned and Nat.
“_They_ had dogs,” added Joe. “A whole raft of ’em.”
“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I’ll see what can be done. But
another dog!”
“We won’t let him bite you, Sister,” proclaimed Roger. “We only want
him to chase rabbits or to start up the birds so we can shoot ’em.”
Dorothy’s “I’ll see” was, of course, taken by the boys themselves as an
out-and-out agreement to do as the boys desired. They were convinced
that if she gave her mind to it their sister could perform almost any
miracle. At least, she could always bring the rest of the family around
to her way of thinking.
Ned and Nat had opposed the bringing of another dog upon the place.
They were fond of old Brindle; but it must be confessed that the
watchdog was bad tempered where other dogs were concerned.
Brindle seldom went off the place; but if he saw any other dog
trespassing he was very apt to fly at the uninvited visitor. And once
the bull’s teeth were clinched in the strange animal’s neck, it took a
hot iron to make him loose his hold.
There had been several such unfortunate happenings, and Mrs. White had
paid several owners of dogs damages rather than have trouble with the
neighbors. She—and even the major—had strong objections to the coming
of any other dog upon the place as long as Brindle lived.
So the chance for Joe and Roger to have their request granted was small
indeed. Nevertheless, “hope springs eternal,” especially in the breast
of a small boy who wants a dog.
“Maybe we can find somebody that’s got a good, trained dog and will
sell him to us, Roger,” Joe said, as they set forth from the house.
“But I haven’t got much money—only what’s in the bank, and I can’t get
that,” complained Roger.
“You spend all you get for candy,” scoffed Joe. “Now, _I’ve_ got a
whole half dollar left of my month’s spending money. But you can’t buy
much of a dog for fifty cents.”
“Maybe somebody would give us a dog.”
“And folks don’t give away good dogs, either,” grumbled Joe.
“I tell you!” exclaimed Roger, suddenly. “I saw a stray dog yesterday
going down the lane behind our stables.”
“How do you know it was a stray dog?”
“’Cause it _looked_ so. It was sneaking along at the edge of the
hedge and it was tired looking. Then, it had a piece of frayed rope
tied around its neck. Oh, it was a stray dog all right,” declared the
smaller boy eagerly.
“Where’d it go to?”
“Under Mr. Cummerford’s barn,” said Roger. “I bet we could coax it out,
if it’s still there.”
“Not likely,” grunted Joe.
Nevertheless, he started off at once in the direction indicated by his
brother, and the boys were soon at the stable of the neighbor whose
place adjoined The Cedars on that side.
Oddly enough, the dog was still there. He had crawled out and lay
in the sun beside the barn. He was emaciated, his eyes were red and
rolling, and he had a lame front paw. The gray, frayed rope was still
tied to his neck. He was a regular tramp dog.
But he allowed the boys to come close to him without making any attempt
to get away. He eyed them closely, but neither growled nor wagged his
tail. He was a “funny acting” dog, as Roger said.
“I bet he hasn’t had anything to eat for so long and he’s come so far
that he hasn’t got the spunk to wag his tail,” Joe said, as eager as
Roger now. “We’ll take him home and feed him.”
“He’s sure a stray dog, isn’t he, Joe?” cried the smaller boy. “I
haven’t ever seen him before around here, have you?”
“No. And I bet his owner won’t ever come after him,” said Joe, picking
up the end of the rope. “He’s just the kind of a dog we want, too. You
see, he’s a bird dog, or something like that. And when he’s fed up and
rested, I bet he’ll know just how to go after partridges.”
He urged the strange dog to his feet. The beast tottered, and would
have lain down again. Roger, the tender-hearted, said:
“Oh! he’s so hungry. Bet he hasn’t had a thing to eat for days. Maybe
we’ll have to carry him.”
“No. He’s too dirty to carry,” Joe said, looking at the mud caked upon
the long hair of the poor creature and the dust upon him. “We’ll get
him to the stable and feed him; then we’ll hose him off.”
Pulling at the rope he urged the dog on. The animal staggered at first,
but finally grew firmer on his legs. But he did not use the injured
fore paw. He favored that as he hopped along to the White stables.
Neither the coachman nor the chauffeur were about. There was nobody
to observe the dog or advise the boys about the beast. Roger ran to
the kitchen door to beg some scraps for their new possession. The cook
would always give Roger what he asked for. When he came back Joe got
a pan of water for the dog; but the creature backed away from it and
whined—the first sound he had made.
“Say! isn’t that funny?” Joe demanded. “See! he won’t drink. You’d
think he’d be thirsty.”
“Try him with this meat,” Roger said. “Maybe he’s too hungry to drink
at first.”
The dog was undoubtedly starving. Yet he turned his head away from the
broken pieces of food Roger put down before his nose.
Joe had tied the rope to a ring on the side of the stable. The boys
stepped back to see if the dog would eat or drink if they were not so
close to him. Then it was that the creature flew into an awful spasm.
He rose up, his eyes rolling, trembling in every limb, and trying to
break the rope that fastened him to the barn. Froth flew from his
clashing jaws. His teeth were terrible fangs. He fell, rolling over,
snapping at the water-dish. The boys, even Joe, ran screaming from the
spot.
At the moment Dorothy, Tavia and Jennie came walking down the path
toward the stables. They heard the boys scream and all three started
to run. Ned and Nat, nearer the house, saw the girls running and they
likewise bounded down the sloping lawn.
Around the corner of the stables came Joe and Roger, the former almost
dragging the smaller boy by the hand. And, almost at the same instant,
appeared the dog, the broken rope trailing, bounding, snapping, rolling
over, acting as insanely as ever a dog acted.
“Oh! what’s the matter?” cried Dorothy.
“Keep away from that dog!” shrieked Tavia, stopping short and seizing
both Dorothy and Jennie. “He’s mad!”
The dog was blindly running, this way and that, the foam dripping from
his clashing jaws. He was, indeed, a most fearful sight. He had no real
intention in his savage charges, for a beast so afflicted with rabies
loses eyesight as well as sense; but suddenly he bounded directly for
the three girls.
They all shrieked in alarm, even Dorothy. Yet the latter the better
held her self-possession than the others. She heard Jennie scream: “Oh,
Ned!” while Tavia cried: “Oh, Nat!”
The young men were at the spot in a moment. Nat had picked up a croquet
mallet and one good blow laid the poor dog out—harmless forever more.
Tavia had seized the rescuer’s arm, Jennie was clinging to Ned.
Dorothy, awake at last to the facts of the situation, made a great
discovery—and almost laughed, serious as the peril had been.
“I believe I know which is which now,” she thought, forgetting her
alarm.
[Illustration: SUDDENLY HE BOUNDED DIRECTLY FOR THE THREE GIRLS.
_Dorothy Dale’s Engagement_ _Page 108_
]