It was in the third week after his hurt that Peter saw Nada. By that
time he could easily follow Jolly Roger as far as the fording-place,
and there he would wait, sometimes hours at a stretch, while his
comrade and master went over to Cragg's Ridge. But frequently Jolly
Roger would not cross, but remained with Peter, and would lie on his
back at the edge of a grassy knoll they had found, reading one of the
little old-fashioned red books which Peter knew were very precious to
him. Often he wondered what was between the faded red covers that was
so interesting, and if he could have read he would have seen such
titles as "Margaret of Anjou," "History of Napoleon," "History of Peter
the Great," "Caesar," "Columbus the Discoverer," and so on through the
twenty volumes which Jolly Roger had taken from a wilderness mail two
years before, and which he now prized next to his life.
This afternoon, as they lay in the sleepy quiet of June, Jolly Roger
answered the questioning inquisitiveness in Peter's face and eyes.
"You see, _Pied-Bot_, it was this way," he said, beginning a little
apologetically. "I was dying for something to read, and I figgered
there'd be something on the Mail--newspapers, you know. So I stopped
it, and tied up the driver, and found these. And I swear I didn't take
anything else--that time. There's twenty of them, and they weigh nine
pounds, and in the last two years I've toted them five thousand miles.
I wouldn't trade them for my weight in gold, and I'm pretty heavy. I
named you after one of them--Peter. I pretty near called you
Christopher Columbus. And some day we've got to take these books to the
man they were going to, Peter. I've promised myself that. It seems sort
of like stealing the soul out of someone. I just borrowed them, that's
all. And I've kept the address of the owner, away up on the edge of the
Barrens. Some day we're going to make a special trip to take the books
home."
Peter, all at once, had become interested in something else, and
following the direction of his pointed nose Jolly Roger saw Nada
standing quietly on the opposite side of the stream, looking at them.
In a moment Peter knew her, and he was trembling in every muscle when
Jolly Roger caught him up under his arm, and with a happy laugh plunged
through the creek with him. For a good five minutes after that Jolly
Roger stood aside watching Peter and Nada, and there was a glisten of
dampness in his eyes when he saw the wet on Nada's cheeks, and the
whimpering joy of Peter as he caressed her face and hands. Three weeks
had been a long time to Peter, but he could see no difference in the
little mistress he worshipped. There were still the radiant curls to
hide his nose in, the gentle hands, the sweet voice, the warm thrill of
her body as she hugged him in her arms. He did not know that she had
new shoes and a new dress, and that some of the color had gone from her
red lips, and that her cheeks were paler, and that she could no longer
hide the old haunted look in her eyes.
But Jolly Roger saw the look, and the growing pallor, and had noted
them for two weeks past. And later that afternoon, when Nada returned
to Cragg's Ridge, and he re-crossed the stream with Peter, there was a
hard and terrible look in his eyes which Peter had caught there more
and more frequently of late. And that evening, in the twilight of their
cabin, Jolly Roger said,
"It's coming soon, Peter. I'm expecting it. Something is happening
which she won't tell us about. She is afraid for me. I know it. But I'm
going to find out--soon. And then, _Pied-Bot_, I think we'll probably
kill Jed Hawkins, and hit for the North."
The gloom of foreboding that was in Jolly Roger's voice and words
seemed to settle over the cabin for many days after that, and more than
ever Peter sensed the thrill and warning of that mysterious something
which was impending. He was developing swiftly, in flesh and bone and
instinct, and there began to possess him now the beginning of that
subtle caution and shrewdness which were to mean so much to him later
on. An instinct greater than reason, if it was not reason itself, told
him that his master was constantly watching for something which did not
come. And that same instinct, or reason, impinged upon him the fact
that it was a thing to be guarded against. He did not go blindly into
the mystery of things now. He circumvented them, and came up from
behind. Craft and cunning replaced mere curiosity and puppyish egoism.
He was quick to learn, and Jolly Roger's word became his law, so that
only once or twice was he told a thing, and it became a part of his
understanding. While the keen, shrewd brain of his Airedale father
developed inside Peter's head, the flesh and blood development of his
big, gentle, soft-footed Mackenzie hound mother kept pace in his body.
His legs and feet began to lose their grotesqueness. Flesh began to
cover the knots in his tail. His head, bristling fiercely with wiry
whiskers, seemed to pause for a space to give his lanky body a chance
to catch up with it. And in spite of his big feet, so clumsy that a few
weeks ago they had stumbled over everything in his way, he could now
travel without making a sound.
So it came to pass, after a time, that when Peter heard footsteps
approaching the cabin he made no effort to reveal himself until he knew
it was Jolly Roger who was coming. And this was strangely in spite of
the fact that in the five weeks since Nada had brought him from Cragg's
Ridge no one but Jolly Roger and Nada had set foot within sight of the
shack. It was an inborn caution, growing stronger in him each day.
There came one early evening when Peter made a discovery. He had
returned with Jolly Roger from a fishing trip farther down the creek,
and scarcely had he set nose to the little clearing about the cabin
when he caught the presence of a strange scent. He investigated it
swiftly, and found it all about the cabin, and very strong close up
against the cabin door. There were no doubts in Peter's mind. A man had
been there, and this man had gone around and around the cabin, and had
opened the door, and had even gone inside, for Peter found the scent of
him on the floor. He tried, in a way, to tell Jolly Roger. He bristled,
and whined, and looked searchingly into the darkening edge of the
forest. Jolly Roger quested with him for a few moments, and when he
failed to find marks in the ground he began cleaning a fish for supper,
and said.
"Probably a wolverine, _Pied-Bot_. The rascal came to see what he could
find while we were away."
But Peter was not satisfied. He was restless all that night. Sounds
which had been familiar now held a new significance for him. The next
day he was filled with a quiet but brooding expectancy. He resented the
intrusion of the strange footprints. It was, in his process of
instinctive reasoning, an encroachment upon the property rights of his
master, and he was--true to the law of his species--the guardian of
those rights.
The fourth evening after the stranger's visit to the cabin Jolly Roger
was later than usual in returning from Cragg's Ridge. Peter had been on
a hunting adventure of his own, and came to the cabin at sunset. But he
never came out of cover now without standing quietly for a few moments,
getting the wind, and listening. And tonight, poking his head between
some balsams twenty yards from the shack, he was treated to a sudden
thrill. The cabin door was open. And standing close to this door,
looking quietly and cautiously about, stood a stranger. He was not like
Jed Hawkins, was Peter's first impression. He was tall, with a
wide-brimmed hat, and wore boots with striped trousers tucked into
them, and on his coat were bits of metal which caught the last gleams
of the sun. Peter knew nothing of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police.
But he sensed danger, and he remained very quiet, without moving a
muscle of his head or body, while the stranger looked about, with a
hand on his unbuttoned pistol holster. Not until he entered the cabin,
and closed the door after him, did Peter move back into the deeper
gloom of the forest. And then, silent as a fox, he skulked through
cover to the foot-trail, and down the trail to the ford, across which
Jolly Roger would come from Cragg's Ridge.
There was still half an hour of daylight when Jolly Roger arrived.
Peter did not, as usual, run to the edge of the bank to meet him. He
remained sitting stolidly on his haunches, with his ears flattened, and
in his whole attitude no sign of gladness at his master's coming. With
every instinct of caution developed to the highest degree within him,
Jolly Roger was lightning quick to observe the significance of small
things. He spoke to Peter, caressed him with his hand, and moved on
along the foot-trail toward the cabin. Peter fell in behind him
moodily, and after a few moments stopped, and squatted on his haunches
again. Jolly Roger was puzzled.
"What is it, Peter?" he asked. "Are you afraid of that wolverine--"
Peter whined softly; but even as he whined, his ears were flat, and his
eyes filled with a red light as they glared down the trail beyond the
outlaw. Jolly Roger turned and went on, until he disappeared around a
twist in the path. There he stopped, and peered back. Peter was not
following him, but still sat where he had left him. A quicker breath
came to Jolly Roger's lips, and he went back to Peter. For fully a
minute he stood beside him, watching and listening, and not once did
the reddish glare in Peter's eyes leave the direction of the cabin.
Jolly Roger's eyes had grown very bright, and suddenly he dropped on
his knees beside Peter, and spoke softly, close up to his flattened ear.
"You say it isn't a wolverine, Peter? Is that what you're trying to
tell me?"
Peter's teeth clicked, and he whimpered, never taking his eyes from
ahead.
There was a cold light in Jolly Roger's eyes as he rose to his feet,
and he turned swiftly and quietly into the edge of the forest, and in
the gloom that was gathering there his hand carried the big automatic.
Peter followed him now, and Jolly Roger swung in a wide circle, so that
they came up on that forest side of the cabin where there was no
window. And here Jolly Roger knelt down beside Peter again, and
whispered to him.
"You stay here, _Pied-Bot_. Understand? You stay here."
He pressed him down gently with his hand, so that Peter understood.
Then, slinking low, and swift as a cat, Jolly Roger ran to the end of
the cabin where there was no window. With his head close to the ground
he peered out cautiously at the door. It was closed. Then he looked at
the windows. To the west the curtains were up, as he had left them. And
to the east--
A whimsical smile played at the corners of his mouth. Those curtains he
had kept tightly drawn. One of them was down now. But the other was
raised two inches, so that one hidden within the cabin could watch the
approach from the trail!
He drew back, and under his breath he chuckled. He recognized the sheer
nerve of the thing, the clever handiwork of it. Someone was inside the
cabin, and he was ready to stake his life it was Cassidy, the Irish
bloodhound of "M" Division. If anyone ferreted him out way down here on
the edge of civilization he had gambled with himself that it would be
Cassidy. And Cassidy had come--Cassidy, who had hung like a wolf to his
trails for three years, who had chased him across the Barren Lands, who
had followed him up the Mackenzie, and back again--who had fought with
him, and starved with him, and froze with him, yet had never brought
him to prison. Deep down in his heart Jolly Roger loved Cassidy. They
had played, and were still playing, a thrilling game, and to win that
game had become the life's ambition of each. And now Cassidy was in
there, confident that at last he had his man, and waiting for him to
step into the trap.
To Jolly Roger, in the face of its possible tragedy, there was a
deep-seated humor in the situation. Three times in the last year and a
half had he turned the tables on Cassidy, leaving him floundering in
the cleverly woven webs which the man-hunter had placed for his victim.
This was the fourth time. And Cassidy would be tremendously upset!
Praying that Peter would remain quiet, Jolly Roger took off his shoes.
After that he made no more sound than a ferret as he crept to the door.
An inch at a time he raised himself, until he was standing up, with his
ear half an inch from the crack that ran lengthwise of the frame.
Holding his breath, he listened. For an interminable time, it seemed to
him, there was no sound from within. He guessed what Cassidy was
doing--peering through that slit of window under the curtain. But he
was not absolutely sure. And he knew the necessity of making no error,
with Cassidy in there, gripping the butt of his gun.
Suddenly he heard a movement. A man's steps, subdued and yet distinct,
were moving from the window toward the door. Half way they paused, and
turned to one of the windows looking westward. But it was evident the
watcher was not expecting his game from that direction, for after a
moment's silence he returned to the window through which he could see
the trail. This time Jolly Roger was sure. Cassidy was again peering
through the window, with his back toward him, and every muscle in the
forest rover's body gathered for instant action. In another moment he
had flung open the door, and the watcher at the window whirled about to
find himself looking straight into the muzzle of Jolly Roger's gun.
For several minutes after that last swift movement of Jolly Roger's,
Peter lay where his master had left him, his eyes fairly popping from
his head in his eagerness to see what was happening. He heard voices,
and then the wild thrill of Jolly Roger's laughter, and restraining
himself no longer he trotted cautiously to the open door of the cabin.
In a chair sat the stranger with the broad-brimmed hat and high boots,
with his hands securely tied behind him. And Jolly Roger was hustling
about, filling a shoulder-pack in the last light of the day.
"Cassidy, I oughta kill you," Jolly Roger was saying as he worked, an
exultant chuckle in his voice. "You don't give me any peace. No matter
where I go you're sure to come, and I can't remember that I ever
invited you. I oughta put you out of the way, and plant flowers over
you, now that I've got the chance. But I'm too chicken-hearted.
Besides, I like you. By the time you get tired of chasing me you should
be a pretty good man-hunter. But just now you lack finesse,
Cassidy--you lack finesse." And Jolly Roger's chuckle broke into
another laugh.
Cassidy heaved out a grunt.
"It's luck--just damned luck!" he growled.
"If it is, I hope it keeps up," said Jolly Roger. "Now, look here,
Cassidy! Let's make a man's bet of it. If you don't get me next
time--if you fail, and I turn the trick on you once more--will you
quit?"
Cassidy's eyes gleamed in the thickening dusk.
"If I don't get you next time--I'll hand in my resignation!"
The laughter went out of Jolly Roger's voice.
"I believe you, Cassidy. You've played square--always. And now--if I
free your hands--will you swear to give me a two hours' start before
you leave this cabin?"
"I'll give you the start," said Cassidy.
His lean face was growing indistinct in the gloom.
Jolly Roger came up behind him. There was the slash of a knife. Then he
picked up his shoulder-pack. At the door he paused.
"Look at your watch when I'm gone, Cassidy, and be sure you make it a
full two hours."
"I'll make it two hours and five minutes," said Cassidy. "Hittin' north
are you, Jolly Roger?"
"I'm hittin'--bushward," replied the outlaw. "I'm going where it's
plenty thick and hard to travel, Cassidy. Goodby--"
He was gone. He hit straight north, making noise as he went, but once
in the timber he swung southward, and plunged through the creek with
Peter under his arm. Not until they had traveled a good half mile over
the plain did Jolly Roger speak. Then he said, speaking directly at
Peter,
"Cassidy thinks I'll sure hit for the North country again, _Pied-Bot_.
But we're foolin' him. I've sort of planned on something like this
happening, and right now we're hittin' for the tail-end of Cragg's
Ridge where there's a mess of rock that the devil himself can hardly
get into. We've got to do it, boy. We can't leave the girl--just now.
We can't leave--her--"
Jolly Roger's voice choked. Then he paused for a moment, and bent over
to put his hand on Peter.
"If it hadn't been for you, Peter--Cassidy would have got me--sure. And
I'm wondering, Peter--I'm wondering--why did God forget to give a dog
speech?"
Peter whined in answer, and through the darkness of the night they went
on together.