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 counterbalanced 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 mantelpiece. 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 water-side, 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 woods-men—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.

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.