Absolute hush followed the exclamation of young Burton and, as all were
intently listening, there sounded through the soft stillness of the
night a strange, piercing cry,—the baying of a bloodhound following the
trail of a person. It was neither a bark nor a growl, but a mixture of
the two,—a deep howl that might well fill a fleeing fugitive with
shivering fear.
“That’s Zip,” said his pleased owner; “he will be here in a few
minutes.”
“He has a remarkable voice,” said Scout Master Hall; “I never heard the
like.”
Mike Murphy, who had been one of the most absorbed of listeners and was
seated near the guest, rose to his feet and emitted a cry which, so far
as the listeners could tell, was an absolutely perfect imitation of that
of the dog.
“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Burton; “it would deceive any one except
the dog himself.”
“And why not him?” asked Alvin Landon.
“Because he does not answer—there he comes!”
In the dim moonlight, as every eye was turned in the direction of the
beach leading toward Uncle Elk’s cabin, the Scouts saw a black, medium
sized dog approaching at full speed, his sturdy figure rapidly assuming
definite form. It was to be noted that Burton had come through the wood
itself, whereas the animal was traversing the beach, where the way was
more open, yet he was keeping to the trail as unerringly as an arrow
driven from the bow.
“Hide yourself,” whispered Mr. Hall.
“There is no place where I can hide from him.”
The next instant the hound with undiminished speed bounded up the steps
at the end of the porch, dashed between the boys, and impinged with such
force against his standing master that he was knocked backward for a
pace or two. Bending over, Burton patted the big head, and Zip in his
excess of delight bounded round the youth and wagged his tail so hard
that it swayed his haunches correspondingly, and it really seemed an
instance of the tail wagging the dog.
“Don’t you think Zip will appreciate something in the form of a meal?”
asked Mr. Hall.
“He certainly will; a dog is always hungry, and more than half a day has
passed since he ate; nothing suits him better than raw meat.”
“We have a supply, and he shall feast to his heart’s content.”
So he did, the food being brought out and placed in front of the canine
guest, who would have eaten a good deal more had his master permitted.
Meekly accepting the decision, Zip lay down at young Burton’s feet,
contented and happy throughout the remainder of the evening, and glad to
stay outside until the youth rejoined him in the morning.
“You know what matchless policemen the Belgian dogs make in that
country, in France, and in New York and other cities. Some three years
ago Long Island became so pestered by thieves that Robert E. Kerkham,
superintendent of the railway police, saw that something drastic had to
be done. The thieves dynamited station safes, burglarized private
dwellings and more than once killed and injured railway policemen while
they were trying to arrest the criminals. Those men used fleet horses
and automobiles, and despite everything that could be done, grew bolder
and more successful.
“Superintendent Kerkham, finding that his patrolmen were powerless,
decided to call in the help of dogs, with whose striking success abroad
and at home he was familiar, but he made a new departure by taking
bloodhounds instead of the usual police dogs, for the former would not
only guard property but would track the thieves. He bought a pair from
the stock imported from England more than twenty years ago. These are of
the purest blood, and superior to all others. Zip is from the same
stock. A peculiarity of this dog is that in no circumstances will he
take up a doubtful trail, but will pick up the true scent, no matter how
faint, and never abandon it so long as it actually exists. They know not
the meaning of fear, and will stick to their work so long as they can
move or breathe. Some of those dogs have pedigrees that reach backward
to the time of William the Conqueror.
“The couple which Mr. Kerkham purchased are named Bob and Nellie. They
had to be trained, but they learned fast. They will take the scent from
any article that has been lately handled by the person they are after.”
“How old a trail will serve them?” asked the Scout Master.
“Of course the freshest scent is the best. Zip was all of seven hours
behind me to-day. I have tested him on double that time and he seemed to
have little or no difficulty. They have taken a trail twenty-four hours
old, and precisely what it is that guides them in such a case is more
than any one can understand. A man is known to have left a house at a
certain time, and twenty hours later it is decided to pursue him with
the aid of a bloodhound. A glove, or hat, or shoe that he is known to
have worn is held in front of the dog; he sniffs at it, dashes out of
doors, circles back and forth and around the grounds until he strikes
the corresponding scent; up goes his head, his tail wags and he bays his
pleasure. A hundred yards farther, and he drops his nose to the ground
to make sure he has not lost his clue.
“Perhaps the scent grows faint or disappears. In that case he runs back
and circles about until he picks it up again, when he is off once more.
You must remember that while all this is going on there is a man tugging
at the leash, for this is necessary to protect the thief. As the trail
grows fresher, the fierce eagerness of the hound increases; he knows he
is close upon his quarry and sharp words and powerful pulling are
necessary to prevent him from bounding straight at the throat of the
cowering wretch. Should he start to run it is almost impossible to
restrain the dog, but when he sees the criminal is under arrest, he is
satisfied, becomes quiet, and is ready to tackle the next job.”
“Will you tell us of some of the exploits of Bob and Nellie, who you say
are perfect specimens of their kind?”
“I cannot recall a quarter of them. One thing that Bob did was
astonishing because it was at the beginning of his training and the
scent was fourteen hours old. He caught it from a bag which the thieves
had used to wrap about their hands in breaking a window. As true as the
needle to the pole, Bob led his master through alleys and side streets,
across vacant lots, along the purlieus of a straggling village to a
house near the highway. This was circled once, and then he dashed to a
barn at the rear, through the open door, and sprang at a young man who
was engaged in skinning a muskrat he had trapped.
“The fellow was indignant and denied all knowledge of the crime,
declaring that he did not know where the freight house was located, but
Bob’s trainer was certain the dog was right, and searched the place. All
the missing property was found in a trunk, and the thief is now in Sing
Sing, convicted on the testimony of the dog.
“Last summer a farmer in Kansas was murdered and a pack of hounds were
put on the trail. They led the trainers and officers through a broken
country for six miles, never hesitating or turning aside for a minute,
until they reached a house where a man lived who had never been
suspected. He was arrested, corroborative evidence obtained, and he was
convicted by the Supreme Court of the state and executed.
“One night the safe of the Hicksville station on the Long Island
Railroad was blown open and the contents stolen. Three of the dogs were
brought up the next day a little before noon and put on the trail, about
twelve hours after the robbery had been committed.”
“It seems to me,” remarked Scout Master Hall, “that in all such cases
the hounds are very liable to blunder.”
“Why?”
“There must be a good many tracks about the premises; how can they
differentiate those of the thieves?”
“They took the scent without the least difficulty from the window
through which the robbers had entered and from the articles they had
handled. Tugging at their leashes, the hounds led their masters up the
railway track for an eighth of a mile, and then turned off across the
open country to the trolley track, which they followed to the next stop,
where the trail ended. Inquiries brought out the fact that the car had
stopped there about midnight,—something which it rarely did. Having
boarded it, the thieves made their escape, and that became one of the
few instances in which the skill of the bloodhounds came to naught.
“But the dogs were not allowed to rust for want of work. Long Island
gave them plenty to do, and continues to do so. When word came to
headquarters that the station at Warwick Street on the Atlantic Division
of the railway had been broken into and robbed, the dogs were put on the
job with the least possible delay. They found the trail without trouble,
and skurried down Atlantic Avenue to Logan Street, where the canines
halted for consultation, since they had to face new conditions.
“These wonderful brutes had been instant to detect that two thieves were
concerned in the crime. At the point named, the trail divided, and of
course the pursuers did the same. Our old friend Bob trotted along until
he reached No. 129, where he sat down, threw up his head and began
howling. Jim, the other dog, kept on to No. 219, where he joined in the
dismal chorus. The two were on the same side of the street, not very far
apart, and must have made a striking picture, as from their different
stations they serenaded some persons within. I can’t help wondering,”
added young Burton with a laugh, “whether the thieves noticed that
howling, and peeping out of the windows suspected what it meant.
“The trainers thought it possible a mistake had been made, and the dogs
were taken back to the station and given the scent again. They followed
it as unerringly as before, but oddly enough when they came to the
forking of the trail, Bob and Jim changed places. It was as if one had
proposed the shift to the other, who accepted it offhand.
“Doubting no longer, the officers arrested a schoolboy in each house,
whom the dogs identified. They confessed their guilt, and one was sent
to the Juvenile Asylum at Dobbs Ferry and the other to the Elmira
Reformatory.
“Now,” said Burton, whose enthusiasm was natural, “can any one
understand what it is that guides the bloodhound? Of course it is some
sort of emanation, but how subtle it must be, and how fine the sense
that can identify it among scores of others! In the incident I have just
related, the trail led through busy streets, where hundreds of men,
women and animals had trodden upon the invisible footprints, each with
his or her peculiar odor, which lingered for hours, and was as distinct
to the dogs as the call of a megaphone is to us. It is beyond my
comprehension.”
“It is beyond the comprehension of any one,” added Mr. Hall. “Bertillon
has proved that the thumb prints of no two persons are the same, and so
the scent of every one has a peculiarity of its own, but that doesn’t
lessen our wonder.
“There is no end to the proofs that have been given of their miraculous
power.”
“The dogs, I suppose, seem to enjoy tracking a criminal?”
“It is their delight. Although not credited with a high order of
intelligence, they know as well as their trainers what is expected of
them, and enter into it with as much gusto as you boys do your
vacation.”
“Is a criminal when overtaken by the dogs in danger of being hurt by
them?”
“It depends upon himself. If he continues to run and puts up a fight
they will attack him. If he quietly submits, they will mount guard and
hold him unharmed until their master comes up and takes the criminal
into custody. Then the dogs, seeing that that particular task is
finished, show by their behavior that they are as eager as ever for
their next job. But, for safety’s sake, they are generally held in
leash, master and dog keeping company.”
“How is it with Zip?”
“He always runs free, and will not harm a fugitive unless ordered to do
so. You understand that he and I are chums, and I have never used him to
chase a criminal. He roams through the country, and I keep him on edge
by such tests as to-day. He is so familiar with my scent that he will
pick it up instantly, without first sniffing articles I have worn. The
other day I played a mean trick on him. I left him at the Samoset House
on Mouse Island and started for Boothbay Harbor on the steamer
_Wiwurna_, but instead of getting off at the wharf, I slipped over the
gunwale at the rear, and Captain Free McKown took me on board his motor
boat _Edith_ which was lying near, and started back to Mouse Island with
me. Just before reaching the dock I met the _Norman II_ starting for
Boothbay and seated on his haunches at the prow was Zip. I was not
expecting to see him and I should have got out of sight, but he
discovered me and emitted the most dissatisfied howl I ever heard. It
said as plain as so many words, ‘You played me a low down trick, and I
don’t like it.’ He would have sprung overboard and tried to swim to me,
had I not forbidden him. Perforce he went on to Boothbay and came back
on the _Norman II_. I was in my room when he scratched on my door and I
admitted him. He was so mad that he refused to eat the meat prepared for
him, and pouted the rest of the day. I apologized and coaxed, and by
night had won back his favor and the cloud between us passed away.”