IV

Early in the spring I had begun Bingo's education. Very shortly

afterward he began mine.

Midway on the two-mile stretch of prairie that lay between our shanty

and the village of Carberry, was the corner-stake of the farm; it was a

stout post in a low mound of earth, and was visible from afar.

I soon noticed that Bingo never passed without minutely examining this

mysterious post. Next I learned that it was also visited by the prairie

wolves as well as by all the dogs in the neighborhood, and at length,

with the aid of a telescope, I made a number of observations that helped

me to an understanding of the matter and enabled me to enter more fully

into Bingo's private life.

The post was by common agreement a registry of the canine tribes. Their

exquisite sense of smell enabled each individual to tell at once by the

track and trace what other had recently been at the post. When the snow

came much more was revealed. I then discovered that this post was but

one of a system that covered the country; that, in short, the entire

region was laid out in signal stations at convenient intervals. These

were marked by any conspicuous post, stone, buffalo skull, or other

object that chanced to be in the desired locality, and extensive

observation showed that it was a very complete system for getting and

giving the news.

Each dog or wolf makes a point of calling at those stations that are

near his line of travel to learn who has recently been there, just as a

man calls at his club on returning to town and looks up the register.

I have seen Bingo approach the post, sniff, examine the ground about,

then growl, and with bristling mane and glowing eyes, scratch fiercely

and contemptuously with his hind feet, finally walking off very stiffly,

glancing back from time to time. All of which, being interpreted, said:

"Grrrh! woof! there's that dirty cur of McCarthy's. Woof! I'll 'tend to

him tonight. Woof! woof!" On another occasion, after the preliminaries,

he became keenly interested and studied a coyote's track that came and

went, saying to himself, as I afterward learned:

"A coyote track coming from the north, smelling of dead cow. Indeed?

Pollworth's old Brindle must be dead at last. This is worth looking

into."

At other times he would wag his tail, trot about the vicinity and come

again and again to make his own visit more evident, perhaps for the

benefit of his brother Bill just back from Brandon! So that it was not

by chance that one night Bill turned up at Bingo's home and was taken

to the hills, where a delicious dead horse afforded a chance to suitably

celebrate the reunion.

At other times he would be suddenly aroused by the news, take up the

trail, and race to the next station for later information.

Sometimes his inspection produced only an air of grave attention, as

though he said to himself, "Dear me, who the deuce is this?" or "It

seems to me I met that fellow at the Portage last summer."

One morning on approaching the post Bingo's every hair stood on end, his

tail dropped and quivered, and he gave proof that he was suddenly sick

at the stomach, sure signs of terror. He showed no desire to follow up

or know more of the matter, but returned to the house, and half an hour

afterward his mane was still bristling and his expression one of hate or

fear.

I studied the dreaded track and learned that in Bingo's language the

half-terrified, deep-gurgled 'grr-wff' means 'timber wolf.'

These were among the things that Bingo taught me. And in the after time

when I might chance to see him arouse from his frosty nest by the stable

door, and after stretching himself and shaking the snow from his shaggy

coat, disappear into the gloom at a steady trot, trot, trot, I used to

think:

"Ahh! old dog, I know where you are off to, and why you eschew the

shelter of the shanty. Now I know why your nightly trips over the

country are so well timed, and how you know just where to go for what

you want, and when and how to seek it."

V

In the autumn of 1884, the shanty at De Winton farm was closed and Bingo

changed his home to the establishment--that is, to the stable, not the

house--of Gordon Wright, our most intimate neighbor.

Since the winter of his puppyhood he had declined to enter a house at

any time excepting during a thunderstorm. Of thunder and guns he had a

deep dread--no doubt the fear of the first originated in the second, and

that arose from some unpleasant shot-gun experiences, the cause of which

will be seen. His nightly couch was outside the stable, even during

the coldest weather, and it was easy to see he enjoyed to the full

the complete nocturnal liberty entailed. Bingo's midnight wanderings

extended across the plains for miles. There was plenty of proof of this.

Some farmers at very remote points sent word to old Gordon that if

he did not keep his dog home nights, they would use the shot-gun, and

Bingo's terror of firearms would indicate that the threats were not

idle. A man living as far away as Petrel said he saw a large black wolf

kill a coyote on the snow one winter evening, but afterward he changed

his opinion and 'reckoned it must 'a' been Wright's dog.' Whenever

the body of a winter-killed ox or horse was exposed, Bingo was sure

to repair to it nightly, and driving away the prairie wolves, feast to

repletion.

Sometimes the object of a night foray was merely to maul some distant

neighbor's dog, and notwithstanding vengeful threats, there seemed no

reason to fear that the Bingo breed would die out. One man even avowed

that he had seen a prairie wolf accompanied by three young ones which

resembled the mother, excepting that they were very large and black and

had a ring of white around the muzzle.

True or not as that may be, I know that late in March, while we were

out in the sleigh with Bingo trotting behind, a prairie wolf was started

from a hollow. Away it went with Bingo in full chase, but the wolf did

not greatly exert itself to escape, and within a short distance Bingo

was close up, yet strange to tell, there was no grappling, no fight!

Bingo trotted amiably alongside and licked the wolf's nose.

We were astounded, and shouted to urge Bingo on. Our shouting and

approach several times started the wolf off at speed and Bingo again

pursued until he had overtaken it, but his gentleness was too obvious.

"It is a she-wolf, he won't harm her," I exclaimed as the truth dawned

on me. And Gordon said: "Well, I be darned."

So we called our unwilling dog and drove on.

For weeks after this we were annoyed by the depredations of a prairie

wolf who killed our chickens, stole pieces of pork from the end of the

house, and several times terrified the children by looking into the

window of the shanty while the men were away.

Against this animal Bingo seemed to be no safeguard. At length the wolf,

a female, was killed, and then Bingo plainly showed his hand by his

lasting enmity toward Oliver, the man who did the deed.