Sleeping in the same corner where he had slept so many times, Pal moaned
softly and twitched his paws. He dreamed that things were as they had
once been and that he was hunting grouse with Johnny Blazer. Pacing
ahead, Pal scented a grouse and showed Johnny where it was. There came
the shotgun's blast. The dream faded and Pal woke up.
Instantly things resumed a normal perspective. The scent of Jeff Tarrant
filled the cabin and mingled with it was the odor of Dan Blazer. Pal
remembered meeting Dan before. Every summer, but never for more than ten
days at a time, Johnny had brought him to the cabin for a visit.
Though Pal liked all children, he saw only an incidental connection
between Johnny and Dan Blazer. However, if only because Johnny had once
welcomed the boy and Jeff was now welcoming him, Pal was happy to accept
Dan too and to include him in the select circle of intimates who
deserved every courtesy. Next to Jeff, he would respect Dan.
Though his nose told him that all was well, Pal did not go back to sleep
at once. The dream had been a very vivid one and it brought a surge of
memories that were strengthened by being back at his old home. The past
remained a puzzle. Pal had never understood why Johnny had disappeared,
he still did not understand, and he was troubled because of it.
Having a dog's instinct for time, he knew that the night was about half
gone, and because he was familiar with the habits of humans, he was
aware that Jeff and Dan probably would not get out of bed before
sunrise. Equally at home in daylight or darkness, Pal had never known
why people preferred to spend the night hours in a cabin or shelter but
he had never questioned their doing so. They were humans. He was a dog.
Therefore, it always befitted him to shape himself to their ways and
never even think that they should bend to his.
Sometimes Johnny had taken him out at night to hunt coon, and Pal rather
hoped that Jeff would do the same because he liked to run at night. But
it would be all right if Jeff did not.
After a short time, needing contact more intimate than his nose offered,
Pal rose and padded across the wooden floor. He ascended the steps,
walking quietly because experience had taught him to be quiet. Pal
existed to please his master and his whole life must be shaped to that
purpose. There were no delights which, directly or indirectly, were not
connected with that. When Johnny had patted his head and praised him,
Pal had quivered with joy. Now he reacted in the same fashion to Jeff
and his life was a full one.
He ascended the steps, walked to the bunks that Jeff and Dan occupied,
sniffed gently at each, and went back to his place in the corner. He had
made doubly sure that Jeff was still present and that partially
satisfied him. But because the dream and the cabin brought Johnny back
to him, he was still able to sleep only fitfully. Pal recalled last
night.
He had been very worried when Jeff went away and left him in the cabin.
Ordinarily it would have been routine, for Johnny had often left him
alone. But a great fear had grown out of Johnny's death. Pal had seen
him leave and been sure he'd come back, but he never had. Now he was
fearful that Jeff might not return. Dan, who understood, had tried to
give him comfort.
"He'll come back. Don't you worry. He'll come back."
But Pal would not rest until Jeff's return and then he was happy again.
He wagged his tail because the two in the cabin greeted each other
gladly, and he drooled at the odor of frying pork chops. Eating his
share, Pal looked puzzled when Dan started to wash the dishes and Jeff
began to work with the broom.
In Pal's opinion the cabin was satisfactory, and he had never understood
the quirks of humans that kept them forever doing something that did not
look like fun and seemed unnecessary. But Pal resigned himself to the
cleaning up. He flattened his ears and retreated into a corner. He
dodged from place to place whenever the broom came near, and relaxed in
his own corner only when Jeff finally put the broom down and started
replacing the broken window panes. Unoccupied, and thought deserted, the
cabin had been rifled of many things belonging to Johnny. But there were
enough dishes and tableware left, for Johnny had kept a great store of
it to provide for his guests.
Dan yawned and Jeff sent him to bed, but the young peddler worked for a
long while afterward. Finally, giving Pal a pat on the head, he too
sought one of the upstairs bunks.
Now Pal raised his head at frequent intervals. He had a great yearning
to visit again the sycamore tree--the last place where he'd seen Johnny,
but the door was locked. If the customary routine was followed, it would
not be opened until Jeff and Dan got up. Rising, Pal walked nervously
around the cabin, sniffing at all the objects he knew so well. He went
to his corner and did not leave it again until dawn's thin light turned
the cabin's black windows to pale gray.
He heard a bunk creak as Jeff moved, and raised expectant ears. For a
short interval there was silence. Then came Dan's sleepy voice.
"You awake, Jeff?"
"Nope. I'm sound asleep."
Pal heard Dan giggle. There were various little noises that accompanied
their getting out of bed and dressing. Tail wagging happily, Pal met
them at the foot of the stairs. He went first to Jeff, who gave him a
pat on the head, then he offered his morning greeting to Dan. These
ceremonies complete, he padded over to stand in front of the door. Jeff
understood.
"I'll let you out."
Pal slipped through the opened door and waited for a while in front of
the cabin. This was his country, but he had not forgotten that it had
rejected him. He had walked safely with Johnny Blazer, but he had been
clubbed and stoned after Johnny was no longer with him. The lesson had
penetrated deeply.
When Pal finally left the cabin, he did not go down the path but went at
once into the brush and walked slowly. Alone, he had better be
careful.... He stopped when he caught the scent of a rabbit that was
hiding in the brush. For a moment he was tempted to chase it because
chasing rabbits was fun. But this morning he had a more urgent mission.
Still walking slowly, nose questing and ears alert, he made his way to
the road and halted in some thick brush beside it. He would not expose
himself on the open road until he knew what lay ahead.
Across the road, and up the opposite slope, a doe and fawn were feeding.
Pal caught the faint odor of grouse, and he knew that a skunk had
wandered that way last night. Later, a fox had minced along.
The nearest human scents were those of Dan and Jeff, and as soon as he
was sure of that, Pal considered himself safe. He ventured into and
moved slowly down the road, but as he drew near the big sycamore he
broke into an eager trot. It was at the sycamore that he had last seen
Johnny Blazer, and there that he had lost all trace of him. Now he
wanted to find if there was anything he might have overlooked.
He had given up all hope of finding Johnny; his long search had
convinced him that his former master would never be found. But not
forgotten, never to be forgotten, was his long association with Johnny,
his love for him, and the good life they had lived together. Pal was
going to the sycamore for the same reason that a human being rereads old
letters written by a dear companion whom he will never see again. Once
more he stopped to read the wind currents and the tracks in the road.
Besides the fox and skunk, only Jeff's scent remained right there.
Therefore Jeff was the only human who had used the road last night. But
Pal caught the fainter scents of Smithville and the people inhabiting
it. They were distant odors and no one was coming. He gave undivided
attention to the sycamore.
Winds had blown and rains had fallen, but Johnny Blazer had bled here
and his scent still lingered. Pal drank long and deeply of it. He made a
little circle, as though the scent should lead him farther. But it ended
at the tree, and the dog came back to sniff again. He moaned softly in
his throat, because his affection for Johnny had been great. But
Johnny's scent ended where it began, at the sycamore. About to cast
again, Pal halted in his tracks.
The morning breeze blew directly from Smithville to him, and the breeze
had told him that nobody was coming. Now that was changed. Clearly Pal
caught the scent of Pete Whitney and he knew that Pete was walking up
the road. The dog bristled, but not because he saw any connection
between Pete and Johnny's disappearance. He knew only that all Whitneys
were enemies and that Pete had been near when Johnny was hurt.
He crouched in the brush, undecided for the moment. If he lay perfectly
still, Pete probably would pass without seeing him. But as the man drew
nearer, Pal's nervousness increased. He decided suddenly that he would
be safer with Jeff.
Pete was just a short distance away when Pal cleared the road in one
bound and raced toward the cabin. The dog knew that he had been seen,
but he did not care. The one dangerous time had been the fleeting
instant he'd needed to cross the road and that was dangerous only
because the road offered no cover. Once in the brush, he could run away
from any man.
He found Dan drawing water from the spring beside the cabin and slowed
to a walk. Because he had run hard, he was panting. He paused very
close to the boy and looked nervously back toward the road. Dan stared
curiously at him.
"What's down there?" he questioned. "What'd you find, Pal?"
The great dog turned toward Dan and wagged his tail as evidence of good
will. But his hackles remained raised as he accompanied the boy into the
cabin. The good smell of frying bacon perfumed the air. Standing over
the stove, Jeff looked around questioningly.
"Isn't that bucket a load for you, Dan?"
"Nah! I can carry it."
Jeff grinned. Most boys were proud of their physical prowess and he had
not offended Dan by offering to draw the water for him. He broke eggs
into the sputtering skillet. Pal growled and Jeff turned again to look.
"What's ailing him?"
"I don't know. He must have smelled something he don't like. When he
came up to me, he was running."
Pal, knowing that Pete Whitney was coming toward the cabin, retreated to
the far end of the room and stood. Still bristling, he showed his teeth.
Jeff was puzzled.
"What's the--?"
"Something's around," Dan said quickly. He looked out of the window.
"Jeff! Pete Whitney's coming!"
Eyes blazing, he looked toward the shotgun. Jeff saw and interpreted his
glance.
"Remember! We're not going off half-cocked."
"Uh--All right."
Jeff opened the door and saw the man standing in front of the cabin.
Pete Whitney's clothing was slipshod, but that alone did not give him
the air he had. Jeff was not able to place it at once. There was
something about him that should not be, something very like a surly
animal. About thirty, Pete had fine blond hair that seemed rooted so
precariously that the slightest wind might blow it away. His unshaven
cheeks were covered with stubble.
Pale blue eyes shifted sideways, and he raised a foot as though about to
run. Yet, at the same time, it was as though he had no intention of
running. As far as Jeff could see, he carried no firearms, but he acted
as though he were armed, and doubtless he was. Mentally, Jeff compared
him to the man he had met yesterday. That man had also been careless of
his clothing and appearance, but there was a strength and character in
his being that was not evident in Pete. Barr Whitney was strong. Pete
was weak.