THE HUGE HOUND'S MOOD
The morning of the third day of rude experience opened somewhat more
brightly for "the wastrels of the waste," as the Young Lady of the party
very nicely designated them, for it had cleared. There remained,
however, the thought that the addition to the snowfall must delay the
work of rescue, an apprehension which was soon confirmed. Stafford was
using the telegraph with no inconvenience now. He had contrived to bring
a wire from the main line into the smoking car, and communication from
there with those on the relief train was an easy matter. The news that
came was not exhilarating. Very slow headway was being made, so the
workers beyond the drifts reported. The railroad company had not yet
installed the rotary snow-plows which, later, proved most effective,
hurling the snow to a distance and clearing the way thoroughly, while
the one in use but bored its way through the drifts, only to have a part
of the tossed-up mass come whelming back to the track again. There was
a vast amount of shovelling to do, and that took time. The resolute
workers "at the other end of the trouble," as the trainmen called it,
were not discouraged, but they admitted that they were not attending a
midsummer picnic. In fact there was no semblance of a picnic about it.
They were not so assured now that release would come to the enthralled
on the fourth day, at the latest. They but expressed a glittering
confidence that the fifth day, beyond all doubt, would see the end. This
assurance by no means satisfied the captive passengers. They felt that
the White Jailor still held the keys and had them in his inside pocket.
There was much gossip over the emergency line and, despite the somewhat
oppressive news, there was infused an element of cheerfulness by this
easy, sympathetic communication with the outside world. The car in which
the instrument was placed was a magnet, for, though Stafford was the
only one on the train possessing sufficient experience to accomplish
what he had done, there were some who understood a little of the science
of telegraphy and could receive and send messages, after a fashion.
Communication between the trains was going on most of the time.
Stafford had completed his work at the instrument and returned to his
own car, where the usual group, with others who had wandered in, were
assembled, amusing themselves as best they could for the after-luncheon
hour. He had noted the outline of a woman's head as he entered, and
though her face was not toward him, knew very well to whom the fair head
belonged. A sudden courageous impulse swayed him to its way, an impulse
for which he had reason to be grateful all his life. He advanced and
seated himself directly across the aisle from the Far Away Lady, who
looked at him and smiled a quiet welcome. He was not quite himself as he
began talking to her, but he did well, under the circumstances, and so
did she. It was a meeting as delicious as constrained, for this was the
first occasion on which they had opportunity to engage in anything like
a real conversation. Hesitant, happy but, in a vague way, apprehensive,
with a trying past recalled by tones as familiar to each as if five
years were but an hour, the two exchanged only commonplaces at first,
comment on the curious manner in which they were now held from the rest
of humanity, or speculation over the immediate prospect. It was all
commonplace, or would have been so, if either been able to veil the
story of the eyes. Eyes are faithful but sometimes faithless servitors,
meaning well and doing ill. None can control them absolutely, lovers
least of all.
And then their misgivingly sweet communion was ended by what was so
inconceivably and suddenly alarming and dangerous that even Stafford
was, for a moment, dazed.
From outside came the sound of a wild yell followed by what was a man's
shout, or rather shriek, of terror, then, commingled with a fierce yelp
and growl, a sound of clattering on the car steps a rattling of the
door, its sudden violent opening, as a man's form veered away from it
and plunged into the snow on the other side, and then the appearance of
a Thing which hesitated but a second, then turned and entered the car
leapingly, a monstrous brute with fanged jaws agape and glaring eyes and
death in his fierce intent. Not the Black Dog of the Marshes, not Red
Wull, the murderer of Scottish sheep, not the Hound of the Baskervilles
could have presented an appearance more utterly demoniacal.
There were cries and shouts of alarm and the occupants of the car were
on their feet as the great brute plunged forward. He saw, apparently,
but one object. The Far Away Lady had been sitting close to the outside
of her seat and it was her white, startled face which drew the red eyes
of the charging monster. Two great leaps he made and the third was at
her throat.
But not so swift the leap as that of the man opposite the imperiled
woman. As a panther starts, Stafford shot from his place and was before
her. With arm upraised, to shield his throat, he met the full impact of
the tremendous force, staggering before it, but not falling. Then began
a struggle brief but terrifying.
The hound's teeth found nothing as they came together, missing the
fending left arm as the man thrust it forward, and coming together
viciously as the brute fell back for an instant and leaped again. This
time the arm was siezed fiercely as the man's right hand grasped firmly
the dog's throat. There was a momentary wrenching and swaying, the dog's
hold on the arm was lost and, at the same instant, almost, the hand of
the arm released was aiding its fellow in the throat grip, when the
fierce wrestle became more even. The dog writhed and twisted madly while
the man stood, pale but firm, his legs braced against the seats as he
sought a mastery of the folding skin and to bring his hands together
until they should find the windpipe and afford a chance of throttling
his powerful adversary. The feat was not an easy one, for there were
great size and the strength of savage rage to overcome. Growling
hoarsely, foaming at the mouth, whining hungrily in its blood-thirst,
the brute surged forward again and again, and wrenched and swayed in the
effort to free himself from that merciless, seeking hold. So they swung
and tottered for a moment, and then, at last, the man found the deadly
grip he had been feeling for; he had the windpipe of the beast!
Now came another aspect to the struggle. The hound, in peril now, no
longer aggressive, for the moment, was fighting for his life. His
strength was going. With a mighty effort, Stafford swung him about and
backward against the seat, gasping and gurgling. With the utmost
strength of his hands the man squeezed and bore forward, at the same
time, with all the weight and impulse of his body. The dog twisted in
frightful paroxysms, the red tongue protruded and the eyes stared
blindly, but there was too much vitality in the animal for a sudden end
of all. Still the man surged forward with all his might, bearing so
closely that the hot slaver of the beast was on his cheek and in his
hair. The straining lasted for a little time, and then at last came what
was certain; there was a sudden yielding, a great final gasp, the big
body relaxed and straightened out and the fight was over. Stafford rose
weakly upright, assisted by the men who had vainly sought opportunity to
assist him in the sudden fight and turned toward the woman who lay faint
and white, against the window ledge, with face upturned and eyes
unseeing. They carried her gently to her stateroom.
[Illustration: "THE BIG BODY RELAXED AND STRAIGHTENED OUT"]
There was a rush of the passengers to Stafford's side and there were
showering thanks and congratulations and all the exclamatory comment
which would naturally follow a scene so startling and with such a
termination, but one man swept the others aside, with suddenly acquired
authority, and demanded an examination of Stafford's hurt. It was the
physician of the group, and the wisdom of his action was recognized at
once. It was found that the dog's teeth had entered the fore-arm
deeply, but the marks were clean and the blood was flowing readily. "It
would be nothing serious," commented the doctor, "if it were not for the
chance of hydrophobia. Do you think the dog was mad?" he asked of
Stafford.
And, even as he spoke, something happened, something which, as before,
was so unexpected, so alarming, so utterly beyond all ordinary chance,
as to rob the men there of the moment's reason. There was a snarl like
that of a tiger at their very feet and the dog's neck upreared among
them fiercely. He had not been strangled utterly unto death, and had
revived to breath and life again. His strength seemed to return to him
instantaneously. With a growl which was almost a roar, the beast surged
into the aisle, his glaring eyes unseeing at first but, as perception
came to them, discerning again but a single object. Their devouring
intent was upon a figure just entering the other doorway. The animal's
sighted quarry was the effervescent youth who had first made himself
generally known on the train because of his air of optimism. He had
instant opportunity for an exhibition of all his blithesome qualities.
Straight toward the man the dog plunged furiously, in an uplifting leap
which was but a hurling of himself squarely at his throat as he had
leaped at that thinner one of the Far Away Lady, but the youth lacked
not presence of mind, which was illustrated in so diminutive a fraction
of a second as to be practically unrecordable. Far and well he sprang
from the steps of the car and landed in a drift up to his armpits,
falling forward as the dog plunged after him. The beast collided with
the railing of the platform and turned and rolled into the snow as he
struck the earth, or as nearly the earth as he could go. The snow was
above his head, and well it was for the pursued that it was the case.
The man plunged ahead, hampered, it is true, but making swift headway in
his alarm, straight toward a tree on the ascending slope, a stunted pine
which was providentially but a few yards away, while the brute pursuing
him plunged wildly about yelping and barking, guided only by scent and
sound in his fierce chase. The man had the advantage and what had seemed
a prospective tragedy one moment became something very like a comedy the
next. It was droll but well was it for the evading man that the snow he
had lately been anathematizing had now become his ally and protector. He
reached the tree not much ahead of the raving dog, who was at its trunk
in a moment as soon as the pursued came fairly into sight, and
clambering to safety upon a lower limb, not very far up but sufficiently
high to assure him immunity from the snapping jaws of the beast leaping
upward in a vain attempt to reach the perching chase. The youth wound
his arms about the bole and dangled his legs down tantalizingly,
meanwhile announcing exuberantly to the people who had rushed to the
platform that snow was the finest thing in the world, when it was deep
enough. All would have been over with in a moment and the youth free to
come down from his eyrie but for a sudden interruption, for half a dozen
of the passengers had, by this time, secured revolvers from their grips
and were about to end at once the career of the raging animal. A shot,
which missed had already been fired when the voice of Stafford rang out
sharply:
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot the brute, yet! I want to know first whether
or not he is a mad dog. Wait a few moments."
His request was obeyed unhesitatingly, all recognizing its good sense
and forethought, while the Gallus Youth called out cheerily: "That's
right. I'll amuse him here Mr. Stafford while you diagnose his ailment.
It's a good idea. May save a record case of hydrophobia. Try him on, but
look out, or 'dar's gwine ter be not only trubble in de chu'ch but
discawd in de choir.'"
And while the passengers crowded at the windows and on the platforms,
Stafford did "try him on." He sent for bread and meat and, stepping down
to the lower step of the car, waited until the dog had become silent for
a moment and was gazing intently and watchfully upward at his undestined
prey, and then called out, attracting his attention. There was a general
shrinking back, the majority of the passengers expecting a rush of the
animal toward the car again, but to the surprise of all he did not move
as Stafford spoke to him soothingly, though he turned his head and
showed his teeth. Stafford leaned forward and tossed to the dog's very
feet the steaming meat and other food which had been brought and no
sooner had the scent reached the nostrils of the beast than, ignoring
instantly the man perched in the tree he pounced upon the food
voraciously, gulping it down as if he had not fed for months. Stafford
called for more and fed the suffering creature until he would eat no
longer. Then he called the dog to him, good-naturedly and in an ordinary
tone, and, astounding as it was to all, the beast responded, approaching
him though somewhat cautiously. Stafford sent for water, and finally the
dog lapped it from a pail in quantities which told a story. Dumb animal
though it was upon which they were gazing the onlookers could not but
sympathize with its evident past distress and recognize what had been
the natural consequence. Stafford rose and drew a long breath of relief.
Assuredly he had good reason. The chance of hydrophobia was past. "The
dog is not mad," he said. "He was only starving and crazed with thirst
and raging blindly at everything and anybody. I don't blame the
unreasoning beast. How did it happen?"
The whole thing was soon made clear. The dog, a dappled monster Ulm, or
Siberian bloodhound, had been shipped from San Francisco to the East by
an owner to whom the hound was as the apple of his eye. It had been
confined in the forward baggage car the man in charge of which had been
ill during the train's imprisonment and had forgotten the beast
entirely. The car had not been opened before and the imprisoned animal
crazed by thirst and hunger, had gone practically insane with suffering
and, upon the opening of the door, had leaped out furiously, in pursuit
of the first object upon which it could vent its fury. One man's neglect
had resulted in something very close to tragedy.
Now the dog was fawning at Stafford's feet. He patted it on the head and
the beast followed him into the baggage car again where it lay down
contentedly. There was no thought of killing it now. As one man said:
"We may be all going mad ourselves before we get out of this." But he
created no apprehension.
Stafford returned to his car and another examination of his hurt was
made. The punctures in his arm were treated by the doctor, to avoid all
chances, as he said, and the episode of the dog was ended.