the big collie lay at ease, his tawny-and-white length stretched out in lazy luxury across the mouth of the lane which led from the hampton highroad to link ferris’ hillside farmhouse.
of old, this lane had been rutted and grass-hummocked and bordered by tangles of rusty weeds. since link and his farm had taken so decided a brace, the weeds had been cut away. this without even a hint from the county engineer, who of old had so often threatened to fine link for leaving them standing along the highway at his land’s edge. the lane had been graded and ditched, too, into a neatness that went well with the rest of the place.
but—now that link ferris had taken to himself a wife, as efficient as she was pretty—it had been decreed by young mrs. ferris that the lane’s entrance should be enhanced still further by the erecting of two low fieldstone piers, one on either side, and that the hollow at the top 68of each pier should be filled with loam for the planting of nasturtiums.
it was on this decorative job that link was at work to-day. his collie, chum, was always near at hand wherever his master chanced to be toiling. and chum, now, was lying comfortably on the soft earth of the lane head, some fifty feet from where link wrought with rock and mortar.
up the highroad, from hampton village a mile below, jogged a bony yellow horse, drawing a ramshackle vehicle which looked like the ghost of a delivery wagon. the wagon had a sharp tilt to one side. for long years it had been guiltless of paint. its canvas sides were torn and stained. its rear was closed by a wabbly grating. the axles and whiffletree emitted a combination of grievously complaining squeaks from the lack of grease. and other and still more grievous noises issued from the grated recesses of the cart.
on the sagging seat sprawled a beefy man whose pendulous cheeks seemed the vaster for the narrowness of his little eyes. these eyes were wandering inquiringly from side to side along link’s land boundary, until they chanced to light upon the recumbent collie. then into their shallow recesses glinted a look of sharp interest. it was on this collie’s account that the man had driven out from hampton to-day. his drive was a reconnoitre.
he clucked his bony steed to a faster jog, his gaze fixed with growing avidity on the dog. as he neared the mouth of the lane, he caught sight of link and the narrow orbs lost a shade of their jubilance.
so might a pedestrian’s eyes have glinted at sight of a dollar bill on the sidewalk in front of him. so might the glint have clouded on seeing the bill’s owner reaching down for his property. the simile is not far-fetched, for 69the driver, on viewing chum, had fancied he beheld the equivalent of several dollars.
he was eben shunk, official poundmaster and dog catcher of hampton borough. each and every stray dog caught and impounded by him meant the sum of one dollar to be paid him, in due form, by the hampton borough treasurer. and the fact that chum’s sturdy master was within hail of the invitingly supine collie vexed the thrifty soul of eben shunk.
yet there was hope. and upon this hope eben staked his chances for the elusive dollar and for the main object of his visit—which was no mere dollar. briefly, in his mind, he reviewed the case and the possibilities and laid out his plan of campaign. halting his bony horse at the mouth of the lane, he hailed link.
“look-a-here!” he called. “did you take out a license for that big mutt of your’n yet?”
link glanced up from his work, viewed the visitor with no semblance of favour and made curt reply.
“i didn’t. and he ain’t.”
“huh?” queried mr. shunk, puzzled at this form of answer.
“i didn’t license him,” expounded link, “and he ain’t a mutt. if that’s all you’ve stopped your trav’lin’ m’nagerie at my lane for, you can move it on as quick as you’re a mind to.”
he bent over his work again. but eben shunk did not take the hint.
“’cordin’ to the laws an’ statoots of the borough of hampton, county of p’saic, state of noo jersey,” proclaimed the dog catcher with much dignity, “it’s my perk’s’t an’ dooty to impound each an’ every unlicensed dog found in the borough limits.”
“well,” assented link, “go on and impound ’em, then. 70only don’t pester me about it. i’m not int’rested. s’pose you get that old bag of bones to haul your rattletrap junk cart somewheres else! i’m busy.”
"bein’ a smarty won’t get you nowheres!" declared shunk. “if your dog ain’t licensed, it’s my dooty to impound him. he—”
“here!” snapped link. “you got your answer on that when you tackled my wife about it down to her father’s store last week. she told me all about it. you came a-blusterin’ in there while she was buyin’ some goods and while chum was standin’ peaceful beside her. you said if he wasn’t licensed he’d be put in pound. and if it hadn’t been for her dad and the clerk throwin’ you out of the store, you’d ’a’ grabbed him, then and there. she told you, then, that we pay the state and county tax on the dog and that the law doesn’t compel us to pay any other tax or any license fee for him. if your borough council wanted to get some easy graft by passing an ordinance for ev’ry res’dent of hampton borough to pay one dollar a year license fees on their dogs—well, that’s their business. it’s not mine. my home’s not in the borough and—”
"some says it is an’ some says it ain’t," interrupted shunk. “the south bound’ry of the borough was shifted, by law, last month. an’ the line takes in more’n a half-acre of your south woodlot. so you’re a res’d’nt of—”
"i don’t live in my south woodlot," contradicted link, “nor yet within half a mile of it. i—”
“that’s for the courts to d’cide,” said shunk. “pers’n’lly, i hold you’re a borough res’d’nt. an’ since you ain’t paid your fee, your dog is forf’t to—”
“i see!” put in ferris. “you’ll grab the dog and you’ll get your dirty dollar fee from the borough treasury. then if the law decides my home is out of the borough, you’ll still have your money. you’re a clever man, shunk.”
71“well,” averred the dog catcher, mildly pleased with the compliment, “it ain’t for me to say as to that. but there don’t many folks find me a-nappin’, i’m sittin’ here to tell all an’ sundry. now, ’bout that dog—”
“yes,” repeated link admiringly, “you’re a mighty clever man! only i’ve figgered that you aren’t quite clever enough to spell your own name right. folks who know you real well think you’ve got an ‘h’ in it that ought to be a ‘k.’ but that’s no fault of yours, shunk. you do your best to live up to the name you ought by rights to have. so—”
"you’ll leave my name be!" thundered the dog catcher.
“i sure will,” assented link. “by the way, did you ever happen to hear how near you came to not gettin’ this office of dog catcher down at hampton?”
“no,” grunted the other, “i didn’t hear nothin’ of the kind. an’ it ain’t true. mayor wipple app’inted me, same week as he took office—like he had promised he would if i’d git my brother an’ the three boys to vote for him an’ if i’d c’ntribbit thutty-five dollars to his campaign fund. there wasn’t ever any doubt i’d git the app’intment.”
“oh, yes, there was,” cheerily denied link, with a sidelong glance at his pretty wife and her six-year-old sister, olive chatham, who were advancing along the lane from the house to note the progress of the stonework piers. "there was a lot of doubt. if it hadn’t been for just one thing you’d never have landed the job.
“it was this way,” he continued, winking encouragement to mrs. ferris who had come to a momentary and disapproving halt at sight of her husband’s uninvited guest. “the day after wipple was elected mayor, i asked him who he was aiming to appoint to the high and loocrative office of dog catcher. he told me he was goin’ to appoint you. i says to him, ‘but eben shunk’s the meanest man 72in town!’ and wipple answers ‘i know he is. he’s as mean as pussly. that’s why i’ve picked him out for dog catcher. no decent feller would take such a dirty job.’ that’s what mayor wipple told me, shunk. so you see if you hadn’t happened to be the meanest man in hampton, you’d never ’a’ got—”
"it’s a durn lie!" bellowed the irate shunk. “it’s a lie! wipple never said no such a thing. he—”
"what’s in the wagon, there?" spoke up little olive chatham, as a dolorous whimpering rose from the depths of the covered cart. “it sounds awful unhappy.”
“it is ‘awful unhappy,’ baby,” answered her brother-in-law. “mr. shunk has been on his rounds, picking up some more poor little stray curs, along the road. he’s going to carry them to a filthy pen in his filthy back yard and leave them to starve and be chewed by bigger dogs there, while he pikes off to get his dollar, each, for them. then, if they aren’t claimed and licensed in twenty-four hours, he’s going to—”
“link!” interposed dorcas, his wife, warningly, as she visualised the effect of such a word picture on her little sister’s tender heart.
but olive had heard enough to set her baby eyes ablaze with indignation. wheeling on link, she demanded:
“why don’t you whip him and let out all those poor little dogs? and then why don’t you go and put him in prison for—”
“hush, dear!” whispered dorcas, drawing the little girl close to her. “better run back to the house now! that isn’t a nice sort of man for you to be near.”
eben shunk caught the low-spoken words. they served to snap the last remaining threads of the baited dog catcher’s temper. his fists clenched and he took a step toward ferris. but the latter’s lazily wiry figure did not 73seem to lend itself to the idea of passivity under punishment. shunk’s angry little eyes fell on the collie.
“that dog of your’n ain’t licensed,” he said. “he’s layin’ out on the public road. an’ i’m goin’ to take him along.”
“go ahead,” vouchsafed link indifferently, with a covert glance of reassurance at his scandalised wife, who had made a family idol of chum. “he’s there. nobody’s stoppin’ you.”
pleased at meeting with no stouter resistance from the owner, shunk took a step toward the recumbent collie. little olive cried out in hot protest. link bent over her and whispered in her ear. the child’s face lost its look of panic and shone with pleased interest as she watched eben bear down upon his victim. ferris whistled hissingly between his teeth—an intermittent staccato blast. then he, too, turned an interested gaze on the impending capture.
chum had not enjoyed the past few minutes at all. his loafing inspection of his master’s job had been interrupted by the arrival of this loud-voiced stranger. he did not like the stranger. chum decided that, at his first glimpse and scent of the man—and the dog catcher’s voice had confirmed the distaste. shunk belonged to the type which sensitive dogs hate instinctively. but chum was too well versed in the guest law to molest or snarl at any one with whom link was in seemingly amicable talk. so he had paid no overt heed to the fellow.
there were other and more interesting things, moreover, which had caught chum’s attention. the sounds and scents from the wagon’s unseen interior carried to him a message of fear, of pain, of keen sorrow. chum had half-risen, to investigate. link, noting the action, had signalled the dog to lie down again. and chum, as always, had obeyed.
74but now, through his sullen brooding, pierced a sound that set every one of the collie’s lively nerves aquiver. it was a hissing whistle—broken and staccato. it was a signal link had made up, years ago—a signal which always brought the dog to him on the gallop. for that signal meant no summons to a romp. it spelled mischief. for example, when cattle chanced to stroll in from the highway, that whistle signified leave for the dog to run them, pell-mell, down the road, with barks and nips—instead of driving them decorously and slowly, as he drove his own master’s cows. it had a similar message when tramp or mongrel invaded the farm.
at the sound of it, now, chum was on his feet in an instant. he found himself confronting the obnoxious stranger, who was just reaching forward to clutch him.
chum eluded the man and started toward link. shunk made a wild grab for him. chum’s ruff—a big handful of it—was seized in the clutching fingers. again sounded that queer whistle. this time—thanks to the years of close companionship between dog and master—chum caught its purport. evidently, it had something to do with shunk, with the man who had laid hold on him so unceremoniously.
chum glanced quickly at link. ferris was grinning. with an imperceptible nod of the head he indicated shunk. the dog understood. at least, he understood enough for his own purposes. the law was off of this disgusting outlander. ferris was trying to enlist the collie’s aid in harrying him. it was a right welcome task.
in a flash, chum had twisted his silken head. a single slash of his white eyetooth had laid open the fat wrist of the fat hand that gripped him. shunk, with a yell, loosed his hold and jumped back. he caught the echo of a smothered chuckle from link and turned to find the 75ferrises and the child surveying the scene with happy excitement—looking for all the world like three people at an amusing picture show. the dog catcher bolted for his wagon and plunged the lacerated arm into the box beneath the seat. thence he drew it forth, clutching in his hand a coil of noosed rope and a strong oversized landing net.
“tools of his trade!” explained link airily, to his wife and olive.
as he spoke, ferris made a motion of his forefinger toward the tensely expectant dog and thence toward the lane. the gesture was familiar from sheep herding experience. at once, chum darted back a few yards and stood just inside the boundaries of his master’s land. a clucking sound from link told him where to halt. and the collie stood there, tulip ears cocked, plumy tail awag, eyes abrim with mischief, as he waited his adversary’s next move. seldom did chum have so appreciative an audience to show off before.
shunk, rope and net in hand, bore down upon his prey. as he came on he cleared decks for action by yanking his coat off and slinging it across one shoulder. thus his arms would work unimpeded. so eagerly did he advance to the hunt that he paid no heed to link. wherefore, he failed to note a series of unobtrusive gestures and clucks and nods with which link guided his furtively observing dog.
the next two minutes were of interest. shunk unslung his rope as he advanced. five feet away from the politely waiting collie he paused and flung the noose. he threw with practised skill. the wide noose encircled the dog. but before shunk could tighten it, chum had sprung lightly out of the contracting circle and, at a move of link’s finger, had backed a few feet farther onto ferris’s own property.
chagrined at his miss and spurred on by the triple 76chuckle of his audience, the man coiled his rope and flung it a second time. temper and haste spoiled his aim. he missed the dog clean. baby olive laughed aloud. chum fairly radiated contempt at such poor marksmanship. coiling his rope as, at another signal, chum backed a little farther away, shunk shouted:
“i’ll git ye, yet! an’ when i do, i’ll tie you to a post in my yard an’ muzzle you. then i’ll take a club to you, till there ain’t a whole bone left in yer carcass. if ferris buys you free, there won’t be more’n sassage-meat fer him to tote home.”
olive gasped. the grin left link’s face. dorcas looked up appealingly at her husband. shunk flung his noose a third time. chum, well understanding now what was expected of him, bounded far backward.
“get off of my land!” called ferris, in a queerly gentle and almost humble voice.
“when i take this cur off’n it with me!” snarled the catcher, too hot on the quest to be wholly sane.
he coiled his rope once more. at a gesture from link, the dog lay down.
“in the presence of a competent witness i’ve ordered you off my land,” repeated ferris, in that same meek voice. “you’ve refused. the law allows me to use force in such a case. it—”
deceived by the humility of the tone and lured by the dog’s new passivity, shunk made one final cast of the noose. this time its folds settled round the collie’s massive throat ruff. in the same fraction of a second, ferris yelled:
“take him, chum! take him!”
the dog heard and most gleefully he obeyed. as the triumphant shunk drew tight the noose about his victim’s neck and sought to bring the landing net into play, chum 77launched himself, like a furry catapult, full at the man’s throat.
and now there was no hint of fun or of mischief in the collie’s deep-set dark eyes. they flamed into swirling fury. he had received the word to attack. and he obeyed with a fiery zest. so may joffre’s grim legions have felt, in 1914, when, at the marne, they were told they need no longer keep up the hated retreat, but might turn upon their german foes and pay the bill for the past months’ humiliations.
as the furious collie sprang, shunk instinctively sought to clap the landing net’s thick meshes over chum’s head. but the dog was too swift for him. the wooden side of the net smote, almost unfelt, against the fur-protected skull. the impact sent it flying out of its wielder’s grasp.
the blow checked the collie’s charge by the barest instant. and in that instant, shunk wheeled and fled. just behind him was a shellbark tree, with a low limb jutting out above the lane. shunk dropped his coat and leaped for this overhanging limb as chum made a second dash for him.
the man’s fingers closed round the branch and he sought to draw himself up, screaming loudly for help. the scream redoubled in volume and scaled half an octave in pitch as the pursuing collie’s teeth met in shunk’s calf.
his flabby muscles galvanised by pain and by terror, the man made shift to drag his weight upward and to fling a leg over the branch. but as the right leg hooked itself across the bough, the dangling left leg felt a second embrace from the searing white teeth, in a slashing bite that clove through trouser and sock and skin and flesh and grated against the bone itself.
screeching and mouthing, shunk wriggled himself up onto the branch and lay hugging it with both arms and both 78punctured legs. below him danced and snarled chum, launching himself high in air, again and again, in a mad effort to get at his escaped prey. then the dog turned to the approaching ferris in stark appeal for help in dislodging the intruder from his precarious perch.
“that’s enough, chummie!” drawled link. “leave him be!”
he petted the dog’s head and smiled amusedly at chum’s visible reluctance in abandoning the delightful game of man treeing. at a motion of ferris’s hand, the collie walked reluctantly away and lay down beside dorcas.
chum could never understand why humans had such a habit of calling him off—just when fun was at its height. it was like this when he ran stray cattle off the farm or chased predatory tramps. still, link was his god; obedience was chum’s creed. wherefore, so far as he was concerned, eben shunk ceased to exist.
the dog catcher noted the cessation of attack. and he ceased his own howls. he drew himself to a painful sitting posture on the tree limb and began to nurse one of his torn legs.
“you’ll go to jail for this!” he whined down at ferris.
“i’ll swear out a warr’nt agin ye, the minute i git back to hampton. yes, an’ i’ll git the judge to order your dog shot as a men’ce to public safety an’—”
“i guess not!” ferris cut him short as shunk’s whine swelled to a howl. “i guess not, mister meanest man. in fact, you’ll be lucky if you keep out of the hoosgow, on my charge of trespass. you came onto my land against my wish. you couldn’t help seein’ my no trespassing sign yonder. i ordered you off. you refused to go. i gave you fair warnin’. you wouldn’t mind it. i did all that before i sicked the dog on you. my wife is a reli’ble 79witness. and she can swear to it in any court. if i sick my dog onto a trespasser who refuses to clear out when he’s told to, there’s no law in north jersey that will touch either me or chum. and you know it as well as i do. now i tell you once more to clear off of my farm. if you’ll go quick i’ll see the dog don’t bother you. if you put up any more talk i’ll station him under this tree and leave you and him to companion each other here all day. now git!”
as though to impress his presence once more on mr. shunk, chum slowly got up from the ground at dorcas’ feet and slouched lazily toward the tree again. link, wondering at the dog’s apparent disobedience of his command to leave the prisoner alone, looked on with a frown of perplexity. but at once his face cleared.
for chum was not honouring the tree dweller by so much as a single upward glance. instead, he was picking his way to where shunk’s discarded coat lay on the ground near the tree foot. the dog stood over this unlovely garment, looking down at its greasily worn surface with sniffling disapproval. then, with much cold deliberation, chum knelt down and thrust one of his great furry shoulders against the rumpled surface of the coat and shoved the shoulder along the unkempt expanse of cloth. after which he repeated the same performance with his other shoulder, ending the demonstration by rolling solemnly and luxuriously upon the rumpled, mishandled coat.
link burst into a bellow of homeric laughter. shunk, peering down, went purple with utter and speechless indignation. both men understood dogs. therefore, to both of them, chum’s purpose was as clear as day. but baby olive looked on in crass perplexity. she wondered why link found it so funny.
“what’s he doing, link?” she demanded. “what’s 80chummie rolling on that nassy ol’ coat for? it’ll get him all dirty.”
“listen, baby,” exhorted link, when he could speak. “a dog never digs his shoulders into anything, that way, and then rolls in it—except carrion! he—”
“link!” cried dorcas, scandalised.
“that’s so, old girl,” replied her husband. “it’s a busy day and we won’t have time to waste in giving the dog a bath. come away, chum!”
the dog came back to his place in front of dorcas. ferris, wearying of the scene, nodded imperatively to shunk.
“come down!” he decreed. “it’s safe. so long as you get out of here, now!”
mouthing, gobbling like some distressed turkey, eben shunk proceeded to let his bulk down from the limb. he groaned in active misery as his bitten legs were called upon to bear his weight again. he stood for a moment glowering from link to the disgruntedly passive collie. chum returned the look with compound interest, then glanced at ferris in wistful appeal, dumbly begging leave to renew the chase.
shunk still fought for coherent utterance and weighed in his bemused brain the fact that he had overstepped the law. before he could speak, a pleasant diversion was caused by olive chatham.
the little girl had been a happily interested spectator of the bout between her adored chum and this pig-eyed fat man. but the coat-rolling episode had been beyond her comprehension. she had trotted away, after link’s explanation of it, and her mind had cast about for some new excitement. she had found it.
the bony yellow horse had been left untied; in shunk’s haste to annex a dog-catching dollar. therefore the horse, 81after the manner of his kind, had begun to crop the wayside grass. but this grass was close cut and was hard for his decaying teeth to nibble. a little farther on, just within the limits of the lane, the herbage grew lusher and higher. so the horse had strayed thither, trundling his disreputable wagon after him.
olive’s questing glance had fallen upon horse and cart, not ten feet away from her, and several yards inside of the farm’s boundary line. she heard also that pitiful sound of whimpering from within the canvas-covered body of the wagon. and she remembered what link had said about the dogs imprisoned there.
she hurried up to the vehicle and circumnavigated it until she came to the grating at the back.
clambering up on the rear step, she looked in. at once several pathetically sniffing little noses were thrust through the bars for a caress or a kind word in that abode of loneliness and fear.
this was too much for the child’s warm heart. she resolved then and there upon the rôle of deliverer. reaching up to the grated door, she pushed back its simple bolt.
instantly she was half-buried under a canine avalanche. no fewer than seven dogs—all small and all badly scared—bounded through the open doorway toward freedom. in their dash for safety they almost knocked the baby to the ground. then with joyous barks and yelps they galloped off in every direction.
this was the spectacle which smote upon the horrified senses of eben shunk as he fought for words under the tree that had been his abode of refuge.
shunk had had an unusually profitable morning. not often did a single day’s work net him seven dollars. but this was circus day at paterson and many hampton people had gone thither. they had left their dogs at home. one 82or two of these dogs had wandered onto the street, where they had fallen easy victims to the dog catcher. others he had snatched, protesting, from the porches and dooryards of their absent owners. seven of the lot had not chanced to wear license tags, and these shunk had corralled in his wagon. now his best day’s work in months threatened to become a total loss.
with a wild wrench he drove his arms into the sleeves of the coat he had just rescued. in the same series of motions—and bawling an assortment of expletives, which link hoped dorcas and olive might not understand—the dog catcher made a wild rush for his escaped captives, picking up and brandishing the landing net as he ran.
“chum!” whispered ferris tensely.
as he spoke he pointed to the bony yellow horse.
“easy!” he added, observing the steed’s feebleness and age.
the yellow horse was roused from his first square meal in weeks by a gentle nip at his heel. he threw up his head with a snort and made a clumsy bound forward.
but, instantly, chum was in front of him, herding him as often he had herded recalcitrant cows of link’s, steering him for the highroad. as the wagon creaked and bumped out onto the turnpike, chum imparted a farewell nip to one of the charger’s hocks.
with a really creditable burst of speed the horse set off down the road at a hand gallop. the rattle and squeaking of the disreputable wagon reached shunk’s ears just as eben had almost cornered one of the seven escaping dogs.
shunk turned round. down the road his horse was running. a sharp turn was barely quarter of a mile beyond. on the stone of this turn the brute might well shatter the wagon and perhaps injure himself. there was but one thing for his distracted owner to do. horse and wagon 83were worth more than seven dollars—even if not very much more. eben shunk was a thrifty man. and he knew he must forgo the capture of the seven rescued dogs if he intended to save his equipage.
he broke into a run, giving chase to his faithless steed. as he passed the thunderously guffawing ferris, shunk wasted enough precious breath and time to yell:
“i’ll git that dog of yourn yet! next time he sets foot in hampton borough i’ll—”
the rest of his threat was lost in distance.
“h’m!” mused ferris, the laugh dying on his lips. “he’ll do it too! he’ll be layin’ in wait for chum, if it takes a year. in the borough limits dogs and folks is bound by borough laws. that means we can’t take chum to hampton again. unless—lord, but folks can stir up more ructions over a decent innocent dog than over all the politics that ever happened! if—”
his maundering voice trailed away. just before him, at the spot where shunk had jettisoned his defiled and much-rolled-on coat, was a scrap of paper. it was dirty and it was greasy and it had been folded in a half sheet. his hard-learned lessons in neatness impelled link to stoop and pick up this bit of litter which marred the clean surface of the sward. the doubled half sheet opened in his hand as he glanced carelessly at it. the first of several sentences scrawled thereon leaped forth to meet the man’s gaze.
ferris stuck the paper in his shirt pocket and stared down the road after the receding shunk with a smoulder in his eye that might have stirred that village functionary to some slight alarm had he seen it.
olive’s visit to her big sister ended a week later. link and dorcas escorted her back to the chathams’ hampton home. old man chatham ran the village’s general store 84and post office and had the further distinction of being a local justice of the peace.
olive did not at all care for the idea of changing her outdoor life at the ferris farm for a return to the metropolitan roar and jostle of a village with nine hundred inhabitants. and she showed her disapproval by sitting in solemn and semi-tearful silence on the slippery back seat of link’s ancient carryall all the short way into town. only as the carryall was drawing up in front of the store, which occupied the southerly half of her ancestral home, did she break silence. then she said aggrievedly:
“this is just like when i get punished. and poor chummie got punished, too, for something. why did chummie get punished, link?”
“old chum never got punished in his life,” answered link. “whatever gave you that notion, baby?”
“when i looked for him, to say by-by,” explained olive, “he wasn’t anywheres at all. so i called at him. and he barked. and i went to where the bark was. and there was poor old chummie all tied up to a chain in the barn. he was being punished. so i—”
"he wasn’t being punished, dear," said dorcas, lifting the child to the ground. “link tied him up so he wouldn’t follow us to town. there are so many autos on the roads saturday afternoons. besides, eben shunk—”
“oh,” queried olive. “was that why? i thought he was punished. so i unpunished him. i let him loose. not outdoors. because maybe you’d see him and tie him again. i let him loose and i shut the barn door, so he could stay in there and play and not be tied.”
"it’d take chum just about ten minutes to worry the barn door open!" grinned link. “he’ll get our scent and come pirootin’ straight after us.”
85“oh!” exclaimed dorcas. “hadn’t you better turn back and—”
but the hurrying of the child’s father and mother from the house to welcome the newcomers drove the thought out of her mind. link had but grinned the wider at her troubled suggestion. greeting his parents-in-law, ferris hitched his horse and followed dorcas and her mother to the veranda.
there they sat talking until suddenly a volley of heart-broken screams broke in upon them. up the path from the street rushed little olive, her eyes streaming, her baby mouth in a wide circle, from which issued a series of panic cries.
both men sprang to their feet and hurried down the path to meet her. her mother and sister rushed from the house at the same moment and ran to succour the screaming child. but olive thrust them back, squealing frantically to link:
“that awful man’s got chummie! he tooked him from me and he says he’ll beat him till he’s dead. i pulled chummie away and the man slapped me over and he’s running off with chummie!”
old man chatham was an elder in the church at hampton. yet on hearing of the blow administered to his worshipped child and at the sight of an ugly red mark athwart her plump baby face, an expletive crackled luridly from between his pious lips—an expletive which should have brought him before the consistory of his church for rigid discipline.
then, by the time olive had sobbed out her pitiful tidings, both he and link ferris had set off down the street at a dead run. instinctively they were heading for an alley which bisected the street a furlong below—an alley 86wherein abode eben shunk and where his backyard pound was maintained.
truly, chum had let himself and others in for an abundance of trouble when he scratched and nosed at the recalcitrant barn door until he pried it wide enough open to let him slip out. he had caught the scent, as link predicted, and he had turned into the main street of hampton a bare five minutes behind the carryall.
as he was on his orderly journey toward the chatham home, olive spied him from the dooryard and ran out to greet him.
and eben shunk, seeing them, waited only long enough to snatch up his rope and landing net, and gave chase. coming upon the unsuspecting pair from behind, he was able to jam the net over chum’s head before the placidly pacing collie was aware of his presence.
chum, catching belated sight and scent of his enemy, sought right valiantly to free himself and give battle. but the tough meshes of the net had been drawn as tightly over his head and jaws as any glove, holding him helpless. and shunk was fastening the rope about the wildly struggling neck. it was then that olive sprang to her canine comrade’s aid, only to be slapped out of the way by the irate and overoccupied man. whereat, she had fled for reinforcements.
a dog has but a single set of weapons, namely, his mighty jaws. the net held chum’s mouth fast shut. the noose was cutting off his wind. and bit by bit strangulation and confusion weakened the collie’s struggles. with a final wrench of the noose, shunk got under way. heading down street toward his own alley, he dragged the fiercely unwilling prisoner behind him. a crowd accompanied him, as did their highly uncomplimentary remarks.
87as shunk reached the mouth of the alley and prepared to turn toward his own yard, two newcomers were added to the volunteer escort. but these two men were not content to look on in passive disgust. the elder of them hurled himself bodily at shunk.
link intervened as his enraged father-in-law was about to seize the dog catcher by the throat.
“don’t!” he warned, thrusting chatham back. “there’s the cop! you’re a judge. you sure know a better way to get shunk than to punch him. if you hit the man you give him a chance to sue. do the suing, yourself!”
while he talked, link was using his hastily drawn farm knife in scientific fashion. one slash severed the noose from about chum’s furry throat. a second cut parted the drawstring of the net. a dexterous tug at the meshes tore the net off the dog’s head, setting free the terrible imprisoned jaws.
meanwhile, choking back his craving to assail shunk, old man chatham strode up to the dumfounded constable.
“officer,” chatham commanded in his very best bench manner, albeit still sputtering with rage and loss of breath, “you’ll arrest that man—that shunk person, there—and you’ll convey him to the court room over my store. there i’ll commit him to the calaboose to await a hearing in the morning.”
shunk gobbled in wordless and indignant dismay. the constable hesitated, confused.
“i accuse him,” went on the grimly judicious accents, “of striking and knocking down my six-year-old daughter, olive. he struck her, here, in the public thoroughfare, causing possible ‘abrasions and contusions and mental and physical anguish,’ as the statoot books describe it. the penalty for striking a minor, as you know, is severe. i 88shall press the charge, when the case comes before one of my feller magistrates, to-morrow. i shall also bring civil action for—”
“hold on, there!” bleated shunk as the constable, overawed by the array of legal terms, took a truculent step toward him. “hold on, there! the brat—she beat at me with both her fists, she did, an’—”
“and in self-preservation against a six-year-old child you were obliged, to knock her down?” put in link. “that’s a plea that’ll sure clear you. ’specially if there’s any of the jury that’s got little girls of their own.”
"i didn’t knock nobody down!" fumed shunk, wincing under the constable’s grip on his shoulder. “she was a-pummellin’ me an’ tryin’ to git the dog away from me. i just slapped her, light like, to make her quit. she slipped an’ tumbled down. it didn’t hurt her none. she was up an’ off in a—”
"you’ll all bear witness," observed link, “that he confesses to hittin’ the child and that she fell down when he hit her. we hadn’t anything but her word to go on till now. and children are apt to get confused in court. shunk, you’ve just saved us a heap of trouble by ownin’ up.”
"ownin’ up?" shrilled the dog catcher, stung to the belated fury which is supposed to obsess a cornered rat. “ownin’ up? not much! chatham, i’m a-goin’ to bring soot agin you, as your child’s legal gardeen, for her ‘interferin’ with an off’cer in pursoot of his dooty’! i’m a sworn off’cer of this borough. i was doin’ my dooty in catchin’ that unlicensed cur yonder. she interfered with me an’ tried to git him away from me. i know enough law to—”
he checked himself, then pointed to link and demanded:
“constable todd, i want you should arrest lincoln ferris! i charge him with assaultin’ me, just now, in the 89presence of ev’ry one here an’ interferin’ with me in the pursoot of my dooty, an’ for takin’ away from me, with a drawn knife, an unlicensed dog i had caught as the law orders i should catch such dogs on the streets of this borough. take him along unless you want to lose your shield for neglect of dooty. if i’ve got to stand trial, there’s a couple of men who’ll stand it too.”
“gee!” groaned old man chatham, his legal lore revealing to him the mess wherein shunk could so easily involve ferris and himself. “you were dead right, link. one dog can cause more mixups in a c’munity than—”
“than eben shunk?” asked ferris. “no, you’re wrong, sir. shunk can stir up more bother than a poundful of dogs. listen here, shunk,” he went on. “you claim that olive and i both interfered with you in the pursuit of your duty. how did we?”
“by tryin’ to take away from me a dog that the law c’mpelled me to catch, of course,” snapped eben, adding: “an’ i charge you with ’sault and batt’ry too. you hit me in the stummick an’ knocked me clean off’n the sidewalk.”
“i was at work over my dog with one hand and i was holding back mr. chatham with the other,” denied link. “how could i have hit you? did any one here see me strike this man?” he challenged the crowd.
“aw, you didn’t hit him!” answered one of the boys who had picked up stones. “he slipped on the curb. i saw him do it. nobody hit him.”
“that’s right,” agreed the constable. “i was here. and i didn’t witness any assault.”
"i’m thinkin’ you’ll have trouble provin’ that assault charge, shunkie," grinned link. “now for the other one. judge,” he said, addressing his worried father-in-law, “you are an authority on legal things. i grant it’s a misdemeanour—or 90a crime—or something—to interfere with a dog catcher on a street of his own bailiwick when he’s pullin’ along an unlicensed dog. but what would the law be if shunk had grabbed a duly licensed dog—a dog that was wearin’ his license tag on his collar, like the law directs—a dog that was walkin’ peacefully along the street, guardin’ a child whose fam’ly it belonged to? would that child or would the dog’s owner be committin’ any punishable fault for tryin’ to keep the dog catcher from stealin’ their pet? would they? and would the dog catcher have any right to lay hands on such a dog? would he have any case against such child or man? hey?”
“why, no! of course not!” fumed old man chatham. “he’d have no legal right to touch such a dog. they’d have a right to protect the beast from him. but that’s all beside the point. the point is—”
“the point is,” intervened link, calling chum to him by a snap of the fingers—“the point is that i was bothered by this man’s threats to grab my dog and torture him. so i walked into town yesterday and paid my dollar license fee to the borough clerk and took out a license for chum. i paid ten cents extra for a license tag and i fastened it on chum’s collar, as the law directs. see?”
he parted the heavy masses of ruff on the collie’s throat, bringing to view a narrow circular collar, whereon dangled a little brass triangle.
at sight of the emblem shunk’s jaw dropped.
“i didn’t see that!” he stammered aghast. “you told me last week he wa’n’t licensed. how was i to know—”
“the borough clerk read me the law,” replied ferris. “the law commands that dog catchers search a dog’s collar for license tags before taking him in charge. shunkie, i’m afraid your sweet hopes of beatin’ chum to death must be 91folded up and laid away, like the pants of some dear dead friend. something tells me, too, that the mayor and council will appoint a brand-new poundmaster when our complaint is laid before ’em and when they hear their champion dog catcher’s in the hoosgow on a charge of beatin’ a child. something tells me, too, that you’ll find it c’nvenient to move somewheres else, when you get out, and give some other burg the honour of havin’ a meanest man in its ’mongst.”
"if i’d ’a’ cotched him a day earlier," moaned shunk in utter regret and to himself rather than to the others—“if i’d—”
"you couldn’t, shunkie!" replied link blithely. “i saw to that! he didn’t stir off my land till i had time to come and get him licensed. if it hadn’t been for holdin’ back the judge, here, from wallopin’ you, i wouldn’t even of hurried to-day, when i found you had chum. i was kind of hopin’ you might try it. that’s why i didn’t head chum off when i guessed he’d started for town. i was waitin’ for you. that’s why i got the license.”
from his pocket link fished out a soiled half sheet of paper and tendered it to the bulging-eyed dog catcher.
“prop’ty of yours,” he explained. "you let it drop out’n your coat that day you nosed round my farm lookin’ for chum. at the time i had an idea you was lookin’ for a dollar fee. when i read that note i saw you was after a hundred-dollar fee—the cash you was offered by sim hooper if you could impound chum and then let sim sneak him out of your yard and over to pat’son, to a collie dealer there, before i c’d come to redeem him.
"no wonder you was hoverin’ round my farm like a buzzard that smells garbage! i showed that note to mayor wipple yest’day. so there’s no need of you tearin’ it all 92up like that, shunkie. i figgered i might make it more amoosin’ for you if i let you catch chum before i sprung the note on you.
“i’m sure obleeged to you, chum, son, for rollin’ on his coat just when you happened to be able to roll that note out’n it. you’re one wise pup!”
