The story of Jack, a tale of the north; and other fascinating dog stories

Dedication

This little hook is affectionately dedicated to MY BOY

in the hope that when he reads it his appreciation of , and love for, man's truest friend, the DOG, may he enhanced, and that he may have a correct and true realization of what a dog's faith and friendship can and should, and usually does, mean.

J. H. L.

Contents

Page

(An Airedale Terrier in Alaska)

(The story of how a dog earned a real home)

II. “pal”

I AM going to tell now for the first time the story of Pal. It was brought to my mind again to-day by seeing in this morning's paper an item featuring a dog’s efforts to save a drowning boy. To tell you Pal’s story, however, I must take you back about a year earlier than the actual incident.

John Moulton had stopped off and spent the morning looking over the dogs at La Rue. About noon he said: “Well, I guess I’ll take this one” — and selected Palisade, the prize puppy of the kennel, and answering to the contraction of Pal. The little fellow — he was just four months old then — was loaded into a large, comfortable double basket and Mr. Moulton took the noon train with him.

On the way to the station he said: “I don’t know what Mrs. Moulton will think of my bringing home a dog to raise. She doesn’t care for them. But I’ve determined to get one for my boy.”

PAL

‘ ‘She’ll become as much attached to Pal as any of you, in time,” I ventured to predict so as to reassure him.

That ride on the train was a strange, new experience for Pal. It was the first time he had ever been away from home. The train rumbled and jolted and jarred. He could not see out. It frightened him.

Every once in a while there would come a whimpering whine from out of the big double basket. But the whining always ceased immediately when Mr. Moulton gave it a shake.

“What in the world have you in that basket, John!” exclaimed Mrs. Moulton as her husband labored up the long drive to the house.

“Wait till we get round to the back and I’ll show you,” he answered, delaying the issue as long as possible.

But it had to come, and it did.

“How many times have I told you that I didn’t want a dog,” she said disapprovingly, when the basket had at last been opened and Pal was exposed to view, crouching in the bottom section, uncertain whether to jump out or remain where he was.

PAL

And this was Pal’s introduction to his new home at Shady Nook, where the family always spent their summers by the side of an interesting little lake.

The Moultons argued the question back and forth all that evening, and at last this was the decision at which they arrived: Pal was to remain through the month. Then, when they returned to the city, he should be sold, or at least a good home found for him elsewhere. Mary Moulton was adamant: there would be no place for him in town. She did not mean to be selfish, but she had never cared for dogs and felt that having one thrust upon her was an imposition; so there was nothing for John Moulton to do but to agree to the terms she laid down.

But a new factor entered at the end of Pal’s month at Shady Nook — it was Chester, then aged five. The puppy was his very shadow. The little pair were inseparable — one aged five months and the other five years.

Where John would surely have lost, when it came time to dispose of Pal, the little boy cried so piteously that his mother was utterly unable to resist, so Chester gained and Pal [ 51 ]

PAL accompanied the family back to the city after all.

“But we simply can’t keep him, John,” she said. “It’s out of the question. Something will have to be done about it.”

“Yes, I guess you’re right.” There was no use to fight the issue, and John Moulton knew it. They could not keep the dog with his wife feeling as she did about it. Pal’s blood was the bluest of canine blue, and a tidy sum had been paid for him, yet that did not matter — he could not stay. Something must be done about it, as Chester’s mother had declared.

But what! That was the question. Forever vigilant was five-year-old Chester Moulton, the idol of the home. Once a man had been sent to take Pal away, and in the morning he was miles distant. All that day Chester cried as if his little heart would break — as was to have been expected. But much to the surprise of both his parents, the next day it was the same — and the next — and the next after that. He was even restless at night, was hard to get to sleep, and so — Pal came back. What else could they do?

For several days the boy did little else

PAL than sit and hug the puppy, talking to him all the while. “They shan’t take ’oo ’way ’gain,” he repeated over and over, with his chubby arms clasped tightly around his little pet’s wiry neck. The pup just whined contentedly and nestled closer.

And thus was Mary Moulton defeated. Thus Pal came into his home.

Swiftly he outlived his puppyhood and grew to be a big dog, strong, alert, intelligent — while only the deeper grew his love for his little master. His mistress tolerated him for Chester’s sake. The dog was even finding a place in her heart — as long since he had done with the rest of the family.

Another summer came — and Chester was six. The dog had lived scarce twice this many months — but he had grown almost to full maturity. Again the family moved to Shady Nook.

The crisis in Pal’s life came with the dog show that was held on the Fourth of July. Many very valuable dogs were entered by the families summering in the vicinity. A noted Bench Show Judge was brought on from the city. And that’s how it all came about. Trouble for Chester and Pal broke out anew.

PAL

The Judge decided to spend a week at the Lake before returning to the city. The day following the Dog Show he made a call on the Moultons. Before very long he said:

“I gave Pal the winning ribbon yesterday because he’s the best specimen I’ve seen in some time — or ever before. He should ‘cop the blue’ almost as easily at Madison Square Garden as he did here. By next February I believe he can make any of them go some to beat him for ‘Best of all Breeds’ — let alone the Airedales, his own class. You’re going to show him, aren’t you, Mr. Moulton?”

“Why, I hadn’t thought of it. Pal belongs to my little boy, Chester.”

“But it would be a shame not to enter him for the Westminster Show! At what figure do you hold him? I’ll offer a thousand dollars right now. What do you say?”

That is as far as it might have gone if only John Moulton had said nothing more about it after the Judge had left. But that he did not do. He had, of course, refused the offer. No amount could induce him to part with Pal — on Chester’s account, if no other. That night, however, he made the fatal mistake of mentioning the matter to Mary. He did so [ 54 ]

PAL only with the idea of making her appreciate Pal, as he knew so well she never had fully done.

“He offered you a thousand dollars — and you refused it!” she exclaimed.

A rather stormy interview followed. Chester was young and would quickly forget all about it, she contended — and here was a real chance to dispose of the dog problem in the right way by giving Pal a good home.

The next morning she did some telephoning on her own account. The offer was accepted — with the provision that the Moultons should keep Pal the two remaining days until his new owner should return to the city, as he could make no other adequate arrangements to keep him at the Lake. It was agreed that Pal would be ready for him on the afternoon of the 8th.

* * 4 : * * $

Little Chester Moulton loved to fish from the end of the long pier that extended well out into the Lake. He had a little pole and line all his own — and for hours would sit in silent imitation of his father, who was a great fisherman. For safety, his nurse would tie him securely by a strap run through a ring and [ 55 ]

PAL passed around the boy’s body. It was usually Pal’s custom to lie close beside his little master — while the nurse would read or sew.

Chester was fishing thus on the morning of the eighth of July. The nurse sat close by. But Pal was not in his usual place. For some reason or other, he had remained lying on the porch of the cottage a short distance away — perhaps because it was so hot. The humidity on this particular morning made for laziness in all life.

Chester was beginning to be restless and was about ready to call to be unstrapped — when suddenly there came a sharp pull on the line. Something had caught the hook end of it, and away it went with a rush. The boy jumped to his feet with a shout. As he did so, the fish had reached the end of the line — but the little fellow held grimly to the pole. And then, for some unknown reason — the strap that was holding him let loose. His nurse ran with a scream to catch him, but was too late. She was old — she could not swim anyhow — and there was no one else near enough to be of assistance. Her screams attracted attention — but there was no one [ 56 ]

PAL near the water just at that particular time, and while several came running from a distance Chester’s life hung in the balance.

Mary Moulton was awakened with a start from her book, which she had been reading under the shade of a wide-spreading oak. Frantically she rushed for the pier, but before she had fairly started, she was passed by a streak of black and tan that flew more swiftly than the wind.

There was no sound as Pal passed her, but he tore the pebbles from their beds and scattered them with the sand and dust behind. The nearest man who had started to the rescue tripped and fell — but the great dog never wavered as he raced past him and out the long pier.

The frantic nurse was shrieking now — but all she could do was wave her arms and tear her hair. Pal passed her without slackening his desperate speed. Nor did he as the end of the pier was reached, and he jumped.

The little boy was just sinking to rise no more, when the dog was upon him — almost the entire length of his body from head to tail visible above the surface of the water, so [ 57 ]

PAL powerfully was he swimming to reach his helpless little master. As Pal came up with Chester, the dog’s strong jaws closed firmly over a loose end of his little jacket. And thus, before any other help could be of assistance, Pal, unaided, dragged the boy safely out on the beach, where eager hands received him and carried him up to the house and put him to bed.

Chester had just fallen asleep when his mother was summoned from his bedside, and found that — the Judge had come for Pal.

“I — am — very — sorry — indeed,” she said slowly, as if weighing her words, “for I fear I have been the cause of making you a lot of trouble, but the fact is — we really can’t let you have Pal at any price. No, not for ten thousand dollars! But,” she added, “I realize that a bargain is a bargain — you agreed to buy Chester’s dog and we agreed to sell — so I will be perfectly willing to pay you any price you may name in order to make it right. But we can’t let Pal go at any price — he’s not for sale.”

The Judge very naturally was confused, and showed it in the uncertainty of his reply.

Pal, unaided, dragged the boy safely out on the beach

PAL

Then Mary Moulton recounted to him the experience through which they had just passed.

And then, because he was a true lover of good dogs, the Judge took from his pocket a slip of paper — which was a check for a thousand dollars made payable to Mary Moulton — and slowly tore it up into very small bits.

When Chester’s mother returned to his bedside, she found him still asleep, but a very small and dirty little hand rested lovingly, even as he dreamed, on the head of a great dog that had at last found a real home. For even though Pal was still quite wet, so that water dripped on the floor where he stood, there was no word of reproach. There was, on the other hand, a world of tenderness in the caress as Mary Moulton herself tiptoed quietly around the bed and, for the first time since he had come to them, threw her arms around the dog’s neck with a gentle sob.

And thus Chester found them still when, some little time later, he opened his eyes drowsily and asked for a cookie.

The following item appeared the next day in an obscure column of an Ohio newspaper.

“PAL”

Some of you may have seen it at the time. It merely stated:

DOG SAVES BOY’S LIFE Quick Action Rescues Young Master From Watery Grave

, Ohio. July 9, 19 —

A large Airedale Terrier to-day saved the life of his young master, Chester Moulton, aged

six years, at Lake , where the

Moultons have their summer home. No one but the boy’s old nurse was near enough to the scene to have been of assistance in time.

But Pal, his dog, proved the hero of the hour — swift, courageous and powerful — over which fact the family are rejoicing to-day; and Pal is wearing a new silver collar, but utterly oblivious of the praises that are being sung for his deed.

i .

III

^MONG the States, Ohio ranks as both /-A old and proud. Many of her pioneers ^ could boast lineage from some of the best blood in either the old world or the new. The Buckeye State stands where she does to-day because such men and women were her sturdy sons and noble daughters. Harrowing were the experiences of these venturesome people in the days when Ohio was but a vast uncharted forest, the favorite hunting and battle ground of the Red Men, who claimed the land by birthright.

Many of the deeds of these early pioneers, both men and women — deeds of the days when Ohio was but the border land of the white man’s advance — have been recorded in history, song and story. But in those days of long ago — even as now — the Dog was man’s closest friend and companion, and often played an heroic part in the experiences of our forefathers. The noble dog is to-day more [ 65 ]

than ever before coming into his own; yet in tales both of fact and of fiction the part played by this wonderful animal in the days before our land ceased to be but an endless magnificent wilderness seems to have been most unfortunately overlooked. Therefore, it is with the hope that in the telling there may be an interest — for everyone, but for all lovers of the dog in particular — that the following true record is penned.

Back in the days when Ohio was but a “forest primeval,” there was a certain small settlement of cabins situated at the junction of three rivers, and in the center of this cluster there was a block house for defense against the Indians.

Among the inhabitants of these rude dwellings were two personalities in particular whose fame had spread far through the borderland. One was Mary Mason, whose splendid womanhood and bewitching beauty made her the desire of most of the young men for miles around. And the other was Mary’s dog, Lady, a marvelous Scotch collie, of royal blood direct from the Highlands of Scotland. Among the cross-bred hounds of the other set- [ 66 ] .

tiers, Lady was an aristocrat almost out of place.

But for all her royal blood, Lady was not a dainty worthless canine, as might be imagined — quite to the contrary. Based purely on the standards of worth of a pioneer dog, she was probably the most valuable west of the Alleghenies. She was strictly a “one man” dog — except when there was work to do. Then she would lend herself to the circumstances and obey orders from whoever might have the right to speak with the voice of authority.

Lady was a splendid hunter, whether it were big game or small. She would follow a trail as well as the best of hounds — and it is due to this ability that this story is told. The royal collie was intelligent, tireless and game. For all these traits she was loved by those who knew her, and honored by the many who had heard of her many remarkable achievements. She would hunt for days with an energy seemingly indefatigable; she was afraid of nothing that roamed the forests. Yet it was because these traits were backed up by an intelligence almost uncanny that her fame was greatest. There were many of her admirers who claimed [ 67 ]

that Lady acted on more than instinct — that she had a mind, that she thought and reasoned. Be all this as it may, Lady was generally acknowledged to be the greatest dog on the frontier — and deservedly so.

One day, soon after leaving the cabin in search of Lady, Mary Mason called: “Come, Father, let’s have a look at the puppies.”

“Well, well, I’ll go again if you say so,” he answered, and joined his daughter for an inspection of the offspring of the aristocrat. They were now about six weeks old, but Mary never tired of looking at them and watching their play.

“Aren’t they fine, Father!”

“They’re cute little critters now, all right enough — too bad they’re only half-breeds. It’s a shame for Lady to have anything but full-blooded pups. No chance for that, though, out in this country.”

“Yes, Father — but look at that one little fellow over there; he’s marked just like Lady. I’m going to keep him.”

“He might be all right at that, Daughter. Cross-breeds mostly turn out to be our best dogs out here on the border. Of course, [ 68 ]

Lady’s an exception. Yes, let’s keep that pup an’ see how he turns out.”

There was a call from the cabin, and father and daughter turned to go in to breakfast. As they did so, a young man was seen coming hurriedly toward them.

“It’s Alfred Lee, Father — and he seems to be excited about something.”

“He does, for a fact.”

As he approached, Alfred met them with the usual hearty greetings of the border: “H’llo, Mary; howdy, John.”

“Morning, Alfred,” answered John Mason. “Mary an’ I’ve just been havin’ a look at Lady’s new pups. But what’s up? You seemed to be in sort of a rush when you come up.”

“Just enjoyin’ the early mornin’ air, I reckon,” he answered, as he looked meaningly at Mary.

“Well, it’s a fine mornin’ to be up an’ about, Alfred. Had your breakfast? Better join us,” urged John Mason.

“Thanks, John — I might do that. Been out early an’ haven’t had none yet. A fellow’s got to eat, I gather.”

“Good. Now, Mary, you run an’ tell mother Alfred’s goin’ to eat with us.”

When Mary had gone, John Mason turned to Alfred: “All right now, son, out with it — what’s up?”

“Fact is, John, I’m a bit puzzled ’bout the Injuns. I’m ’fraid we may be cornin’ in for a spell o’ trouble.”

“How so? They’ve been quiet now for quite, some time. I ain’t noticed nothin’ — what’ve you?”

“Last night I ’lowed I’d go out early this mornin’ an’ see if I could spot a turkey ’fore breakfast. Shortly after daybreak I was up in the woods by the spring, the one by the big maple, an’ I set down in the bushes to wait a spell an’ see what might turn up. Purty soon I looked out an’ seen a big Injun standin’ over by the spring. He was a Shawnee, a stranger, an’ he struck me suspicious, so I laid low. He acted like he expected somebody, the way he kept lookin’ around. An’ sure ’nough, ’twasn’t long ’fore, sorta sneakin’ like, ’long come that big Injun Jim.”

“The one who’s been hangin’ round here a while?”

“Yes. An’ they talked there a few minutes [70]

together, increasin’ my suspicions the way they kept lookin’ around all the time. Then the Shawnee snuk off into the woods, an’ this fellow Jim come on back here. I waited till I figgered they’d both got away for sure, then I snuk on back in a hurry — an’ run into you an’ Mary out there.”

“So we’re the first you’ve seen?”

“Yes.”

“An’ this Jim — he come on back to the clearin’? You think he’s back here now? Sure they didn’t get wind of you, Alf?”

“You’re right. No, I don’t think they knew anyone was within a mile of ’em.”

“Come on to breakfast, you two. How long do you expect to keep Mother waiting?”

“There’s Mary callin’ us in — reckon we’d better hurry up, or they’ll be scoldin’ us bad. But this Injun business sure’ll bear investigatin’,” was all John Mason said for the present, due to the interruption caused by the announcement of breakfast.

“You going to shoot to-morrow in the matches, Alf?” Mary asked, after they were seated. '

“Can’t say yet. I’d like to.” Although a man of few words, as was not unusual even [ 71 ]

among the young men of the border, it would have been easily evident to an observer that Alfred Lee had not escaped the charms of Mary Mason. And it had often been whispered that Alfred was secretly the most favored of all her suitors.

“Why don’t you, Alf?” Mary persisted. “You’d surely win the prize. But of course you will shoot — you’re only teasing me.”

“Well, I reckon I’ll shoot, if I don’t have to go off into the woods,” he replied. Then, desirous of changing the subject, he added: “I’ll have to see them pups, Mary, ’fore I go.”

“I don’t know whether I’ll show them to you or not,” she pouted. “You’re always teasing me about Lady. You’re the only person on the border who doesn’t appreciate her. You think you’re such a mighty hunter, mister man — but Lady can show you a thing or two.”

“They do all say, I’ll allow, Mary, as how she’s a great dog — but the plain fact is, I’ve always figgered any dog was only in the way in the woods. They may spoil more for you than they help. They’re only a bother — that is, for a man who knows how to hunt. Of course, it’s different, now, if a man don’t [72]

know the woods. I don’t want to take no credit away from Lady.”

“You’ll have cause to change your mind, Alfred — you just wait and see.”

“Well, now, I’d like to — meanin’ nothin’ against Lady at that.”

“Come, then, I’ll show you the pups,” and Mary ran on ahead to the little shed back of the cabin, where Lady was proudly guarding her litter. “There,” she exclaimed, “aren’t they splendid, Alfred!”

He regarded them critically for several minutes before he answered. The young men of the border were not given to flattery or empty praise. “Yes, I reckon they’re all right, Mary. That little critter over yonder’s goin’ to be a regular double for Lady. Look at him grab hold of that other one, will you! Bet he’ll be a little devil for spunk.”

“Yes — that’s the one I’ve decided to keep,” she told him, pleased to have her judgment backed by the best hunter in the settlement.

“Named him yet?”

“Might call him Tndian’, Mary, he’s goin’ to be such a scrapper.”

“I might. But I think I’ll call him just plain Jack, more likely. I always like 'Jack 1 for a dog.”

“Yes, Jack’d be a good name. Well, I’ll have to start along now. I’ve got to see your father a few minutes ’fore I go.”

“Where are you going, Alfred?”

“No place special, just off in the woods a piece, I figger.”

“What’s gone wrong? Tell me.”

“Nothin’. Why?”

“Yes, there has, too. You can’t fool me. I know from the way you came up a while ago, and from the way father and you were talking, that something is the matter. Now tell me. Tell me the truth.”

“I’ll allow there’s nothin’ to tell.”

“Alfred — listen to me. Why should you be afraid to tell me the truth? Don’t waste time trying to fool me. It’s better to tell me, whatever it is — lots better than to leave me in ignorance, when I’ll be bound to know sooner or later anyhow. Hurry now — then go see father, if you must.”

“Well, I gather the Injuns are up to some devilment — but I don’t have no idea what, yet. I run across two of ’em in the woods this [ 74 ]

mornin’, an’ they were figgerin’ up somethin’. But they didn’t see me.”

“Do you think there’s going to be trouble?”

“I don’t know — but you stay close to the blockhouse.” He spoke with a grave sternness that thrilled the girl. “Don’t go away at all. There’s your father now. I’ll go see him.”

John Mason talked earnestly with Alfred for some time. Finally he gripped his hand in parting, and the young man turned to go. “Good-bye, Mary; see you soon,” he called, with a swift, tender look, as he started to hasten away.

“Alfred, wait — ”

She came running to where he was. “Where are you going?”

“Goin’ to take up the trail of that Injun I run into this mornin’. Your father thinks I’d better, too. It’s best we find out what’s up.”

“I hate to see you take such risks as you do.” In spite of her bravery a catch was in her voice. “It’s terribly dangerous work. Are you sure it’s best?”

“Yes — an’ it’s not real dangerous, Mary, for a man as knows the woods like I do. But, [ 75 ]

anyhow, everythin’s dangerous out here on the border. We must expect it.”

* ‘Suppose the trail leads you to a hostile encampment,” she persisted, “what would you do?”

“That’s just what I’m goin’ for to find out. An’ if it does, I’ll hurry back with the news,” and he smiled reassuringly.

“You might not be able to get back — or, not in time. Alfred, listen — I have a plan. You’ll object to it, I know — but it’s a good one, just the same. Please take my advice. That Indian has had a good start on you, and, even as wonderful a trailer as you are, you’ll be miles and miles away from home in the woods before you can even hope to catch up with him — and there may be more of them. Undoubtedly there are.”

“But they’re not expectin’ to be followed, an’ they’ll not travel fast — not likely,” he interrupted her. Regardless of what doubts he may have held himself, it was plain that he did not want to alarm the girl unnecessarily. It was the chivalry of the border, no matter how inured to danger and hardships their women might be.

“ ‘Not likely,’ you say,” she quickly answered. “And that’s just it — you don’t know that they won’t. You say yourself that you don’t know what’s up. Here’s my plan. Take Lady with you. She’ll follow their trail faster and more easily than even you could hope to do. She’ll obey any command you give her. Put her on a lead so she’ll have to go right along with you. You’ll make double time by it, Alfred. It’ll be surer, and safer, and quicker — and it won’t take you so far from home,” she ended with conviction.

“You think I need a dog to help me follow the trail of any Indian! Mary, I didn’t think that of you. I’m the best trailer on the border, an’ what’s more — you know it.”

“Yes, you are,” she hastened to reassure him of her intentions, “but your eyes can’t follow a trail like Lady’s nose can. Even if she wouldn’t be more accurate, she’d be faster. You’re only human, Alfred, and scenting is one of her God-given powers. Don’t be obstinate, please. I thought of this while you and father were talking. Oh, do — do — please do this — for me,” she faltered. “I know — something inside of me tells me it’s [ 77 ]