Silversheene

Front matter

Silversheene King of Sled DogsBy Clarence HawkesAuthor of Pep · The White CzarIllustrated by Charles Livingston Bull

Springfield, Massachusetts

Copyright, MCMXXIV By Milton Bradley Company Springfield, Massachusetts All Rights ReservedPrinted in the United States of America

Introduction

A HALF dozen bent figures crouched over the bright campfire seeking to shield themselves from the late November cold. It was not so much the cold that they felt as it was the biting wind, which drove the cold through them and numbed their fingers. They were not clad in cloth garments but in skins, and their figures were not those of civilization, but those of savagery. They were stouter of build, and without those lines and curves that cultivation and breeding are supposed to give to the finer races of men. Their faces as seen in the light of the campfire were dark copper color, or light brown. The wind and cold, the frost and the storm, had all played a part in this coloring. Their faces were flat and stolid. They rarely smiled, for there was little to smile about.

The three women in the party worked feverishly on skin garments which they were sewing, while two of the men fashioned spears and bound stone heads to them. The third man tended the campfire and watched some fish which were broiling in the coals. The fire was close to the mouth of a cave. Inside a dozen dark children were sleeping peacefully.

On the very outskirts of the firelight, or rather on the rim of the outer darkness, skulked a gray dog-like figure watching the man creatures beside the campfire.

To the nostrils of this wild beast came the odor of the broiling fish and it made saliva drip from his hungry jaws. Yet he knew that the meat in the coals was not for him. He had no part in this campfire scene, still he watched night after night. Or if he did not watch from the perimeter of the darkness, he sat on his tail at the top of a nearby hill and howled dismally at the moon. But best of all he loved to watch. If one of the men creatures saw him, he would pluck a torch from the campfire and wave it at him, or perhaps throw it, and he would at once slink away into the darkness.

The gray dog-like brute had a great fear of the bright warmth which these men creatures handled so fearlessly. This was one reason why the animal admired the animallike man. He was not afraid of fire.

If the gray animal came in too close and did not mind the sign of the fire which the man creature made to him, the man would take up a curved stick with a strong piece of deer thong stretched from end to end. Then he would fit a sharp stick in it and send the sharp stick singing into the darkness at the skulker. If the aim was good the stick bit so deeply into the inquisitive one that he would lie down and sleep with his curiosity stilled forever. If it simply stuck in his side he went away wounded. This would cure him for a while, but this creature who walked on two legs instead of four fascinated and drew him strangely.

He had great powers over the wild creatures, which made him a god among them. The wild beast saw and understood this, so he worshipped afar.

Not only was the man creature who walked on two legs not afraid of fire, and had power to wound his wild brothers from afar off, but he had certain other very mysterious powers. He could come and go on the water like a duck in a strange contrivance made of bark. The brute knew it was bark because he had often smelled it in the night when the man creature was asleep in his hole in the side of the hill. For they all slept in a cave away from the winds and the cold. And their house was feebly lighted in the night by a stone lamp.

From the bark water duck the wild beast knew the smell of this fascinating god whom he worshipped from afar. He could detect this smell more easily than any other in the wilderness and it was the most fearful of all the scents in the woods. Yet it also drew him. If he discovered a trail bearing this scent, he always had an impulse to follow it and see what his god was doing. Perhaps the strange two-legged creature was making trouble for the wilderness dwellers. He often built small houses held up in some strange way which would fall down and break one's back when he went inside to investigate. He also dug deep pits and covered them over carefully. When the wilderness dwellers were walking along unsuspectingly, often they fell into these pits and then the man creature came and killed them with his sharp stick, or with a club.

Then he could bend down a tree and fasten a long strip of deer hide to the end, and the other end to the ground, so that it would spring up and catch the wilderness dwellers, either by the neck or a leg, and hold them till he came.

He could dart a long sharp stick into the water and bring out a fish flopping on its point. Or he could pull the fish from the water with a small something, like a long piece of grass. Some of the birds he could catch in meshes made of many strands woven closely together.

So in one way or another he made all of the wild creatures serve him. He took their warm coats from them and used them to cover his own bare body. He ate them, and made their bones into his utensils. He used them as he would. So altogether he was a most fearful and wonderful creature. And was it any wonder that this gray dog-like brute watched him from the outer rim of the firelight and trailed him in the deep woods, seeking to know what he was doing?

Thus the centuries and the æons passed, with the two-legged man creature living beside his warm campfire and the dog-like beast watching from the outer rim of the darkness. Often the man creature thought, "If I had the young of the beast they would be fine for the little two-legged creatures to play with. He might even be useful to me."

Often the gray dog-like beast thought dimly, "If I could only go nearer and know him better, I might learn to like him. He draws me strangely."

Finally it happened that the man creature one day discovered the mother gray beast playing with her five cubs at the mouth of a cave where they lived. They were so intent with their frolic that he crept up very carefully and killed the mother with his sharp stick which could fly so quickly through the air. Then he caught two of the cubs, a male and a female, and took them home to his cave and his own young.

The wild beasts were so young that they had not been taught the fear of this two-legged god who ruled over the wilderness, so they played and grew with the young of the man and knew not that they were the offspring of a wild beast.

They ate venison and fish just as the men did and became a part of the primitive life. They slept with the children in their cor- ners of the cave and blinked at the feeble light of the stone lamp, but were not afraid of the fire, nor of the men creatures, either the large or the small ones. Finally when they grew up they in turn had young which also grew up with the children and became a part of the life of the wilderness man.

This god in time taught his tamed beasts to watch his campfire and growl when the other wild beasts came near. He taught them to trail the wild beasts for him and to help him kill them. They lived with this man creature and worshipped him continually. They grew to love each other and to be mutually helpful.

Thus it was that the first gray wolf came into the life of the primitive man and became the ancestor of the civilized dog of to-day. Long association with man and much breeding have done the rest. The dog's first ancestor was a wolf, and a collie pup will go back to the wolf life, if he is placed in a wolf den with a litter of small wolves, in a single generation. But this strangely lovable animal has come nearer to man than has any other beast, and he loves and worships man as no other animal does.

To-day in many a family the dog is as much a part of the household as the people. He has won his way into our human hearts until we could not live without him.

So here is wishing good luck and happiness to all dogs, be they mighty mastiffs or tiny Pomeranians. For they are all lovable and faithful and equally deserving of our love and admiration.

The Fugitive

THE gleaming rays of the morning sun were falling aslant through the boughs of the great maples in front of Forest Edge Farm. It was October, and the trees were as brilliant with autumn coloring as Jack Frost could well make them. The air was clear and crisp. It went to the blood like old wine. Jays were squalling in the deep woods and crows were calling. Flocks of song birds might be seen gathering for the autumn migration. The beauty of summer had gone, but the full symphony of autumnal color was over all the landscape. It was a morning to be up and to be glad.

One particular sunbeam, brighter than its fellows, shot through the bough of the maple and straight through a dormer window into the bedroom of Hilda Converse.

Finally it crept across her pillow and touched her face and awoke her.

She at first rubbed her eyes dazedly, then sat up with a start. She gazed about her with frightened swollen eyes and then came out of bed with a spring.

"Oh, oh," she cried. "It is morning and I haven't slept an hour all night. Even, when I did sleep I had such dreadful dreams. It has come and I am powerless to stop it. Oh! What shall I do! What shall I do!"

"Hilda!" called a woman's voice from the foot of the stairs. "You had better get up. Breakfast is nearly ready. I don't know what to do about Silversheene. He has been barking for the last half hour. Some one is sure to hear and discover him."

"Oh, what shall I do!" cried the girl under her breath. Then to her mother she said as cheerily as she could, "All right, mumsy, I will be down in a minute. I did not think he would bark when I told him not to. I presume he is lonesome."

She slipped hurriedly into a simple house dress, and, after washing the signs of weeping from her face as well as she could, and giving her brown hair a hurried brush, went downstairs.

"I won't stop for breakfast," she said. "I will just drink a cup of coffee and take a couple of doughnuts and a bone for Silversheene. I must hurry or they will be here."

Even as she spoke an automobile horn sounded down the road.

With a groan of despair the girl sank into an easy-chair.

"Oh, oh, Mother, Mother, I cannot bear it. It will kill me."

The woman went quickly to her and, smoothing the brown hair, printed a kiss warm with mother love on her brow.

"I don't see how we could keep him," she said. "If it was not this, it would be something else. He is a man's dog and needs a strong hand. Perhaps it is all for the best."

"Well," said the girl stoutly, "I am going to fight it. I won't stand by and see him murdered. You tell them I am not at home and that you don't know where Silversheene is. I will go down and stay with him and keep him quiet."

"All right. Perhaps it will all blow over. It is a mean trick and no one but Mike Fogarty would do it. You know he hated your father and now he takes it out on us."

The woman had crossed the room as she was speaking and stood peering out of the window at the approaching automobile.

"Hurry, child, hurry, or they will see you."

The girl needed no further admonition but slipped noiselessly out of the back door. When she was half-way across the yard her mother's voice called her again.

"It ain't them, Hilda. It is a large touring car with an Oregon name plate."

The girl turned back with a sudden glow of hope at her heart. But this joy was cut short by a sharp detonating report immediately in front of the house. At the sound she went suddenly pale and uttered a half suppressed scream.

"Oh, Mother, it is Silversheene. He has broken away and they have found him."

"Oh, no, child. It was only a tire blowing up. You will be sick if you don't hold on to yourself. Perhaps there will be some way out yet."

The girl passed her hand across her forehead as though to clear her brain.

"Yes," she said. "I was thinking of a plan when that dreadful bang drove it out of my head. Oh, yes, I know what it was. I will see what sort of a party itis. They will have to put on a tire."

She went into the kitchen and again applied water to her swollen eyelids and made herself more presentable.

Then she went shyly out to see whom fate had marooned almost in her yard.

She discovered a large Packard limousine drawn up beside the road in their very dooryard. A tall athletic young man of college age came quickly forward.

"I have to apologize for trespassing on your grass," he said smiling pleasantly. "But it seemed the only place to get out of the road while we put on a new tire."

"It is perfectly all right," replied the girl quickly. "It won't hurt the grass any. Besides grass is very common with us. We have a hundred acres of it."

"It is very good of you," he said. "I am glad we are detained so pleasantly. These Adirondack Mountains look good to me. We live in Northern Oregon and have some mountains there."

"Are you going straight back to Oregon?" asked the girl, remembering her trouble and her plan for its solution.

"Oh, yes," he replied nonchalantly. That is, as soon as Dad and Mother will let us. They like to loiter along, but we ought to be home in a month."

Her next question surprised him, as it had nothing to do with travel, or automobiles, or anything in particular.

"Do you like dogs? I mean do you love them? Are they almost like folks to you?"

The young man threw back his head and laughed and Hilda liked his laugh. It was so pleasant and genuine.

"How did you guess it?" he asked. "I am nutty about dogs. The fellers in grammar school used to call me Doggy Dick. My name is Richard Henderson."

"Mine is Hilda Converse, and I am so glad you do like dogs. It will make such a difference with my plan."

The young man looked at her inquiringly but said nothing.

"How long will it take to put on the tire?"

"Half an hour perhaps. There are one or two other things to do."

"While you are waiting would you like to see the finest dog in New York State? Perhaps the finest in the world."

"You couldn't show me anything that would interest me more. Is it in the barn?"

"Oh, no," said the girl flushing. "He is down in the woods. It is only a short walk."

Richard Henderson looked at her sharply and for the first time noticed the signs of tears. He divined at once that she was in trouble. Should he go with her to the woods?

It was rather odd!

But at that moment there arose from behind the house a dismal long-drawn howl, beginning down low and gradually ascending until it ended in a mere thread of sound, like the wailing of the wind.

"Is that him?" asked Richard. "It sounds more like a wolf. I once heard wolves howling in the mountains on a winter's night."

"Perhaps he is not so far removed from a wolf. But he has a heart of gold and it's all love for his friends."

"Let's hurry or they will have the tire fixed."

They found Silversheene in a thicket of spruce, chained to a small tree. Under the tree his mistress had made a fine bed, but he was straining at his leash and all impatience to get loose.

At the first sight of him the young man stopped still in his tracks as though petrified. He did not speak, but voiced his surprise in a low whistle.

"My, he is a beauty. He is a wonder. Why I never saw anything to equal him at the San Francisco bench show," he said at last. "What is he, a Husky or a Malemute?"

"I don't know," said the girl. "We call him just an Eskimo dog. When Admiral Peary came back from one of his arctic trips he brought several sledge dogs with him. He kept them on an island in Casco Bay. But within the last five years they have been breeding them at a kennel here in the Adirondacks. My father gave him to me for my fifteenth birthday. That was two years ago and now Dad is dead and Silversheene, he, he,—"

At this point in the narrative she broke into violent weeping and could not speak.

"I am mighty sorry," he said comfortingly. "If it is anything that I can help about command me."

"That is just the point. That was why I brought you down to see him. I want to give him to you. He is the dearest possession I have in the world. I love him best of any one next to mumsy. But I must get him away at once."

"I see," said Dick. "He has got to be railroaded out of the state immediately to escape somebody or something. What is his offense?"

"Sheep killing," sobbed the girl, "but it wasn't his fault. No one but Mike Fogarty would be so mean about it. He hated Dad and Dad is dead and, and,—"

"I see," said the young man sympathetically. "He hated Dad and now he takes it out on Dad's daughter. He must be a skunk. I would like to see him a few minutes."

"It wouldn't do any good. He is just that mean. He wants to hurt us and he has a chance. It was not Silversheene's fault either. Fogarty's old sheep got into our lot. They spoiled my flower garden. Silversheene helped me drive them out. I was rather vehement about it and did not curb him as I should. He saw that I felt badly about the garden and two hours later he went over into the pasture further to punish the sheep. Hekilled nine. We offered to pay for them, but Fogarty says that he will have blood for blood. He is sending the sheriff this forenoon to shoot Silversheene."

"I see," said the young man gravely. "But what can I do to help you?"

"I want to give him to you. It will almost break my heart to lose him, but that would be better than to have him shot. I want you to take him to Oregon. He is a perfect gentleman, but mumsy says he is a man's dog. He is all gentleness with us, but he is terrible if he is aroused. I suppose it is his wild nature. You see he came from that savage north where everything is so terribly brutal. But he is a gentleman. I know you will love him."

Richard Henderson stood in silence taking in all the fine points of the beautiful dog before him, for a full minute. Then he struck his palms together with a loud slap.

"Done," he said. "He will start for Oregon as soon as that tire is on."

"Oh, that is fine," cried Hilda. "Now I shall not hear that dreadful rifle shot, but I shall lose him."

"Oh, Silversheene, I shall have to give youup. Come let me introduce you to your new master."

She took a strong hold of the splendid dog's collar and laid her other hand over his muzzle while Richard Henderson advanced and put his hand lightly on the dog's back and finally on the back of his head.

At first Silversheene growled softly, but finally stood still and allowed himself to be fondled by the stranger.

It must not be imagined that every young man could come along and put his hand on this remarkable dog so easily, but there is a difference in men, and dogs are quick to discover it. In the first place Dick had fondled every dog that he could get his hands on since they left Oregon and his clothing smelled doggy.

This was a sort of letter of introduction, but even more important than that he loved dogs passionately and Silversheene knew it at once, merely from the tone of his voice and his mental attitude toward him.

Dogs are probably keener than any other animal on discerning the mental attitude of men and women about them toward their kind. This is probably because they have associated so long with man, and also because their intuitions are keen.

Then Richard had that masterful way with him concerning dogs which every fine dog likes. A good dog craves a good master. Not one who will coddle him, but one who will dominate him by a will stronger than his own. So Silversheene recognized at once that this man knew and loved dogs, and that he was a man to obey and worship.

So in a very few minutes there was begun an acquaintance which was to ripen into a wonderful companionship, and was to take the two on many strange adventures far from civilization, and to make a bond of friendship between them that only death could break.

While on his part Richard Henderson had never before felt his heart go out in a great bound of admiration and love as it did to Silversheene there in the woods, with the girl bending above him. And he was a dog to inspire love at the first sight. Well was he named Silversheene, for his coat was like spun silver and very long. At the shoulders it was eight or nine inches, while his tail, which was carried curled up over his back, was like a great silver banner, the hair upon it being a foot long. This coat was so thick near the skin that water rarely touched his hide. His head was strong, but inclined to be pointed, with a wolf-like look about it. His jaws were powerful, as they had need to be in the desperate northland from which his sires had sprung. His forehead was broad and high, but his eyes were rather small and close together, yet of great brilliancy, and they could change with his every changing mood. Ata blow or a harsh word, fire like living coals would leap into them. His ears were small, erect and very expressive.

"I can't take this wonderful dog without leaving you something in return," said Richard finally. "He is worth much more money than I have with me."

"Oh, that is all right," said the girl with a half stifled sob. "You are doing me a great favor to take him."

The young man pulled out his pocketbook, extracted a twenty-dollar bill, and pressed it into the hand of the reluctant girl. He then unclasped a small college pin from the lapel of his coat and gave it to her.

"That is my college pin," he said. "You keep it to remember me by. It is a University of Oregon pin. I am a senior at the finest college in the world."

"Oh, I'd love it to remember Silver sheerie's new master by," she said blushing, "but I ought not to take the money."

"Yes, you must. My father has plenty and he gives me more than I can spend. Buy yourself something to remember Silversheene and me by."

"I would love to. That will be fine. Oh, isn't it just like an exciting story?"

"Yes," said Richard, "and there is my father's chauffeur honking for me. That is like a storybook too."

"Perhaps you had better not go back to the house with Silversheene. The sheriff and Mike Fogarty might come for him. You see that bend in the road yonder by the big pine? You take Silversheene and wait in the road there, and I will go back to the house and tell them to pick you up."

"All right," said the young man. "I am mighty glad to have met you and I am awfully sorry to rob you of your dog. I will take good care of him."

"Go, Silversheene," said the girl between her sobs as the dog hung back and growled softly and whined. His mistress finally had to pick up a stick and pretend to strike him before he would go along, but even so he looked back over his shoulder all the way. The last she saw of him he was disappearing behind a thicket and still looking back.

"When you get him safe in the automobile, honk three times," she called to the young man as they disappeared.

"All right," he called back cheerily. "Good-bye and good luck. Give my regards to Mike Fogarty when he comes."

The girl hurried back to the farmhouse and gave the message to the impatient party and then watched with tear-filled eyes the great car as it glided noiselessly away.

A couple of minutes later she heard the horn give three mellow honks and then three more for luck, and she knew that Silversheene had begun his long journey to the Land of Sunshine.

She sat upon the piazza thinking for a long time and then went silently into the house.

In the words of Kipling she had given her heart to a dog to tear and it was now being torn.

The Son of a Wolf

THE Henderson car was a very large one, so there was just room enough between the seats for Silversheene.

He lay by Richard's feet and occasionally looked up into his face with his wondering brown eyes which seemed to be saying, "I don't understand at all where we are going. I suppose it is all right because my mistress gave you my leash and told me to go with you, but I don't understand."

Whenever they stopped and got out of the machine Silversheene would look sharply about as though he was looking for the girl, as indeed he was. Twice he tried to give his new master the slip and run home to her, but Richard had expected this and was on the lookout for him, so he did not escape. For the first hour or two young Henderson talked to him, and told him in his pleasant sympathetic voice that it was all right and that it was a good company into which he had fallen.

Henderson senior was also a dog lover and he admired Silversheene greatly, but when he was told of the sheep-killing episode he shook his head.

"I don't know, Dick, I am afraid," he said. "You didn't forget that we have ten thousand sheep more or less, did you?"

"No, father, I did not forget, but I am sure that it can be educated out of him. Perhaps I can make a sheep dog of him. You know I did of one killer we had."

"Yes, but that was a civilized dog, while this chap is the son of a wolf, if I am any judge. But he certainly is good to look upon."

As the day wore on Silversheene and Richard Henderson became better and better acquainted, and by the time they had reached the top of the world as they called it and were crossing the backbone of the continent, they were the best of pals. But as Hilda had said, "he was a man's dog." Even so it took a good dog handler and a dominant spirit always to control him and keep him in bounds.

A harsh word or a threatened blow made him see red. His eyes would change in a second from a mild wondering kindly brown, to two flaming coals. He would be transformed by some hostile incident from a gentle loving animal to a bristling quivering fury, only one degree removed from the wolf.

Twice in the middle west Richard had to literally throw himself upon Silversheene to keep him from killing some foolish dog who had attacked him. And once he had to get up in the night and rescue a venturesome hostler who had attempted to whip Silversheene for barking, when he was tied in the barn. The dog had suddenly sprung at the man, pulling out the staple which held his chain, and treed the unsuspecting hostler on a hay mow. He might have stayed there all night had not his cries for help brought aid.