Chapter VI
THE POUND
Six months went by and the Pixleys had not returned, but Jan did not know that Mr. Pixley was still very ill. The dog hid or skulked if he met any person, and his deep growls and twitching nose were so threatening that no one dared to go nearer. His silky hair was rough and ragged, raw bleeding spots scarred his body, his eyes were bloodshot and his tail was almost bare of the long hair that had once made it a beautiful plume.
His only refuge was the orange grove, where he spent the days sleeping or licking the bones he stole from garbage pails, for no one ever thought to put food or water where he could find it. The servants feared and hated him, and he hated them but did not fear them. He knew his own strength. If any one threatened to abuse him, Jan was ready to leap and use his sharp teeth, but so long as people let him alone, he would not fight.
Late one afternoon, he saw William and a kindly-looking old man with a long, white beard, talking together. They were watching Jan, as the dog lay quietly in the hole that was now his only home; his eyes rolled but he did not lift his head as they came closer.
"He has no use for me," said William, giving a rope to the other man. "Maybe you can handle him alone, but I don't believe it. He's as big and strong as a lion."
William pulled a paper from his pocket and held it to the older man, saying, "Here's a letter from Miss Elizabeth Pixley; you can see what she says. I wrote her about Jan and asked what we should do with him."
The name of Elizabeth caused Jan's ears to prick up and the fierce light in his eyes faded. The strange man came close to the dog and spoke gently. Jan wagged his tail slightly, but kept his eyes on the old man's face.
"You had better look out," warned William. "He can't be trusted a minute."
Jan glared at the stableman. "I wanted to love and help people, not hurt them, until you made me fight," he growled.
"Look out!" cried William. "He's showing his teeth. He is the worst dog I have ever seen in my life."
The older man studied the dog silently, then smiled and held out his hand. Jan shrank back suspiciously but allowed the hand to touch his back.
"I think I can manage him," said the stranger, then he added, "Come, Jan. Come with me!"
The dog rose to his feet and followed unresistingly down the pathway to the front of the Pixley home, and past the lawn where he had spent so many happy hours, along the firm sand on which he had so often raced beside his mistress's pony in the days gone by. And as he trudged slowly, he kept wondering if she had sent for him. He remembered how Mr. Pixley had led him away from the Hospice at the end of a rope, but at the end of the journey Jan had found Elizabeth and happiness. He lifted his big head and his anxious eyes saw a pitying face as a gentle hand lightly touched his back. It was quite a long walk and the dog was weak from improper food and care. When they entered a little cottage, the old man brought food and water, then sat and watched the dog devour them ravenously. After the dish had been emptied of all food, Jan stood wagging his tail to show his gratitude. The old man laughed.
"Why, you're not any more vicious than I am, Prince Jan! But, you're in pretty bad shape."
He did not tie the rope, but let it drop on the floor while he brought a small tin tub full of warm suds, and gently sponged the dog's body. The next thing was cool salve on the painful sores.
Then Jan was ready to follow this kind friend, and though his legs trembled with weakness, he hastened with the old man into a large room with dirt floor. It was late in the afternoon and the light from two small windows left the place in partial darkness, so that Jan, coming into it, could not see anything at first. But, he heard dogs whining and barking all about him. When he grew accustomed to the dim light, the old man had tied him and gone away.
A number of dogs were fastened by short ropes, and all were staring at the big dog. Shrill yapping made Jan turn quickly to see a tiny, dirty dog with long hair that had once been white but now was matted and grimed, straining on its rope and squinting impudently at him.
"Gracious! You're the biggest dog I ever saw!" exclaimed the midget, which was not much larger than a small kitten. "What is your name, and where on earth did you come from?"
Prince Jan answered politely, then asked, "Is this the kennel where they train dogs to help people in the Land of No Snow?"
"You must be crazy! This is the pound!" snapped the tiny creature, thinking Jan was making fun of it.
"The pound?" echoed Prince Jan. "What is that?"
"Silly! You haven't much sense, even if you are so big! If the dog-catchers get us they bring us to the pound, and if our folks don't come for us pretty soon, we are all shot!"
Several dogs howled in despair, but the snippy little animal only stretched out for a nap.
"Don't you feel badly, too?" questioned Jan.
"Good gracious, no! I travel around with my folks and we live in hotels, and they make me wear a collar. I manage to get away without my collar, sometimes, and some one always takes me to the pound, and my family come there for me as soon as I am lost. They'll be here for me before long. I've been in lots of pounds."
"'You must be crazy! this is the pound!' snapped the tiny creature."
Without further remarks, the spoiled pet curled itself into a dirty ball and was fast asleep when the door opened and two young ladies rushed in and grabbed up the blinking rascal. He yawned in the face of the girl who held him; then, petted and scolded, he was carried away.
With hopeless eyes, Jan watched them pass through the doorway. He understood now, that Elizabeth had not sent for him, that nobody cared what happened to him. He lay down and shut his eyes and tried to shut his ears to the misery of the other dogs, but he could not sleep. Jan kept thinking how he had wanted to do what was right and how hard he had tried to remember what his mother had taught him. In this strange land, with no snow and no work to do, he had failed; and now, he would die in disgrace after a useless life that meant dishonour to his father and Barry, and the other dogs who had lived and died doing their duty as St. Bernards.
Through the long hours of the night, though darkness shut away the sight of the other dogs, Jan could hear restless movements and choked whimpers, so that he could not forget where he was, and at last, when morning broke, he lifted his head slowly and looked at the dogs around him. Then he remembered that morning at the Hospice when he had wakened early, waiting impatiently for his first lesson on the trail. But these dogs around him, now, were pitiful things, cowering and shivering; the eyes that met his own were dull and hopeless, and the ears all drooped dejectedly.
The dogs started nervously as a key scraped in the lock of the door. Then the old man came into the room and went from one dog to the other, patting each in turn as he placed clean, freshly cooked meat and a pan of water within easy reach. The poor animals shrank back, but as they saw that he did not threaten any of them, the ragged tails flopped and the eyes that followed him were less timid. When he reached Jan, the man stood looking at him and shaking his head slowly. The dog, still suspicious of every human being, bunched his muscles and waited, but the smile and gentle voice, "You poor old fellow! I'm afraid I can't do anything for you," made Jan look up with his great, wistful eyes pleading for sympathy and kindness.
"I'll do the best I can, though," the old man said, at last, as he untied the rope and turned toward the door.
The dog rose stiffly, for every bone in his gaunt body ached, his legs trembled from weakness due to lack of proper food, but he moved trustingly beside this kindly stranger. As they reached once more the door of the little house where Jan had been washed and fed the night before, the wrinkled hand holding the rope reached out and Prince Jan's hot tongue touched it in a light caress.
Inside the tiny house the man fixed an old comforter then pointing at it, he said, "Go lie down, Jan."
With a sigh that was half-weariness, half gratitude, the dog stretched his tired body on the soft quilt, but his eyes watched every movement of his new friend. Then Jan slept in peace, for the first time since Elizabeth had deserted him.
The odor of warm, fresh meat from a dish near his nose wakened him. As he moved toward it a tiny yellow bird flew across the room and lit on the floor, watching him pertly and edging cautiously to the plate. It paused with head perked impudently on one side and its bright little eyes fixed on the big dog. Jan kept very still, and the old man, sitting across the room, nodded approvingly when the dog allowed the bird to peck at the plate of food. After tasting Jan's dinner, the bird, perched on the edge of the dish, lifted its head and sang as though its throat would burst with music. It finished the song, gave a funny little shake of its wings, then flew across the room and lit on the shoulder of the Poundmaster, where it stayed while he kept moving around the room.
"Go home, Cheepsie," said the old man, and the bird at once darted into a cage hanging at the front window, but the Poundmaster did not shut the cage door.
Then he led Jan to the back porch where the tub of clean soapsuds was ready, and again the dog was washed thoroughly and the salve applied to his sores. Though Jan's heart was almost bursting with gratitude, he could only show it by poking his nose against the kindly hand, or uttering low whimpers.
"I know, old fellow," his new friend said, "you're trying to thank me. It's all right now. Don't worry!"
And Prince Jan knew that it was all right. That night he slept on the soft comforter in the little house.
As day after day went past, Jan began to feel strong again, but it took eight long months before his beautiful hair grew out and his eyes at last lost their pitiful pleading. At first he could not understand about his new friend, whom he heard other men call "Captain Smith, the poundmaster." He remembered what the little white dog had said about pounds being places where dogs were killed when they had no friends to claim them, but Jan knew that his friend would not hurt any dog.
Each day, now, Jan followed the captain into the long room where dogs were tied with ropes, just as he, himself, had been kept that first night. During sunshiny days of the snowless winter, these dogs were led into the back yard of the bungalow. It had a high board fence, so they could run about and stretch, or lie in the warm grass.
None of these dogs ever stayed very long, but they all soon learned to love the old captain and would rush around his feet or crawl against him, wagging their tails. A few, bolder than the others, leaped up to lick his hands, or pretended they were going to fight him, but when they got near, they turned and raced about him in big circles, barking and yelping as though they were laughing at the joke.
All the time, the old man stood smiling, his hands held out to caress those nearest. New dogs came with the others, and often some of the older dogs would disappear. Then Prince Jan would look at the captain, wondering, but never doubting his friend who loved all dogs.
Chapter VII
HIPPITY-HOP
The loving care given Jan by the captain for eight months made him well and happy, and above all brought back his lost faith in people, so that he became the gentle, affectionate dog that he used to be before he knew what cruelty meant.
One of Jan's ancestors had been a Newfoundland dog. These are very large dogs with long, silky black and white hair. Though not so large as the St. Bernards, they resemble them in build and show the same intelligence, loyalty, and kind disposition. Newfoundland dogs are wonderful swimmers and do not have to be trained to go out and rescue people who are drowning. So it was very natural for Prince Jan to enjoy swimming.
The old poundmaster and Jan walked on the beach nearly every day, and if the dog saw a bit of driftwood near the shore, he would swim out and get it. His master then put the wood in a basket so it could be taken home to burn in the fireplace on cool nights. Often when Jan was alone on the beach and spied floating wood, he dashed through the surf for it, and, if it were not too heavy, dragged it to the bungalow. Whenever he did this, he was petted and praised by the old man. Then Jan felt very proud because he was helping his master.
One day as he wandered alone on the shore he saw a lot of wood floating on the waves. Though it was quite a distance he did not hesitate to plunge after it. The salt water splashed over his head; sometimes he was completely under big waves, and once a high curling breaker caught and turned him over and over, while his legs stuck up from the peak of the wave, but Jan thought it all great sport. He shook his big head so that his long ears flapped, and his strong paws sent him into deeper water where the waves rolled in long lines but did not curl up and break so roughly as nearer the shore.
The boards were fastened together, and Jan saw this was a much harder task than he had ever attempted before. He grabbed the edge of a plank in his powerful jaws and twisting sharply, struck back, for land. Several times the force of the water and the weight of the little raft made him let go, but each time he caught the driftwood and fought his way toward the beach. Land was still quite distant when he heard a faint noise, and then he saw that a tiny grey kitten was clinging to the boards.
"Hold on," called Jan, but the kitten did not seem to hear him. It lay perfectly still.
He tried to swim faster, fearing the waves might wash the little creature off, for at times the water covered the raft and Jan's head, too. He gained the shore and dragged the wreckage far back to safety. Jan sniffed at the kitten. Its eyes were shut and it did not move. He knew that most cats are afraid of dogs, so he went off a little way and sat down, waiting patiently for it to wake up.
After many minutes Jan went over and pushed it gently with his nose. It did not stir. Then he sat down and looked at it thoughtfully, remembering that when the dogs of the Hospice found a traveller in the snow whom they could not waken, they hurried for help. His mother and Bruno had told him that, and Jan had never forgotten those lessons, nor the days he and Rollo had been trained by Brother Antoine.
His tongue licked the wet fur, but the kitten's eyes stayed shut. Jan lifted his head, gave a loud bark and raced away through the sand, kicking it with his fast-flying feet so that it formed tiny, yellow clouds.
Into the little sitting-room he rushed, leaving a damp trail across the floor. The captain looked up in surprise and stopped lighting his pipe when the dog, dripping wet, stood in front of him and barked loudly.
"What's the matter, Jan?" he questioned. "I never saw you so fussed up! And you're dripping wet, too!"
Jan danced around, barking, then dashed to the gate but there he stopped and looked back, wagging his tail.
"Do you want me to go with you?" asked the old man, rising slowly.
The dog leaped against the gate, shoving it open, then ran ahead, only to return and bark again.
"All right," the poundmaster picked up his cap, and when he followed, Jan's delight could not have been misunderstood by any one.
"Woof! Woof!" he kept shouting back, and in dog-talk that meant, "Hurry! Hurry!"
And Captain Smith did hurry as fast as he could, but Jan reached the driftwood long before the old man. The kitten was in the same place, just as he had left it.
"Why, it's a kitten!" cried Jan's master, as he, too, reached the spot. "Poor little thing!"
He stooped down and picked up the tiny, limp body. "I think it's dead, Jan, but you did your best to save it. Didn't you?"
The dog watched intently, his tail waved slowly and his nose touched the hand that was gently rubbing the wet fur. Then, without any warning, the kitten's eyes opened and blinked and it uttered a faint mew.
"Well! I declare, it's alive after all!" the captain exclaimed. "It must have been washed ashore from some wrecked boat, judging from that driftwood raft. Looks most starved to death, Jan. If there's any truth that cats have nine lives, this little thing must have used up a good many of its lives getting to land. Come along, Jan! We'll try to save what's left, anyway."
The dog scampered toward the bungalow, running back at times to leap about the old man. Jan was so happy that he had saved the poor little thing. It was only a little, grey kitten, and at the Hospice, of course, the dogs saved people; but that was in a place where there was snow.
When they all reached the kitchen, Jan crowded against the captain, who rubbed the shivering little cat with an old towel. Then it was placed on the floor with a saucer of milk. As the milk disappeared, the dog in his delight, moved closer, but the frightened animal humped up its back, fuzzed its thin tail and spit at him.
Of course, it did not know that Jan had saved its life, or that he did not want to hurt it, now. He moved away and sat down quietly to watch it. The saucer was filled with milk a second time, and the kitten's tongue lapped as fast as it could go. Its sides bulged out from its scrawny body when it had emptied the saucer and moved across the room.
"You poor little thing!" cried the old man, picking it up gently. "It's only got three legs, Jan!"
The poundmaster fixed his glasses and examined a hind leg which had no foot. "I guess it was born that way," he spoke. "Must have been taken on some boat as a mascot. Well, it doesn't matter what has happened to it, just so it's comfortable now, Jan!"
The kitten went back to the empty saucer, and sniffed at it, then with a funny little hop and jump, it came back and rubbed, purring, against the old man's leg, but it kept a sharp watch on the big dog.
"We'll call it Hippity-Hop," decided Captain Smith, and as neither the kitten nor Jan suggested a better name, that settled it.
Hippity-Hop was really quite a nice little kitten, even if she did not have as many legs as most cats have. Her fur was dark grey, a white breast and ring around her neck looked as though she had put on a clean shirt and collar, while every one of her three paws was snow-white, like nice white gloves. She spent a great deal of her time washing her fur with her tongue.
For many days Hippity-Hop was afraid of Jan, who was big enough to swallow her at one gulp; but when she learned that he stood back and let her eat first from his dish, although she had just cleaned her own plate, she lost her fear and grew to love him. Each night after supper she crawled between his paws and went to sleep, while he lay very still, that he might not waken his little friend.
Jan was very sure that Hippity-Hop was the nicest little kitten in the world, after she had learned one thing:
When first she went to live with the captain and Jan and had seen Cheepsie walking around on the floor, Hippity-Hop's green eyes glistened. Then her claws reached out from the fur that hid them and her tail twitched and jerked as she crouched to spring on the little yellow bird that was paying no attention to the kitten. But, just as she was ready to jump, there was a terrible roar behind her and she was grabbed by Jan's big jaws.
Hippity-Hop gave a yowl of fear, and twisted to scratch Jan's eyes, but he gripped her firmly, though his teeth did not hurt her. Captain Smith, hearing the commotion ran into the room and understood at once what had happened. He took the kitten from Jan, and though Hippity-Hop spit and scratched and yowled, the old man dipped her several times in a tub of water. Cats hate water, and Hippity-Hop hated water more than most cats, for it made her think of the time she had been almost drowned in the ocean.
"You've got to learn to be kind to Cheepsie, or else you can't live here with us," the old man said as he set the kitten on the porch floor.
The kitten began to lick her wet fur, but she was badly frightened and very sure that if Jan did not eat her up, the captain would put her back in the ocean again. So she resolved never to bother Cheepsie after that one time.
The bird seemed to understand, too, for it was not long after this that Hippity-Hop, Jan and Cheepsie ate out of the same dish. At times the bird would perch on the dog's head and sing to them all. Jan always sat as still as he could, until the song ended and Cheepsie had flown over to the captain's shoulder. Often the old man took his violin from the corner, and as he played he whistled or sang in a quavering voice, Jan's tail beat time on the floor, Hippity-Hop joined with a song of her own, though it was only a loud purr, while Cheepsie, perched on their loved master's shoulder, sang and trilled as loudly as he could, trying to make more music than the bird that lived in the violin.
"It's a fine old world, Jan!" the poundmaster would say, as he put the violin away in its box.
Then Hippity-Hop and Jan knew it was time for bed, and Cheepsie hurried to his cage and tucked his little head under his yellow wing.
Chapter VIII
THE MUZZLE
Jan's curiosity about the dogs that disappeared was satisfied when a lady in a handsome gown was driven to the bungalow one evening.
Captain Smith met her with a happy smile, then he brought in an Airedale dog that had been with the other dogs for many weeks. The lady patted the dog, spoke to it gently, then she rose from her chair and the captain followed her to the gate where an automobile was waiting. The Airedale was lifted into the seat beside her.
"He will have the kindest care," she leaned forward to say, "and I hope you will be able to find homes for all the other dogs, too. I will tell my friends about them. Captain Smith, does the city pay for their feed while you find homes for them all?"
Jan saw his master slowly shake his head, "It does not take much to feed them," he answered. "I am allowed to feed them a week, but I manage the rest of it from my salary. It makes me happy to see their gratitude, for most of them have been cuffed about so they don't know that there are people who will be kind and love them."
After the visitor left, Jan lay quietly watching the old man moving about the room. Now, he understood everything, and the dog rose quickly and thrust his nose into the wrinkled hand. The smile on the old man's face went deep into Jan's heart as the poundmaster, lifting the dog's head, looked into Jan's eyes, saying, "It's a pretty hard thing when any human being is without a friend, Jan; but people can speak up for themselves. A dog can't do that, and yet, he is the best friend any man can have."
So Jan always felt happy after that day, for when he missed one of the dogs now, he knew it had found a home and some one to love it. And on those days the poundmaster went around with shining eyes while his lips puckered up in a cheerful whistle, or Jan heard him singing:'
Grief cannot drive him away;
He's gentle and he's kind
And you'll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray."
Many times when friends called to talk and smoke with the Captain, Jan would go for a short walk along the beach. One evening the ocean looked so inviting that the dog could not resist swimming far out, barking and snapping at floating kelp. It was much later than usual when he reached the shore and shook his long fur until it showered the salt water like a rain storm, then with a loud "Woof!" of happiness, he ran toward his home.
The high cliffs that rose above the beach threw dark shadows on the sand. The little bungalow where the captain lived was at the top of this cliff overlooking the ocean. The pound was not far away, and there were several other bungalows a little distance apart from each other, and a flight of wooden steps edged a twisting footpath which led directly up to the front gate of Jan's home.
It was easier to scamper up the pathway than climb the wooden steps, and the dog hurried to reach the top; but a slight noise made him pause and look at the thick brush near him. There was nothing to be seen, but Jan's ears listened sharply while his sensitive nose sniffed the air suspiciously. One sniff was enough to make the hair bristle along his back. William, his old enemy, was near.
Jan whirled quickly, his eyes shining with fury and hate, and his hair formed a stiff ridge along his back while his teeth gleamed in a snarl. Something slipped over his head and despite his struggles, it twisted tightly around his neck. A strange odor made him sick and weak when he tried to breathe. His paws clawed in his attempts to tear the sack from his head, so that he could breathe and fight, but his legs grew limp, a noise sounded inside his ears, something seemed to be hammering at the top of his head. He made one more effort, staggered a few steps, then crumpled down on the sand. But he knew it was William's boot that kicked him, and William's voice that said, "Guess that will settle you." Jan tried to growl but he was too sick to make a sound.
The next thing he knew was when he woke in a strange dark place. His whole body was stiff and sore, he felt sick all over and something hurt his nose terribly. His paws clawed at the thing that hurt. It was made of wire that cut deeply in his flesh. He knew it was a muzzle, for he had seen other dogs suffer from them. The more he clawed, the worse it hurt.
Then he rubbed his head sideways on the floor, but this made matters worse, so he gave up fighting and lay with his nose against the floor until he could stand the pain no longer. When he staggered to his feet, he found a rope held him, but when he tried to chew the rope the muzzle kept his jaws closed so that he was barely able to thrust the tip of his swollen tongue between his front teeth.
Jan suffered torture, not only because the wire cut his flesh, but also because any dog, when frightened, sick, or too hot, becomes feverish and his tongue hangs from his mouth. That is the way a dog sweats, and Prince Jan's mouth was clamped together by the muzzle. He could not hear any noise in the room, so he lay down and kept very quiet. There was really nothing else he could do, except howl. He knew that William had something to do with all this trouble, and he hated William more than ever.
A door opened. Jan sprang to his feet, hoping he might be able to break the rope and escape before the door was closed. He crouched and leaped with all his strength, but the rope was too strong and he fell with a thud to the floor, where he panted heavily. A flash of light almost blinded him, but he saw William and snarled defiance. Another man was in the room. Jan caught a glimpse of him, gave a sniff, and knew that this other man was the one who had been with William in the Pixley stable. He felt that he had two enemies now to fight.
As William came toward the dog, Jan strained on the rope.
"You'll get that temper taken out of you before long," threatened the man, at the same time keeping carefully beyond the length of the rope. But William's hatred outbalanced his caution, and he lifted his foot to give the dog a kick. Jan shrank back, not from fear as William supposed, but to get a better chance to spring and grab the man's leg.
"Let him alone," called the other man. "The worse you treat that dog the harder it will be to handle him."
William scowled. "The best thing is to kill him now. We're taking a big risk on the chance of selling him."
"Oh, go ahead and kill him if you want to," the other man shrugged his shoulders. "Let your spite keep you from making a thousand dollars."
He held out a bottle, "Here's the chloroform. Go on, finish the job if you're going to."
"I don't believe you can sell him," sneered William. "You just said that because you knew I was going to kill him before I left here."
"If you didn't hate dogs the way you do," replied Shorty, "you'd know that he'll sell for a thousand dollars as soon as he is over the Canadian line. The man I told you about will buy that dog without a question."
"Some one will recognize the dog before we get there, if the old man stirs things up."
"Not when I get him fixed," bragged Shorty.
"There's no time to fool with him," persisted William, "We've got to get away quick."
"Let me alone," snapped Shorty. "This is my end of the job. If you stop picking on the dog, I'll have no trouble with him. I never knew a dog from the time we were kids that didn't hate you on sight."
"Yes, and you're a regular fool over them," William retorted. "You take care of him and get the money for him, and I'll look out for the machine and sell that. But you've got to keep that dog muzzled or there'll be trouble coming your way fast and plenty. See?"
Shorty did not answer and William went out. Jan and Shorty faced each other. The dog's muscles were taut, his eyes alert. The man looked at him steadily.
"You're the dandiest, spunkiest dog I ever saw," he said at last, as though sure that Jan understood the words. "I like you, old fellow, and I'd turn you loose, if I dared."
He placed a pan of water in front of the dog and the angry gleam softened in Jan's eyes. He thrust his nose into the pan but the muzzle was too tight to permit him to drink. The dog looked up at Shorty, who reached out his hand. Jan's tail waved, then he felt fingers run lightly along his shoulders, fumble at the buckle of the muzzle and the cruel thing fell to the floor. Before the dog lapped the water that he craved, he stared into Shorty's face and saw a kindly smile that told him this man was a friend. Jan's hot tongue touched Shorty's hand before turning to lap the cool liquid.
"You'll be all right now," Shorty said as he rubbed the places where the strap had cut deeply. Then when Jan had finished drinking, the man fed him bits of meat.
After the meal was over, Shorty took a pair of clippers and cropped Jan's long hair close to the skin. It did not hurt, so the dog submitted quietly. A sponge and bucket of dark liquid were brought by the man and Jan was thoroughly saturated, until the dye dripped to the floor.
"Got to put on that muzzle, boy, before he gets back," but this time the strips did not hurt so badly.
William chuckled when he saw the dog. "Great stunt, Shorty! The poundmaster wouldn't know his own dog if he caught him now!"
He picked up a couple of bundles and a suitcase, while Shorty led Jan by the rope. They were in a deep cañon, where no sound of the ocean could be heard. Jan did not know the place. He had never been away from the noise of the surf since living in California. A big, black automobile stood under a tree. William tossed the things into it and climbed to the front seat with a laugh.
"The police will have as much trouble finding a grey machine as the poundman will have finding a long-haired St. Bernard dog. We'll hit the road lively at night and camp in the day. There's just one thing you've got to remember. If I see you getting stuck on that dog I'm going to kill him. I'm taking him along because you said you could sell him, and I'm not going to stand any nonsense about it."
Shorty's only answer was to open the back door of the machine and motion the dog to jump. He obeyed and curled on the floor. Shorty sat in the back seat while William drove.
Jan did not sleep during the long, dark hours they sped over the road. He kept wondering what the captain would think, and hoping he could get back home some way. Once in a while he lifted his head as a flash of light showed another automobile passing. At daybreak William turned into thick brush and drove over rough ground until they stopped beside a shallow stream.
Still muzzled, Jan leaped from the car and followed Shorty, but he watched William closely. The dog was tied after he had been allowed to drink at the creek. William loafed while Shorty made coffee and cooked a meal, which the older man ate, grumbling all the time. Then he threw himself on the ground and dragged his hat over his face.
Shorty fed Jan, and after clearing away the breakfast things, moved closer to the dog. Jan's tail rustled the dry leaves and twigs, as Shorty, with a boyish smile, stretched on the ground beside him. A hand touched one of Jan's ears and pulled it gently, but the hand was friendly and the dog's eyes showed he understood. Then, tired from the long ride, Shorty and Jan slept soundly.
At dusk another meal was prepared and eaten, and they started again on their journey. For two more days and nights they travelled in the dark and camped in hidden places during the day, so that no one could see them. The muzzle was never taken again from Jan's nose, for William watched constantly and repeated his warnings several times. He did not know, however, that Shorty eased the strap so that the wire and leather could not cut, and in this way he made Jan as comfortable as was possible.
The night of the third day there was a full moon, and dim shadows were cast by scattered trees near the road. It was very warm and Jan's muzzle worried him; then, too, he was stiff from lack of the exercise to which he had been accustomed. Shorty noticed the dog's restlessness and leaned down. His fingers slipped under the strap and wires, then touched the buckle at the side of the head. Jan squirmed nearer and wagged his tail. Each night when they were well on the way, Shorty did this much to help the dog, but he had to tighten the muzzle before William turned the machine from the road to camp for the day.
As Shorty leaned over, the car reached a clear place in the road, where the moon shone brightly. Shorty did not see William turn, but a brutal fist struck full force against Shorty's face and he tumbled from the seat into the bottom of the automobile against Jan.
The dog growled, but the growl was meant for William, not Shorty. Then Jan knew that Shorty was up on his feet and both men were swearing and fighting, while the automobile twisted from side to side of the road, and was going faster and faster. There was a crash. Jan whirled over and over through the air and as he struck the ground he heard a man's scream of pain. He did not know whether it was Shorty or William who cried out, but he did know that he was free, and he dashed into the darkness of the thick trees, not knowing where he was going, not caring where he went, only the one thing was in his mind—he was leaving William behind and he must run as fast as he could.
Chapter IX
JAN'S JOURNEY TO THE LAND OF MAKE-BELIEVE
After the first wild dash for freedom, Jan settled to a steady jog for the rest of the night. When dawn came, some instinct made him turn into the brush where it grew most thickly. His one fear now was that William might find him. His one wish was to get back home. He did not know what kept him moving toward the south. He had nothing to guide him save the strange feeling that made him sure if he just kept on, some day he would reach the gate of the bungalow and see Hippity-Hop and the captain watching down the street for him.
Jan was able to lap water when he found it, but he could not fight, nor eat, even if he had found food, for the muzzle clamped his jaws together. He knew better now than to tug at it with his claws or rub it against the ground. The second night he was very hungry, but he started hopefully on his way, plodding steadily in the same direction. At dawn he was faint and weak from hunger and exhaustion, and when it grew dark again he did not want to move. Then he thought of the captain. Wearily Jan rose to his feet and with low-hanging head he dragged slowly along.
The fourth day after the escape, he was too weak to struggle further, and lay limp on the ground, with his eyes closed. He wanted to keep perfectly still, though he was suffering keenly from thirst, for he had not found any water that day. A rabbit darted from the thick brush close to Jan's head. The rustling of leaves made the dog's eyes open. He saw the little creature sit up in sudden fright, but Jan did not try to catch it, he was too tired and besides he knew that the muzzle held him a prisoner. So he watched the rabbit hop about him fearlessly, until the sound of steps in dry leaves startled it into the bushes.
Jan heard the steps, too. He thought William had found him, and knowing that he could not fight nor defend himself, he dragged himself wearily to his feet and staggered with trembling legs a few, short steps. Then he dropped heavily.
Voices sounded. Jan's ears lifted and quivered, his eyes brightened and his tail moved slightly. He was not afraid of children. They had always loved and petted him. Once more he rose and slowly pushed through the thicket to an open place where two little girls laughed and chattered as they picked wild blackberries into a small tin pail.
He edged toward the sunbonnets bobbing over the pail. The children heard the rustle and turned about, then the pail dropped, the berries spilled on the ground and the sunbonnet children ran, screaming wildly, "Father! Father! It's a big, black bear to eat all of us up!"
The dog halted, wondering why they ran from him. He heard a man's quick words, the children's excited voices and a woman's soothing tones.
"It's all right now!" thought poor Prince Jan. "Women and children won't hurt me."
He moved through the brush, but found himself looking straight into the barrel of a gun held by steady hands. Jan knew what that meant. His legs trembled as he pressed forward. Oh, if he could only make this man understand that he did not mean to hurt or frighten the little girls! He only wanted some one to take off this horrible muzzle.
The dog's pleading eyes were lifted to the man's face and then, unable to stand any longer, Jan fell weakly to the ground and pulled himself forward, inch by inch, to show that he meant no harm, and all the while his ragged tail kept beating very feebly. The man looked at him, then lowered the gun.
"Come here, girls! Your bear is only a lost dog!"
Jan did not look around at the patter of feet, but his paws went to the muzzle, and as he lay with his head against the man's feet, the pitifully pleading eyes and tugging paws of the dog spoke as plainly as words.
"Poor fellow!" said a gentle voice, then a woman's fingers worked carefully at the strap and Jan felt the muzzle fall away.
He touched her hand with his dry, stiff tongue, and saw the two little sunbonnet children, laughing, yet still afraid of the big dog, come to their mother's side. The man noticed the broken rope and examined the collar.
"No name or license," he spoke at last, "but somebody will be looking for him. I wonder how long he has been wandering around with this muzzle on him, poor chap!"
"Bring water, children," said the mother, "and the things that were left over from lunch. He must be hungry."
The tin pail was rescued from the ground and filled twice with water before Jan's thirst was slaked and he looked up with grateful eyes and dripping jaws. While he was drinking his fill, a basket had been opened by the children and slices of cold meat and bits of buttered bread were placed before him. He swallowed the food greedily, but paused between gulps to wag his tail and let them know how he thanked them.
For some time after this he lay quietly resting while the sunbonnet children sat close beside him and wondered where he came from and what his name was. Ruth, the younger, put out her hand to touch him timidly.
"I'm not afraid of him. He won't bite. He isn't a bear to eat us all up, is he, Charlotte?"
"I—I—aren't afraid, either," Charlotte's voice was uncertain, but her hand touched the dog's big head. Then both children lost all fear of him and Jan forgot about William and the hours of suffering, for the two little girls curled close to him, and soon they were all three fast asleep.
The sun was almost setting when the father and mother tucked the basket and shawls into the automobile. Jan watched with puzzled eyes as they carefully put away some little boards. He had noticed when he woke from his doze that both the man and the woman were sitting on stools with these boards propped before them, and they were making marks on them. The father was already in the machine and the little girls climbed in, then the mother put her foot on the step and Jan let out a wild howl that made them all start. He thought they were going to leave him behind and he knew that he could never run fast enough to follow them.
"Good gracious! What a howl!" exclaimed the man, laughing. "We won't leave you. Jump up, old chap!"
Jan lost no time scrambling into the automobile, then it ran swiftly along a smooth road which finally twisted through a beautiful cañon. Great trees were on all sides and a tiny stream bubbled and danced far below. Birds sang and rabbits dashed out of the brush with swift hops and jerks, but Jan did not want to eat the rabbits now. The children kept laughing and clapping their hands, calling to Jan, "Look, look, quick!" Sometimes their hands pressed his head to make him turn where they pointed.
Jan was very happy on that ride, but he still hoped that by and by he might get back home to Hippity-Hop and the captain.
Chapter X
THE HOME OF THE SUNBONNET BABIES
The home of Jan's new friends was perched high on the top of a mountain peak, far above the cañon through which they had driven. Jan heard them call this place Topango Pass. The house stood alone with overhanging oak trees and a garden full of flowers that made him think of the yard in front of the captain's bungalow.
A big stone fireplace was near the house, and pink geraniums grew closely around the little home, while over the porch climbed yellow roses that looked as if the fairies had hidden their gold among the green leaves.
"This is Roseneath," announced Charlotte to Jan as the automobile stopped in front of the porch and the two girls jumped out, followed by the dog.
"Charlotte!" Ruth said suddenly, stopping halfway up the path, "we've got to find a name for that dog right away!"
It was a very serious matter, so the children sat on the lowest step of the porch and Jan squatted before them. He wished he could help by telling his name and about the Hospice, but all he could do was to sit still and look from one eager little face to the other. After trying several names they decided on "Bruin."
"Because he is so big and black, just like a bear!"
Jan rather liked the name. It sounded like Bruno, but of course, the sunbonnet children did not know anything about Bruno and the Hospice, so they said Jan was very smart to remember the new name without any trouble at all.
The next morning he was wakened early by the children's voices and hurried to meet them in front of the house. Charlotte had a tin bucket in her hand and Jan wondered if they were going to pick more berries. But they went down a path that led to the stable and then he stood still in surprise.
Right in front of them was a strange creature about the size of a common dog. It had long, white hair, a white beard like a very old man's, two horns curved back over its head and its feet had sharp-pointed hoofs. It was tied by a rope and back of it was a smaller animal of the same kind.
Charlotte went past the larger one and sat down on a little wooden stool beside the smaller animal and soon the tin pail was full of milk. Back to the house trotted the children, and Jan, very much puzzled, kept beside them. In the kitchen they found the mother cooking breakfast. Jan lifted his nose and sniffed at the odor of broiling steak and hot biscuit.
"Milk for the berries we picked yesterday," the mother of the sunbonnet children said smiling. "Won't we have a fine breakfast this morning! And there's a nice bone in the steak for Bruin, too!"
She poured a little milk into a pan and placed it on the floor for Jan. He knew that the white animal must have been a cow, yet it was not like the cow at the Pixleys' home, but when he tasted the milk, it was just as nice as the big, yellow cow's milk.
While breakfast was being eaten, the children and their parents chatted together and Jan looked about the place. The walls of the rooms were hung with beautiful pictures, among them many fat little babies with sunbonnets hiding their faces. He was sure that if the sunbonnets were pushed back he would see the faces of Ruth and Charlotte laughing at him.
As time went by Jan was quite happy and learned to love his gentle playmates very dearly. He grew accustomed to seeing the artists sitting before boards, painting pictures like those on the walls. Even the little girls, Ruth and Charlotte, sometimes sat on the ground and made him lie still while they worked away with pencils and pieces of paper and told him they were making his picture to put in a book. It did not quite explain matters to Jan when Ruth held up one of these papers in front of his nose and said, "You see, Bruin, we're going to be ill—us—trators like mother when we grow up, and then we'll put you in a book, maybe!"
After Jan had several good baths the ugly black dye began to wear off and his white shirt-front and paws and the white streak on his nose showed plainly. Then the rusty black fur on his entire body became its natural tawny red and grew rapidly. The Melvilles now realized that Jan had been stolen and often wondered who had lost him. They asked the few people they saw but none of them had heard of such a dog, so the family felt that Jan belonged to them.
Ruth and Charlotte were much interested when their parents told them that Bruin was a St. Bernard dog, and all about the noble animals that lived at the Hospice, for the two artists had visited the place many years before Ruth or Charlotte had been born. When their mother finished telling them these things, Ruth exclaimed, "Mother! Then you and daddy and Charlotte and me are all St. Bernard dogs, because we found Bruin when he was lost, didn't we?"
Jan was not the only pet of this family. The "Melville Menagerie" was what their mother called the collection of animals. There were two grown-up goats, named Captain Kidd and Mrs. Cream; two baby-goats, Peaches and Strawberry; a mother cat named Chicago, because she was smoke color, and her three kittens, Texas, California, and Pennsylvania. Next was the canary bird, Pitty-Sing, and last, but not least, five horn-toads which were nameless, but who lived peacefully together in a box with sand to burrow in.
All of these members of the family interested Jan, but he wanted to be friends with the old cat and her kittens, because he missed Hippity-Hop. Whenever he tried to go near them, the four jumped to their feet, arched their backs, and spat at him so rudely that he gave up making friends, and decided that only three-legged cats liked dogs.
Each day about three o'clock all work was put aside by the artists, for this was the time they went to visit "The Land of Make-Believe." Sometimes they were gypsies, and supper was cooked over a campfire among the oak trees. Again, they pretended Jan was a big bear and he found it great fun to chase after the children while they ran away as though really afraid of him. Then it was "Little Red Riding Hood" with Jan for the wolf, but he did not eat any one, like the wolf did, for he knew he would have a nice piece of meat cooked over the wood fire as they all sat about on the ground and pretended they had no place to sleep excepting underneath the trees. When the stars began to twinkle, the sunbonnet children said that the angels were lighting the candles in Heaven, and very soon it was time to go home for the night.
Haying time in California is different from that of other parts of the world, for it is in May, and many months ahead of other places. The fields were dotted with little mounds of yellow hay drying in the sun, and one evening Mrs. Melville told the children she had a new game for the Land of Make-Believe. The next afternoon they could hardly wait until they reached the hay-fields.
"Now, children," said their mother, "these are the snow-covered peaks of the Alps that I told you about. Ruth must be a lost traveller and wander around among these mountains of snow until she is too tired to go any further. Then she must lie down and pull the hay over her and wait to be rescued from death in the snow."
As Ruth scampered away, Jan followed her, but Mrs. Melville called him back. He sat looking at her, but his head turned frequently toward the place he had last seen little Ruth. Several times he started to get up, but each time he sat down again and waited.
"You, Charlotte, are a monk from the Hospice and Bruin will go with you to search for lost travellers in this terrible snow-storm."
Jan stood very still, but his tail flapped around in circles while Mrs. Melville fastened a canteen of water to his collar, then she said, "Now, Bruin, go find Ruth!"
"Woof! Woof!" rang out the big voice, just as the dogs of the Hospice called when they started on the trail. Followed closely by Charlotte, Jan led the way from one hay mound to another, poking his nose deeply into each. Charlotte kept calling, "Find Ruth, Bruin! Go find her! She's lost in the snow and will freeze to death if we don't find her soon!"
Jan forgot it was only the Land of Make-Believe, while he burrowed into the haycocks. As he ran from one to the other, his bark sounded again and again, for he remembered the lessons Brother Antoine had given him and Rollo, and the canteen that bumped against his breast felt like the little wooden casket he had carried on the trail. At last he found the lost traveller. Jan lifted his head and uttered a sharp bark of triumph before his nose began tossing the hay that completely covered Ruth.
"He found her! He found her!" shrieked Charlotte in greatest excitement, just as though Ruth had really been lost in the snow-drifts.
Both parents ran to watch the game and Ruth's face appeared in the hay, like a pink Easter egg in a nest. She squinted up, saw her mother and father, Charlotte and Jan, then remembered that she was lost and shut her eyes quickly. Jan touched her cheek with his nose, and licked her face. She could not keep still any longer, because she wanted to sneeze and that would spoil the whole game. So she opened her eyes, put up her hand and unfastened the canteen from Jan's collar and swallowed such a big gulp of water that she almost choked. Her arms went about Jan's neck and while she clung, he moved slowly away from the mound, his tail waving rapidly and his big eyes full of pride. Ruth had been saved from a terrible death in the snow-drifts of the Alps!
The whole party of rescuers hastened to the Hospice under the trees, where supper was almost ready, and as they sat around the outdoor fireplace waiting the meal, they all declared that Bruin had acted just as if he had really lived at the Hospice and knew all about the dogs there and how they worked.
Three months after Jan went to live at Roseneath, the family sat reading one evening, and Jan sprawled at their feet. Ruth and Charlotte were deeply interested in the pictures of a new magazine for children, and Mr. Melville held a newspaper. He had been to the nearest town that day and had brought the mail home with him.
Suddenly he let the paper drop to his lap and sat looking at Prince Jan, then he picked up the paper again, saying, "Listen to this!"
All of them turned expectantly, for the parents always read aloud anything that might interest the children.
CAPTURED THIEF WORRIES OVER LOST DOG
John Leavitt, alias Shorty, now held as one of the two men who stole and wrecked an automobile belonging to Paul E. Wallace of Los Angeles, has made a confession implicating his half-brother, William Leavitt, formerly stableman at the beach-home of the Pixleys.
According to Shorty's statement, they had stolen a St. Bernard dog from Captain Smith, the Poundmaster, intending to sell the animal in Canada. Shorty became attached to the dog, Prince Jan, and in a quarrel with his brother over the muzzling of the dog, the machine was wrecked.
Leavitt evidently supposed Shorty was dead beneath the wreckage, and escaped. Shorty was found later, seriously injured, and his recovery was not expected. His one anxiety seems to be that Prince Jan, being muzzled, might have died of starvation. Any one knowing the fate of the dog is asked to communicate with Captain Smith, through this paper.
Prince Jan is a pure St. Bernard, with long fur, but he had been clipped and his hair dyed black.
No trace of William Leavitt has been found, but the authorities are looking for him. He has a criminal record in the East and is now wanted there. Shorty has been bound over for trial.
The family looked at the dog sleeping peacefully at their feet.
"Not the least doubt," said Mr. Melville.
"Call him, Ruth. Call his name—Prince Jan—and see how he acts."
The child's lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears as she went to her mother's side. "But, mother, if he is Prince Jan, will somebody take him away from us?"
Charlotte's eyes, too, were blurred and her lower lip dropped.
"Suppose," the mother spoke gently, and her arm went about the slender little figure leaning against her in half-choked grief, "Suppose, dear, some one found you when you were lost, and daddy and I didn't know where you were, and the people couldn't understand when you tried to tell them who you were and where we lived," the voice grew very tender and grave, "and then the people found out where you belonged and that we were looking everywhere for you, and grieving because we did not know whether you were hungry and unhappy. Do you think it would be right for them to keep you away from us, even if they did love you very, very dearly?"
Ruth's head hung low and nobody spoke until she lifted her face with a tear-wet smile, "Jan! Prince Jan!" she called in her high, sweet voice.
They saw the muscles of the sleeping dog twitch. The big paws moved slightly, as though in his dreams he was running to answer that name. His tail threshed lightly on the floor, but still he slept.
"Jan, Prince Jan!" both children now called.
He leaped to his feet. Quivering with excitement he faced them.
"Jan!" repeated Mr. Melville.
The dog darted to the man's side and stood with eager, expectant eyes and furiously switching tail. When he heard the name from Mrs. Melville, Jan ran to her and laid his head on her knee, looking into her face questioning her dumbly.
"He knows his name! He is Prince Jan!" the children cried as they swooped down on him with squeezes and hugs, while the dog whined and twisted and uttered sharp barks of excitement until they were all laughing at him.
"Do you want to go home to the captain, Jan?" Mrs. Melville leaned over him as she spoke.
"Woof! Woof!" he answered promptly, and they all knew that he meant "Yes."
So Mr. Melville got pen and ink and wrote to the poundmaster, telling that Prince Jan was safe and well, and that he, himself, would bring the dog home.
That was how Prince Jan came back to the captain and Hippity-Hop, at last. He was very happy at going home, yet he looked back wistfully at Ruth and Charlotte standing on the porch waving their hands, as the automobile drove away from the Land of Make-Believe, where Jan had been so kindly treated. But when he saw the ocean again and the road up the bluff and knew that he was near the bungalow, he was ready to leap from the machine and dash madly to the place where the captain, Hippity-Hop, and Cheepsie lived. He knew then that he loved them more than anybody in the whole world.
Chapter XI
PRINCE JAN VISITS SHORTY
Jan reached the front gate and let out a ringing "Woof" of joy that brought the captain and Hippity-Hop out at once. The old man's arms went about Jan's neck, and the dog gave little whines of delight, his tongue touched the wrinkled hands, and his tail went around so fast that it did not look like a tail, but just a blur of fuzzy hair.
When Mr. Melville was seated, and the Captain on a chair near by, Jan's head rested on the old man's knee and the toil-worn fingers stroked the dog's soft fur. Hippity-Hop rubbed against Jan's legs, purring like a noisy little buzz-saw, and Cheepsie flew down from his cage to perch first on the shoulder of the captain and then on Prince Jan's head, while a flood of bird-music filled the little room.