"Look at him go! Look at him go! Oh, he's a hunting dog all right!" yelled Chot, as he saw Rick's pet leap after the cat. "Oh, look at him go! Sic her, old boy! Sic her!"
Neither Rick nor Chot were cruel boys. They would not have harmed Sallie for anything, and they would not have let Ruddy hurt the gray cat. But they could not help wanting to see whether the cat would get to the fence first, or whether Ruddy would win the race. If Ruddy should happen to catch the cat—well, then Rick and Chot were ready to stop the puppy from doing her any harm. But if he should not—why, then it was a good race between a dog and a cat—that was all.
You may well believe that Sallie ran as fast as she could. She knew a lot about dogs—she knew that dogs, almost always, chased cats as they probably always will—just why I do not know. And Sallie ran as fast as she could.
It is not very hard for a cat to get away from a dog. Fear seems to give the cat greater speed and then, too, there is always a chance of climbing a fence or a tree. A cat can easily get up in a tree, though it can not always so easily get down again. And very few dogs can climb trees. I have seen moving pictures of African hunting dogs getting up in low trees after panthers, but these trees were covered with branches close to the ground, so a dog could really leap up among them. No dog can climb a straight tree trunk, but a cat easily does this.
And the reason for this is that a cat's claws are sharper than a dog's, and they are what are called "retractile." That is they can be pushed out and drawn in again. If you have ever taken pussy's paw, and gently pressed it, you have seen her claws come out from the little sheaths, or pockets of skin, in which they are kept under her fur. Sometimes you can press them out, and sometimes, especially after pussy awakens after a nap, you may see her stick out her claws herself and pull them in again.
Because of this, and because her claws are sharp, a cat can really climb a tree, just as the telephone lineman climbs a pole by sticking his sharp iron spurs in it. The cat sticks her claws in the soft bark of a tree.
If a dog's claws were sharp he might climb a tree, but they are not. A dog's claws always stick out; he can not put them out when he pleases and pull them back again, as pussy can. And because a dog's claws are always out they get worn off, and dull, as he runs around on the ground.
On raced Sallie and Ruddy raced after her, and soon, coming to a tree, up the cat shot like a flash of light. She reached a limb and sat down on it, her tail big and fluffy, her back arched and her heart beating fast.
Ruddy reached the foot of the tree and there he had to stop. He could not climb. He just sat there, looking up at Sallie and barked. And the cat knew the dog could not get her. She was safe as long as she stayed in the tree.
"He sure is a hunting dog all right!" exclaimed Chot, as he and Rick ran along after Ruddy.
"He can run pretty fast, but Sallie beat him," spoke Rick.
"Some day we'll take your dog out in the woods and have him chase rabbits," went on Chot. "If he's a hunting dog, and I guess he is, he can catch rabbits."
"I wouldn't want him to hurt any rabbits," spoke Rick. "I used to have some rabbits, once, but I let 'em loose in the woods back of the lake, and maybe they're living there yet. I wouldn't want Ruddy to chase any of the rabbits that I used to have for pets."
"No, course we wouldn't 'zactly want Ruddy to hurt any rabbits," agreed Chot. "But we could just watch him run after 'em, same as he ran after Sallie. Your dog'll be a good hunter when he grows up. Where'd you get him?"
"Oh, he just sort of came," answered Rick. "Mr. Bailey saw him swim ashore in the storm last night."
"Well, he's a good dog," declared Chot, patting Ruddy on the head. The dog was dividing his time, now, between barking at the cat and leaping about the boys. He had made friends with Chot almost at once.
"Come on," said Chot, after a while. "This is no fun. That cat won't come down as long as we stay here."
"What'll we do?" asked Rick, who, to tell the truth, was glad his dog had not caught Sallie.
"Let's have your dog chase sticks," suggested Chot.
"Yes, that'll be fun!" agreed Rick.
The boys raced off across the yard, with the reddish-brown setter leaping and barking after them. Ruddy was the kind of a dog known as a "setter"; that is a sort of bird, or hunting, dog.
Rick found a stick, held it up so Ruddy could see it, and then threw it as far as he could, off in the grass.
"Hi! Fetch it back, Ruddy!" called the boy. Ruddy's legs seemed to work on springs as he raced across the yard. It took him only a moment to discover the stick. He located it by smelling, for he could not see it in the deep grass. The stick had a bark smell of its own, but it also had the smell of Rick's hands—the boy-smell that Ruddy had soon come to know so well. Once Ruddy had this smell of his young master well fixed in his wonderful dog's nose, Ruddy never forgot it. And anything that Rick touched, even the sticks and stones that he threw, had, for Ruddy, that wonderful individual smell by which he could tell his master even without seeing him.
And so, throwing sticks for Ruddy to run after and bring back to them, Rick, Ruddy and Chot had fun together.
Not far from Rick's house ran a little stream called Weed River. It really was almost too small for a river, but that is what it was called. There were so many weeds in it, at certain times of the year, that it had been given this name. And, because of the weeds, ducks liked to swim in the river, for ducks eat weeds, and also snails and other small creatures that live on, or among, the grasses under water.
Weed River ran into Silver Lake, on which there were swans, which were like big white geese. And farther off, back of Silver Lake, was a patch of woods. It was in these woods that Rick had let his pet rabbits run away when he grew tired of keeping them.
"We'll throw sticks in the water and Ruddy will bring 'em back to us," proposed Rick.
"Yes," agreed Chot, "and maybe, some day, we can build a raft, and go sailing down the river and into the lake and we can take your dog with us and make believe we're looking for a new land, like it tells about in our school history books."
"I guess there aren't any new lands," said Rick. "They all have been discovered."
"Well, we can make believe to find some, and anyhow it will be fun with your dog," went on Chot. "Come on!"
Ruddy was as ready as anyone to have fun, and now he ran along after the boys, leaping and barking. He had forgotten all about Sallie, the gray cat.
"I can chase her some other time," he said to himself. "That is if I want to. Maybe I'll be friends with her and not chase her. But I guess all dogs have to chase cats."
There was one cat, though, at the place where Ruddy first lived, that neither his father nor his mother had chased. She was quite an old cat, and she would lie down and go to sleep in one of the horse stalls, near the dog's kennel.
"But she was a very old cat, and maybe that's why my father or mother didn't chase her," thought Ruddy. "They used to chase other cats I remember, so I guess I'd better chase Sallie if I get a chance, until she gets a little older, or until I get to know her better. But I won't hurt her."
But, as I said, Ruddy was having too much fun, now, with Rick and Chot to think of cats. The boys gathered up some sticks, and going down to the edge of the river, tossed the bits of wood into the water.
"Go get 'em!" cried Rick to Ruddy.
Just as though he had always known man or boy talk, Ruddy jumped into the stream and swam out. It was not easy, as the weeds were so thick, but he managed to do it, and he brought the sticks back to shore.
"Good boy!" cried Rick, patting his pet on the head.
"He's a fast swimmer," said Chot. "Oh, look! He got me all wet!"
For Ruddy, like all dogs when they come from a swim, had given himself a hard shake. And, as he happened to be near Chot when he did this, Ruddy scattered water from his shaggy coat all over the boy.
"But I don't care—I got on my old clothes," Chot said. "Now let him bring back my club, Rick."
It was Chot's turn to toss a piece of wood into the water, and Ruddy brought that back as quickly as he had brought one back for his master.
Down the river, walking along the bank, the boys hurried toward Silver Lake, and, as it happened, there were a number of ducks feeding at the place where the two bodies of water came together. The ducks belonged to a man who lived near by.
"Bow-wow!" barked Ruddy, as soon as he saw the ducks. "Bow wow!"
Somehow away back in his head was a desire to chase these ducks. Other dogs in Ruddy's family had always raced thus after birds; for he was a setter, or dog that is often used in hunting. And, though Ruddy had never gone hunting, feeling too young up to now, he knew just how to do it. Chasing the cat had been one kind of a hunt, and now here were a lot of queer birds that looked just as if they needed chasing. That would be another hunt.
And so into the water sprang Ruddy, and straight for the tame ducks he rushed, splashing his way along.
"Say, he sure is a smart hunter dog!" cried Chot.
"Yes, but if he chases these tame ducks my mother won't let me keep him," said Rick. "Come on back here, Ruddy! Come back!" he called to his dog. "Leave the ducks alone!"
But Ruddy was too excited over the chase to mind just then. With joyous, eager barks he splashed into the water, and the ducks, though tame, did just what any wild ducks would have done. They scattered with many loud quackings, some even flying, they were so frightened; though a tame duck can not easily use its wings much. But some of these ducks flew up and out of the way.
"Come back here! Come back!" yelled Rick.
And then, more because the ducks were out of his reach than because he heard his master calling, Ruddy came back. Up he came, all wet, his mouth open and his tongue hanging out, and he was panting hard. That is how a dog cools off, or perspires—by opening his mouth and letting his tongue hang out. And that is why, if a dog is muzzled too tightly, it is bad for him. He can not cool off when he is hot.
Shaking the water from his sides and legs, Ruddy jumped up around Rick and Chot, and he barked just as if he were saying:
"There! See what I did! Didn't I scatter those birds fine? Did you see me make 'em fly!"
"You leave those ducks alone!" said Rick to his dog. "Those are tame ducks, not wild ones for you to hunt. Leave 'em alone!"
He spoke rather sharply to Ruddy, and shook his finger at the dog. That is the best way to tell a dog that he has done wrong. Whipping does little good, and is cruel because a dog can not understand what he is beaten for. But a dog knows the tones of his master's voice better than anything else. And when the master speaks as if he were angry the dog knows, and remembers.
"Well, well! This is queer!" thought Ruddy as Rick scolded him. "Here I thought I was doing him a favor by chasing those birds, and he doesn't like it. I can tell by the way he talks that he doesn't like it. I wonder why? Well, I don't want to chase them if he doesn't want me to, though I think it's fun!"
So, with another bark or two, Ruddy gave up racing after the ducks, which, with ruffled feathers and after many frightened quacks, settled down on the water again.
Rick, Ruddy and Chot had lots of fun that afternoon, the boys throwing sticks in the water and the dog bringing them back. Ruddy thought he had never before met two such nice chaps as his master and the latter's chum, and never were there such a nice places as Belemere, Weed River and Silver Lake.
At last it was time for Rick and Chot to go back home. It was nearly the hour for supper. Ruddy knew that as well as the boys did, for the puppy was getting hungry, too.
"I'll be over after supper," called Chot to Rick, as they parted at the gate. "We'll have some more fun with your dog."
Ruddy was tied up in his kennel again. He did not like that very much, but Rick's mother said if the dog were going to be kept he must be made to know his place, especially at mealtime.
"I'll feed him in the same spot at the same hours each day, and he will learn to know when it is time for him to have his breakfast, dinner or supper," said Mrs. Dalton. "Regular habits are as good for a dog as they are for a boy, I should think."
So, though Ruddy did not like it, he was tied up until after Rick and Mazie had eaten their supper. Then Ruddy had his meal, and very good it tasted.
"Now for some more fun!" cried Rick, as Chot came over, and the two boys and the dog played in the yard until it was dark and time to go to bed.
So it was that Ruddy found a new home, and one he liked very much. The next day Mr. Dalton made the old rabbit house over into a fine kennel for Ruddy, and Rick got a collar and chain for his dog, so Ruddy could be made fast when it was needful. Ruddy did not like being chained up, but there were times when it was best for him to be kept from running wherever he liked.
Sig Bailey, the coast guard, came over several times to see Ruddy, and the dog knew him every time. They were good friends.
"I said that was a fine dog, as soon ever as I saw him come ashore on the beach in that storm," said the guard. "And he is a fine dog; isn't he, Rick?"
"He surely is!" declared the boy. "I hope nobody ever comes along and says he's theirs."
"Oh, I don't believe anybody will ever come," spoke Mr. Bailey. "I guess he's your dog to keep now, Rick."
And Rick certainly hoped so.
It was about two weeks after he had become the owner of Ruddy that Rick went, one day, wandering in the woods on the other side of Silver Lake. It was Saturday, when there was no school, and Chot had told Rick he would meet him in the patch of forest. The boys were going to pretend they were hunters, with sticks for guns, and Ruddy for their hunting dog. Ruddy was real, of course, but the guns were make believe.
Rick had been several times to the woods, but he had never gone very far into their somewhat dark depths. To-day, when he had not met Chot soon after getting among the trees, Rick walked on and on, and, the first thing he knew he could see nothing around him but the thick trunks and tangled bushes. All the houses were out of sight, and he could not even find the road, or path, by which he had come in.
"Chot! Chot! Where are you?" cried Rick. "Where are you?"
But the boy he had expected to meet in the woods was not there. Later Rick learned that his chum had been sent on an errand by his mother, and so did not get to the woods at all that day.
"I guess I'd better go back home," said Rick to himself, as he saw how late it was getting. "It'll soon be night. Come on, Ruddy!"
The dog, who was nosing among the leaves under a fallen log, sprang away at his master's voice and trotted along behind Rick.
"We're going home!" Rick said.
"Bow wow!" answered Ruddy, which was as much as to say: "That suits me!"
But, somehow or other, as Rick walked along, he did not seem to be getting any nearer home. The woods had a strange look, and, as he glanced about, a great fear came to him.
"Ruddy," said Rick, with a catch in his voice, "I'm lost!"
Ruddy, the dog, looked up into the face of Rick, the boy. If Ruddy could have talked boy language he would have asked:
"What's the matter? Why are you stopping here instead of running along among the leaves? Come on, have a race! It's lots of fun! Throw a stick and I'll go after it!"
That was what Rick and Ruddy had been doing before Rick began to notice how late it was, or to think about how far he was from home, and to realize that he had not met his chum, Chot. Chot, whose real name was Charlie, was a little older than Rick, and knew his way better in the woods near Weed River and Silver Lake than did Rick.
"Ruddy, I—I guess we're lost," said Rick again.
"Bow-wow!" barked Ruddy. That was all he said that Rick could hear, and, in a way, the boy understood what that talk meant.
It was as if Ruddy had remarked:
"All right! I'm not afraid as long as I'm with you!"
For though often dogs may become frightened, because of some danger, they hardly ever show any sign of fear when they are with their master—be he a boy or man. It was as if the dog felt its master knew everything, and could get him, or any other dog, out of trouble.
And besides barking, Ruddy was talking in a language Rick could not even hear, much less understand, though, later on, he grew to know what his dog meant when he stood with head turned on the side, one ear cocked a little forward and such a sharp look on his face. After he had barked once, to say, in dog talk: "All right!" Ruddy had gone on saying, in his silent, animal way:
"Don't worry, little master, I've been lost lots of times, and I always found myself. Leave it to me! I'll get you home all right!"
But Rick did not know this, and, for a time, Ruddy did not really think that Rick was worried or frightened. The dog had had such fun in the woods, playing with the boy, that he wanted to keep it up. Ruddy wanted to rustle through the dried leaves. He liked to hear the rattling sound they made. He wanted to chase more sticks, but Rick did not throw any.
"Ruddy, which way is home?" asked Rick, as he stood in the woods, and looked about him. "Where do we live?"
Ruddy could not quite get this thought. He looked at Rick, and he saw that his master was now beginning to be troubled. Dogs know when a person is in trouble more often than you think, and they can sympathize, or be sorry, for their master and others. But Ruddy was only a puppy and his thinking-out of things was not as clear as it became afterward. Just now he reasoned perhaps his master wanted to have some fun in a new way.
"Well, if he does," thought Ruddy to himself, "there are lots of games I haven't played with him yet. He doesn't care for chasing cats, so I'll find something else to chase. There are birds in these woods, I'll chase some of them!"
Giving a few short barks, and scrabbling about in the leaves, Ruddy leaped up and down in front of Rick. This was an invitation to come and play tag. Ruddy knew how to give that invitation, and he had often done it. That was one of the first games he had learned to play when he lived in the stable with his father and mother and the other little puppies.
"No, Ruddy," said Rick, as he saw his dog leaping about. "I don't want to do that now. Let's go home, Ruddy! Let's go home! I don't know the way, but maybe you do! Let's go home!"
Ruddy knew what that word "home" meant. Once or twice, when he had been tied up, as Rick and Mazie were about to start for school, the dog had broken loose and run after the master he loved so well. Then Rick would turn about and say, very sternly:
"Go home, Ruddy! Go back home!"
He would point to the house, and, with a sad look and with drooping tail, the red-brown puppy would slink back. He was a good dog to mind, was Ruddy.
But now Rick was using the word "home" in a different way. Ruddy hardly understood. Rick had not spoken sternly. He was asking Ruddy a question—asking him to find the home that, somehow or other, Rick had lost sight of in the woods.
"Let's go home, Ruddy! Let's go home!" said Rick, over and over.
Still Ruddy did not understand. He leaped about, pawing aside the dried leaves. He was trying to find another box tortoise. Once he had uncovered a tortoise in the woods, and Rick had taken it home. That had been a great discovery for Ruddy.
"Maybe I can find another one of those funny, crawling things, that look like a stone, and which pull in their legs, head and tail as soon as I bark at them," thought Ruddy as he pawed among the leaves. "I'll try to find another. Maybe that's what Rick wants."
"No, I don't want anything like that!" said Rick, as he saw what his dog was doing. "No more turtles, Ruddy. Let's go home! I don't know which way it is, or I'd go. I'm all turned around, and if I go the wrong way I'll be more lost than I am now. Where is home, Ruddy?"
Rick was getting more and more uneasy. He was not exactly frightened, for he had often read of people becoming lost and spending a night in the woods.
"I won't mind that so much as long as Ruddy is with me," thought the boy. "But I'd rather be home. Maybe I can make Chot hear me now!"
He called and called again, Ruddy mingling his bark with the voice of his master. And though Rick seemed to call more loudly than did Ruddy, the dog's bark was heard farther. It is said that the bark of a dog can be heard farther than any other sound, and men who have gone up in balloons say that the last sounds that come to them, from the earth below, that seems to be dropping away beneath them, are the barkings of dogs. A dog's bark can be heard several miles.
But though Ruddy's bark was carried farther through the woods than was Rick's calling, those who heard Ruddy's "bow-wows" did not pay any attention to them. A dog barks so often, and so much, that few persons give any heed to it. All barks are alike to them, though there are really several different kinds, and each one means something different in dog language.
"It's no use," said Rick, after he had called aloud and shouted several times. "I guess Chot didn't come, or else he's lost too. We're both lost! I wonder what I can do to get home?"
He sat down on a log. Ruddy came up and put his cold nose close to Rick's face. As plainly as he could the dog was asking:
"What's the matter? Can't I help?"
"I want to go home, Ruddy! I want to go home!" said Rick. If he had been an older boy he might have started off by himself and have tried to find his home. But he was afraid of going the wrong way now. If only Ruddy would lead him!
As for the dog, if he had been by himself he would, as soon as he was ready, have trotted off in the direction of Belemere, and have gone straight to Rick's house. Once a dog has settled himself in a home he can, nearly always, find his way back to it, and sometimes even when he has been taken many miles away, in an automobile or a train. But, just now, Ruddy did not know that Rick wanted to go home.
"I guess he wants me to scare up a bird for him to chase," thought Ruddy, dog-fashion, of course. "That is the kind of fun he wants. There's no fun sitting on a log and doing nothing. I'll chase a bird!"
Several times that day, on their walk through the woods, Ruddy had scrambled among the bushes and frightened out birds who were perched on the low branches of trees. Ruddy was a hunting dog and, in times past, the members of his family had thus driven birds out into the open for hunters to shoot at. Ruddy did not quite understand why Rick did not shoot at these birds. But of course Rick would not do that, even if he had had a gun; which he had not.
"I'll scare up some other birds," said Ruddy to himself. "That's what he must want."
With a cheerful bark, he plunged in among the bushes. Several birds flew out, and Ruddy barked all the louder. But instead of chasing after these fluttering creatures, as the dog expected he would, Rick sat on the log.
"Bow-wow!" barked Ruddy.
That meant, as plainly as he could say it:
"Come on! Help me catch a bird!"
"No! None of that," said Rick. "We must go home, Ruddy. Where is home, Ruddy?"
It took the dog some little time to find out what his master really wanted, and then it came to Ruddy in a flash. But perhaps it was more because the dog, himself, was getting hungry, and knew it was time for his supper to be given him in his kennel. He knew where that was, of course. That was "home" to him, and now he began to feel that it was time to go there.
Ruddy circled about in the leaves. His nose was close to the ground, and many smells came to him. Here a rabbit had leaped along, and over there a squirrel had jumped to the ground after a nut that had fallen from a tree. Ruddy knew these smells very well indeed, and another time he would have followed them along until he had come to where the rabbit was in his burrow, or the squirrel was perched high in some hollow tree.
But Ruddy had something else to do now. He was smelling among the leaves to catch the scent that led back along the way he and Rick had come—the trail back home—that is what Ruddy was smelling for. In a few moments it came to him. He knew he could find it when he wanted it, and here it was—through the clump of pines, down past where the willows drooped over the brook, up the hill, down a little hollow and then out on the road past Silver Lake and Weed River—that was the way home.
Ruddy knew it, even if Rick did not. With a bark the dog began to lead the way.
"Bow-wow!" he said again, and this time it was quite a different bark. It was as if he said:
"Come along, Master! Now I know what you want! Home, of course! I'll lead you home. I know the path very well!"
Ruddy ran on ahead a little way and then turned around and waited for Rick to come to him. This time the boy understood. His dog was not playing in the leaves now, flushing birds or digging for turtles.
"Home, Ruddy! Home!" said Rick.
And straight toward home Ruddy led Rick.
As the two walked on, Ruddy keeping a little ahead all the while, it grew darker. Night was fast settling down, though it would be lighter once they were out from among the trees. As they neared the edge of the woods Rick halted and looked about.
"Maybe Chot is in here, and he may be lost, too," he thought. "I'd better call him."
So he did, and Ruddy joined in with loud barks, but the other boy did not answer. As Rick learned, later, Chot had not gone to the woods at all. So, after waiting a bit, and calling once or twice, Ruddy helping, Rick walked on with his dog.
Suddenly, as they were nearing a path, which Rick remembered now as the one he had followed into the woods, Ruddy, with a loud bark, sprang toward something that fluttered among the low branches of a tree.
A black object flew out, uttering a loud:
"Haw! Haw! Haw!"
"A crow!" cried Rick. "It's a crow!"
And so it was. Again sounded the loud:
"Haw! Haw! Haw!"
Crows really utter that cry, rather than "Caw!" as most persons think. Listen the next time you hear crows, and see if this is not so.
"Bow-wow!" barked the dog.
"Haw! Haw!" croaked the crow.
It fluttered on through the bushes and then fell to the ground.
"Its wing is broken!" cried Rick. "Somebody must have shot it, and it can't fly!"
With an eager bark Ruddy rushed toward the bird which was scrabbling around among the leaves in a little hollow on the ground. The crow seemed to be all tired out, and could not even flutter now. Rick cried aloud:
"Don't kill it, Ruddy! Don't kill it!"
He rushed up to save the black bird, hardly knowing why he was doing it, for he had been told, with truth, that crows eat the eggs of other, and better birds, as well as destroy the farmer's corn.
"Maybe I can tame this crow and get him to talk," said Rick. "Down, Ruddy! Down!"
The dog knew what this meant. He stopped barking; he stopped trying to bite the crow, and stood off to one side. Careful to keep his hands away from the sharp, strong beak, Rick picked up the crow. It was a young one, and a drooping wing showed it was hurt.
"You're going to be my crow!" said Rick. "I'll call you Haw-Haw, and take you home. Ruddy, don't hurt this crow! I'm going to tame him!"
He held the black bird out in his hands for Ruddy to look at.
"Haw! Haw!" the crow cried, rather feebly.
"Bow-wow!" barked Ruddy.
Perhaps they were talking to one another in that mysterious animal language. At any rate Ruddy seemed to understand what Rick had said, and never after that did he try to hurt Haw-Haw. As for the crow—well, I'll tell you more about him presently.
"Now we got to go home, Ruddy," said Rick. "Mother will be worried about me. We got to go home!"
And Ruddy, holding his head on one side, looked at Rick and at Haw-Haw and then, with a short bark, led the way out of the woods, and along the path to Belemere.
"Now we're all right," said Rick to himself. "I'm not lost any more, and I've got a new pet! I wonder if you'll talk?" he asked the crow with the broken wing.
Rick and Ruddy tramped together along the path that led out of the woods, Rick carrying the crow, which he had already named Haw-Haw. The black bird, wild at first when the boy had taken it up, was now more quiet, as Rick held it under one arm. But Rick could feel its heart beating fast beneath the glossy feathers.
Ruddy trotted along, now and then looking up at his master, as if trying to guess what it was all about. Perhaps the setter was wondering if Rick, in caring for this new, strange pet, would no longer go on romps and tramps in the woods with the dog who so loved to be among the trees and the dried leaves, looking for birds.
It was the nature of Ruddy to hunt birds, not for himself but for whoever was his master. So, in a way, it seemed perfectly right for Rick to be taking home this bird, even if it was only a crow.
Ruddy was an Irish setter, one of the three varieties of setter dogs much used for hunting. Ruddy's coat was like his name, a rich dark red in color. The Gordon setter has a black coat, marked with dark brown, and the English setter is nearly white, with mottled spots of different color.
A hundred years ago, when men used to spread nets to catch birds, when they could not shoot them because they had not then the right kind of guns, dogs like Ruddy were used to help the hunters. The setters were taught to go in the underbrush, find the game birds, come to a "point"—that is point their noses toward where they saw the quail, grouse or pheasants, and then the dogs crouched down, or "set," as the English hunters called it. That is how the "setter" dog got its name. It would "set," or lie down low, in the grass, so the net of the hunter could be thrown over its head to enmesh the half-hidden birds.
Ruddy had never helped hunt birds with a net, but, years back, his ancestors had, and the name clung to him. So, also, did the love of hunting in the woods. To chase birds, to bark at them, to love to see them scurry away as he ran toward them was as natural to Ruddy as it is natural for a bulldog to hold fast to whatever he gets between his jaws.
And so, as Ruddy walked along beside Rick, the red setter was thinking:
"Well, my master caught one bird, anyhow. That is doing very well for a starter. Maybe to-morrow we shall go to the woods again, and I'll find more birds for him to catch."
For, really, if it had not been that Ruddy frightened the crow into fluttering off the branch where it had taken refuge, after being shot, Rick might never have found it.
"Dear me! Where have you been?" cried Rick's mother, as he came marching into the yard, carrying the crow and followed by Ruddy.
"I was off in the woods," answered the boy. "And I was lost, but Ruddy showed me the way home."
"Lost! Oh, Rick! You mustn't go to the woods alone and get lost!"
"I wasn't alone," he answered. "Ruddy was with me. I can't get lost with him. He always will know the way back, I guess. But I didn't see Chot."
"No, he came, after you had gone, to say he couldn't meet you in the woods," said Mrs. Dalton. "I thought you would come right back when you didn't find him. You stayed so long that I was getting afraid. I was just going to send your father after you."
"I was afraid myself," spoke Rick. "But Ruddy is a good dog. He didn't know what I meant first, when I told him to go home, after I couldn't tell where the path was. But, after a while, he knew what I said and he led me straight."
"What you got?" asked Mazie, seeing the black, feathered creature in her brother's hands.
"It's a crow. Ruddy found it and I picked it up before he could bite it. Its wing is broken but maybe we can fix it. I'm going to teach it to talk."
"Crows don't talk—only parrots," said Mazie.
"Yes, they do—don't crows talk?" asked Rick of his father, who came out in the yard just then.
"Yes, I have heard them say a few words, and also whistle," said Mr. Dalton. "Not all of them talk as well as do parrots, but you can understand some of the things crows say."
"You have to slit their tongues to make 'em talk," went on Rick. "Chot Benson told me so. He doesn't know I got this crow, but I'll tell him after supper. Maybe he knows how to cut their tongues."
"No, you mustn't cut the crow's tongue," said Mr. Dalton. "It is a cruel superstition to say that slitting a crow's tongue makes it talk. Not all crows can say words, but those that do, will say them just as well with a whole tongue as with one cut down the middle. Leave your crow's tongue alone, Rick, if you are going to keep him."
"Oh, I'm going to keep him!" declared the boy. "I'm going to have him for a pet same as I have Ruddy. But I'm glad I don't have to slit his tongue. Do you think you can fix his broken wing, Daddy?"
"Well, perhaps we can put it in splints so the bones will grow together," answered his father. "But I'm afraid the crow will never fly again. It may be able to flutter about, and it surely can walk, for its legs are all right," said Mr. Dalton, as he took the black bird from Rick. "But its flying days are over."
"Then it won't fly away from me," said the boy. "I'll make a nest for it in the woodshed, and then I'll teach it to talk."
"That may take you a long time," said his father, "and this may be the sort of crow that never says any words. But you can try."
"And now it's time for supper," exclaimed Rick's mother. "It has been waiting long enough, and it's almost dark."
"Ruddy wants his supper, too," said his master.
"Tie him up and I'll feed him after I feed you," promised Mrs. Dalton with a laugh. Though not very fond of dogs she was beginning to love Rick's pet that had come to him out of the ocean, and Ruddy knew how to appreciate the kindness of his master's mother in giving him clean food and water, and choice bones to gnaw when he had nothing else to do.
The crow was put in a box filled with soft, dried grass. A tin can of water was hung on the side, so Haw-Haw could reach it without knocking it over. And then he was left to himself in the woodshed. Ruddy was tied in his kennel, and he stretched out with his muzzle between his forepaws, thinking over what had happened that day. It had been one filled with delight and adventures, and Ruddy was wishing, with all his warm, dog's heart, for another day like it.
To Rick the great adventure had been getting lost, but this, to Ruddy, was nothing. The dog had not been lost at all. He knew his way back home all the while.
While Rick, Mazie and the others were eating supper, and Rick was telling all that had happened, and how he found Haw-Haw, his dog lay out in the kennel. It was a soft, warm evening, one of the sort that come in Indian Summer, and Ruddy was sniffing many odors that reached his sharp nose.
Suddenly he smelled—cat. Quickly his head was raised. Yes, there was a cat who had leaped up on the back fence. It was Sallie from next door. For a moment Ruddy had a wild notion of springing up and chasing after Sallie as he had done that first day he came to live with Rick. Then, as the dog felt the collar about his neck, and as the chain by which he was fastened to the kennel gave a rattle, he knew that it would have been of no use to get up. The chain would stop him after he had gone a few feet.
Ruddy settled back on the ground. The cat—having heard the dog's chain rattle, and knowing the setter could not get her (for Sallie was a wise cat)—did not run away as fast as she had run the other time. Nor did she climb a tree.
Sallie just walked along the fence, to see another cat perhaps, and Ruddy stretched out, sniffing the many odors that came to his fine, sharply-pointed nose. The cat smell passed away with the night wind.
Suddenly, as it grew darker, to the nose of the dog came another smell. It was a smell that made him leap up with a deep growl in his throat. It was the smell Ruddy did not like, for it brought back to him the memory of a man who had been cruel to him—a man who had beaten and kicked him—who had filled his puppy days with misery.
And now, on the soft airs of the autumn night that terrible man-smell came to Ruddy. He stood up, sniffed again and again, and the growl in his throat became deeper. And to Ruddy there also came the sound of someone walking softly around the yard fence—the footsteps of a man who did not want to be discovered.
The setter leaped to the length of his chain and his growl became a bark. Rick, who was coming out of the house after supper, heard this, and hastened to his dog's kennel. He heard Ruddy rumbling in his throat.
"What's the matter, old fellow? Why are you growling?" asked Rick. Of course the different smells on the night air meant nothing to him. Though a boy's nose is very good for smelling a pie baking in the oven, or, in camp for whiffing the delicious odor of bacon and coffee, a boy's nose is not sharp enough to smell all a dog can smell.
"What's the matter, Ruddy?" asked Rick again. "Why are you growling?"
Of course Ruddy could not speak boy talk, and so he could not tell what had disturbed him, but he kept on growling.
"If it's a tramp trying to sneak around the house, go drive him away!" ordered Rick.
He loosened the dog's chain and the animal with another bark and growl, darted away in the darkness. Then Rick became fearful lest his new pet should get into danger.
"Come back, Ruddy! Come back!" called the boy.
Ruddy was following that hated odor that lay on the still, night air. He smelled it more plainly now, showing that he was coming nearer to it the farther he went from his new kennel house. Rick was now some distance back.
And then, near a dark clump of bushes, Ruddy came to a sudden stop. The alarming man-smell came from there. Someone was hiding in the bushes—someone Ruddy hated and feared. Again the dog growled.
And then a voice fairly growled back in answer—the voice of a man hidden in the bushes, and angry words were muttered. They were words Ruddy had heard before, and they had often been followed by a blow or a kick.
Ruddy did not want to be hurt again, and so he decided it would be best not to go any nearer that bush. He growled once more, sniffed the air to make sure of the smell, and turned back. Rick was following.
"What is it? What's the matter, old fellow? Why are you growling?" asked Rick, but Ruddy could not answer, and the boy could neither see nor smell anything in the darkness.
The man in the bushes did not stir. Perhaps he had gone to sleep. Ruddy did not know. And then, with a final growl, the dog turned away and, looking up and back to where he dimly saw Rick's form, he followed the boy.
But once, and once again, Ruddy turned, looked back toward the clump of bushes, and growled low and fiercely.
"Was it a tramp or a cat?" asked Rick. "Well, if it's a cat it doesn't much matter. And if it's a tramp, maybe he'll know I have a dog, and I guess he won't come too close to our house. Tramps don't like dogs."
And if it had been light, and if Rick and Ruddy had looked back then, they would have seen, peering out from the screen of the bush, an ugly face. It was the face of a ragged man, and the man, as he saw in the darkness the dog and boy moving away, muttered:
"He nearly smelled me out! Wonder what kind of a dog that was? Looked something like the one I want. Well, I can tell better in the mornin'. This is a good place to sleep." And he curled up again.
Several times more Ruddy growled down in his throat, and then something came that made him forget the man in the bush. The man whose smell he so well remembered.
With Ruddy leaping and barking about him, Rick got a lantern and went to look at the broken-winged crow in the woodshed. The black bird did not seem to have moved since it had nestled down amid the soft grass in the box, over which a wire screen had been placed to keep Haw-Haw from fluttering out.
"To-morrow I will mend your broken wing," said Rick, as he looked at his new pet.
Ruddy, forgetting for the time being about the man smell that came from the bush, stood with head on one side looking wonderingly toward the box where the crow nestled.
"I must fix it so Ruddy won't hurt Haw-Haw by mistake," said Rick. "Look here, old fellow," he said to his dog, and tapping the edge of the box, at which sound the crow moved uneasily. "Look here, Ruddy! You mustn't hurt Haw-Haw. Let him alone! He is my crow and he and you and I are going to be friends. Don't hurt this black bird!"
Ruddy whined. He did not quite understand. Something inside him made him want to take this feathered creature in his mouth and carry it somewhere, as the dogs of his family carried birds from the hunting field. And this was the hunting instinct Ruddy felt. But he knew he must also mind his young master. If Rick said not to touch the crow, the crow must not be touched. And so Ruddy made up his mind he would obey his young master.
The dog followed the boy out of the woodshed, and the crow was left alone, which was the best thing for the bird at present. Its heart did not beat so wildly when Rick and Ruddy had gone.
"Come on, Ruddy!" called Rick to his dog. "We'll go over and see Chot! I'll tell him how I got lost and found a crow!"
Ruddy was always ready to go anywhere with Rick, and especially over to Chot's house. For next door to Rick's chum lived Tom Martin, whose dog and Ruddy had become great friends. This other dog's name was Peter, and he was a bull terrier, a white dog, with ears like a bat, and queer, sleepy-looking eyes that gave his long face rather a foolish expression. But Peter was a brave dog, and loved his master as much as Ruddy loved Rick. So the two dogs played together, while Rick and Chot talked on the back steps in the soft, warm, fall darkness.
Ruddy was much larger than Peter, and it was all Peter could do, when Ruddy held his head high, to get hold of one of Ruddy's ears to pull it. But often Peter did this, and then the two dogs would roll over and over in the grass, pretending to bite one another, but, of course, not really doing it.
"I'm sorry you got lost," said Chot to Rick. "I didn't know you would go so far in the woods if I wasn't there."
"I didn't mean to," spoke Rick. "But I just kept going. But I'll never get lost, now, with Ruddy. He'll bring me home."
"Yes, Ruddy is a good dog."
Hearing his name spoken Ruddy left his play with Peter, and came running to his master, laying his muzzle, or nose, on the boy's knee, and looking up into his face as if to ask:
"What do you want?"
"I didn't call you," said Rick. "But I guess it's time to go home. Come on over and see Haw-Haw, my crow, to-morrow, Chot."
"I will. I hope he gets to talking."
"So do I!"
Rick and Ruddy raced home together, and soon both were asleep, Rick in his little white bed, and Ruddy out in his kennel, ready to bark if a strange footfall should be heard around the house. For though Ruddy could not see in the dark, even as well as he could in the daytime, which was little enough, his hearing and smelling were perhaps better after dark than in daylight. He would know the moment a stranger came within hearing, or smelling, distance of the house he now called home.
Again and again Ruddy sniffed the night air, during the hours of darkness for any trace of the hated man odor he had smelled. But it did not again come to his nose. Perhaps the wind had changed, for dogs, and most animals, can not smell persons, or other animals, if the wind is blowing away from them. When the wind blows from the animal or person to the dog, then the dog can smell very well indeed.
Or perhaps the ugly-faced man under the bush had gone away after the dog had growled. Ruddy did not know what it was, but he did know that the odor he disliked came to him no more. But he was on the alert for the noise of a strange footstep, or the least whiff of a new smell.
Mr. Dalton came from the office earlier next day, and with the help of Rick and Chot bound up the crow's broken wing. It was wound about with soft strips of cloth close to the glossy, black feathers of the bird's body.
"There," said Rick's father. "I think the wing will mend, even if Haw-Haw can not use it to fly again. Now we'll give him something to eat, and fresh water, and leave him alone. He's frightened half to death, for he doesn't know yet that we are trying to be kind to him."
Some scraps of meat were given Haw-Haw and he seemed to like them. He nestled down in his box, and there he had to stay for many days, until his broken wing healed, as it did after a while, though not so he could fly with it. He could only flutter lamely about the yard.
Meanwhile Rick and Ruddy had many good times. When he did not have to go to school, the boy went on long walks with his dog, sometimes down to the beach, and again back in the woods or along the river or lake.
On Silver Lake were a number of swans. They had been bought by the town of Belemere to make the place attractive for summer visitors, and in winter the birds were put in shelters. But now they were still in the open, swimming about the lake, and sometimes in the river, from which they ate the weeds.
Ruddy did not understand these swans. To him they were a sort of goose. But a swan is much larger than a goose and it has powerful wings. It is said a swan can break a man's arm with a sweep of the wing, but I am not sure this is so. At any rate swans defend themselves with their bills, which can nip splinters off a wooden plank, and with their strong wings they can deal hard blows.
Whenever Ruddy could slip away from Rick, the dog used to love to chase these swans. He would rush at them barking loudly, if he saw them preening their feathers, or asleep on the bank of the lake. Then, with wild hissings, the big, white birds would dash for the water. Sometimes they would turn on Ruddy, and almost strike him with their wings. But most times Rick called his dog back as soon as Ruddy made a dash for the half-tame water fowls. Thus there never had been a real fight between the swans and the dog.
But one day Rick was called back by his mother after he had started for a romp with Ruddy, and the dog went on alone by himself for a while. He approached the lake and there, asleep on the bank, were two swans.
"Bow-wow!" barked Ruddy, making a sudden rush. He expected the white creatures would dash into the water, but they seemed to have made up their minds that they had stood the dog's nonsense long enough. With loud hisses they both turned and with outstretched necks, with open bills, with fluttering and spread wings they flew at Ruddy.
Few dogs would have been brave enough to stand in the face of these strange enemies. Even a bulldog might have turned tail, as Ruddy certainly did.
Away ran the dog and after him ran the swans. The big, white birds could really travel quite fast, even on land, for they used their wings to help themselves along, just as an ostrich half runs and half flies, which makes him as speedy as some horses.
With hisses and flappings of their wings, the swans pursued Ruddy, and if Rick had seen them after his dog he could easily have guessed what the swans were saying to one another.
"We might as well settle this matter once and for all," one swan might have said.
"I agree with you," the mate probably hissed in answer. "We have no peace or quietness at all, with this dog chasing us at unexpected times. Let's teach him a lesson!"
And that is what they were trying to do—teach Ruddy a lesson. The swans wanted to make Ruddy afraid of them, so he would no longer chase them.
When a cat, I don't mean Sallie, especially, but any cat, wants to teach a dog a lesson, and cause him to fear her, so he will no longer chase her, the cat turns, arches up her back, makes her tail as large as she can, hisses at the dog and scratches his nose if possible. A cat seems to understand that a dog's nose is his most tender spot, as indeed it is. A dog really hates to have his nose scratched as it bothers him, hurts him and prevents him from smelling his best, and on a dog's scent, or sense of smell, nearly everything depends.
But swans can't scratch. They can pinch with their yellow bills, or, if they are black swans, with their red beaks. And they can deal hard blows with their powerful wings.
And as Ruddy raced along the shore, back toward where he had left Rick, the dog tucked his tail between his hind legs to keep it out of the way. Next to a dog's nose his tail is his most tender part.
Ruddy did not want his tail pinched, or nipped, but that is just what happened. One of the swans managed to get close to the dog, who was running away as fast as he could, and, catching the setter's tail in his strong beak, gave it a hard bite.
My, how Ruddy howled! He howled more than once, and then he ran so fast and hard that he pulled his tail out of the swan's beak. Ruddy was loose. The swan had done what he hoped to do.
Then the first swan, and all the others, stopped chasing Ruddy. They spread wide their wings to act as brakes, just as an airship man pulls down the tail rudder of his aeroplane to make it travel over the ground more slowly when he has made a landing. Birds, too, when they alight after a fly, spread wide their tails. Just watch them some time.
Then, having, as they hoped, taught Ruddy a lesson, so he would not tease them again, the swans waddled back to the lake.
The setter dog had a queer expression on his face. He held his head on one side, one long, silky ear was cocked up and Ruddy seemed very much surprised by what had happened. In fact he appeared very much ashamed of himself, and animals can be ashamed just as much as can boys or girls. If you have ever seen a cat, sleeping on the edge of a chair, and, perhaps while she was dreaming of something, suddenly slip off to the floor, you know what I mean. The cat is ashamed of having fallen out of bed. It was this way with Ruddy. He was ashamed of having run away from the swans.
"I wonder what other dogs would think of me if they knew I had run away from a bird?" mused Ruddy. "But of course they were the largest birds I ever saw. I never knew before that birds chased dogs. I thought dogs always chased birds."
You see Ruddy was learning.
Of course Ruddy did not know all there was to be known about birds—that there are some, like eagles and condors, that can pick a big dog up in their claws, or talons, and fly away with him. And Ruddy did not know that there are some birds, like the ostrich or the emu, who are taller than any dog. Ruddy had much to learn, you see, and, just now, he was a little ashamed of himself.
"I wonder," thought Ruddy, in animal fashion, of course, "I wonder what some of the older dogs who used to live in the stable with me would say if they had seen me now? I ran away from some bird! A queer thing to happen to a dog! I wonder what other dogs would say?"
But I think Ruddy need not have been ashamed. Almost any dog would have run, and turned tail if several big swans had rushed at him. And never after that did the red setter bother the great white birds on the lake. They had taught him a lesson he never forgot.
The days that followed were happy ones for Rick and Ruddy. The boy and dog grew to love each other more and more, and Mrs. Dalton was not sorry the setter had come to live with them. No dog could be more gentle with Mazie, who loved Ruddy as much as did her brother.
One day, when Sig Bailey, the coast guard, was sitting outside the life-saving station, making a little boat from a piece of wood, he saw a shadow in front of him—a shadow cast on the beach by the bright October sun. The life guard looked up and saw, standing before him, a ragged man on whose face grew scraggily whiskers—not a good, proper beard, but whiskers as though the man ought to have shaved but had been too lazy—or else had not had a chance. If the guard had known, this was the same man Ruddy had smelled and rumbled at.
"Mornin' mate!" growled the ragged man, as he rubbed his rough, scraggy, stubby chin. "Can you give me somethin' to eat?"
Sig looked at the man closely and then answered slowly:
"Well, I guess maybe I can ask the captain to. He's boss here. I'm only one of the crew."
"Regular ship rules you have around here; eh?" asked the man.
"Something like that—yes," answered Sig. "In winter we all live here at the station, and the captain is in charge. In the summer I live inland, and come on duty at night. But the full crew is here now and—well, I'll see if I can get you anything. Sit down."
The ragged man sat down on the bench outside the coast guard station, while Sig went to find the captain.
Besides the house in which the captain, his wife and the crew lived at the Belemere life-saving station, there was another building in which was stored the motor life-boat, and other things, by means of which passengers and crews were taken off vessels that might go ashore on the beach.
Some of the crew were working about the boat now—painting her and others were looking over the ropes and the bomb-gun by which a line is shot out to a vessel when it is too rough to use the boat. The captain was in the cottage writing out some reports he had to send to Washington.
"There's a man outside who wants something to eat," said Sig to Captain White.
"What sort of a man is he?"
"Looks like a tramp, but I guess he's been a sailor to judge by his walk."
"Oh, well, we can't turn anyone away hungry; eh, Mother?" he asked his wife, who was busy in the kitchen.
"I can give him a plate of beef stew," she answered.
"Guess that would just about fit in his locker," spoke Sig, with a grin. "I'll take it out to him."
And presently the wanderer was gratefully eating the hot bowl of stew as he sat on the bench beside Sig, who had again started work on making the boat. Sig was going to give the boat to Rick when it was finished.
"Live around here?" asked the life guard of the tramp.
"No. Just drifted in. I've had hard luck ever since I lost my dog."
"Lost your dog!" exclaimed Sig, and a queer feeling came into his heart. "What kind of a dog did you have?"
"He was sort of reddish—a setter I guess he was. Got washed overboard one night just about off this coast I reckon. We were wrecked ourselves right after that, and I haven't had any luck since. I figger I lost my luck when I lost my dog. Wish I could get him back!"
Sig looked sharply at the ragged man. Could he be after Ruddy?
Eagerly and hungrily the ragged man ate the bowl of meat and broth. Sig watched him until he had finished and set the bowl down on the bench beside him.
"Yes, I've had bad luck ever since I lost my dog," half growled the ragged man. "I found the dog—he was living in an ash barrel down where I stayed near the dock. I took him on the boat with me for luck. Nice little pup he was—sort of brown in color—a dark red. I took him along for luck, but I didn't have any."
"Didn't you?" asked Sig. He was doing some hard thinking. Only that morning he had seen Rick and Ruddy racing along the beach together, and it was hard to say which was the happier—the dog or the boy.
"No, I didn't have any luck," went on the ragged sailor, who was not half as pretty to look at as the flower of that name. "I took that pup with me when I went on the Mary Jane—that was the name of the schooner. But a storm came up—right when we got off this coast. I was nearly washed overboard myself, and the pup was—completely. I guess he was drowned. No dog could live in that storm. He couldn't get ashore."
The life guard did not answer. He was not sure that Ruddy was the dog the tramp had taken along "for luck" as he said. And it would not be fair to Rick or Ruddy to send this man—this ragged sailor—to see if he could claim the red pup. Sig shook his head.
"We did have a bad storm early in September," he said. "Regular north-easter. I didn't see any wreck around here, though."
"Well, the schooner wasn't exactly wrecked—at least not then," went on the ragged man. "But my dog was washed overboard—a red pup he was, and I haven't had any luck since. After the storm our boat got leaking, and we had to put in. I lost my place on the Mary Jane and I haven't had any work since—that is not regular work. No luck at all. Maybe if I could find that dog I'd have luck again. But I don't see him around here."
"No, we haven't any dogs," said Sig. And again he made up his mind to say nothing about Ruddy. After all it might not be the same dog. Besides, this man did not look as though he would be kind to dogs, and no one has a right to own a dog, or any other animal, unless he is kind.
"Much obliged for the soup," said the ragged sailor, as he got up from the bench. "I feel better now. Maybe I'll have some luck after this."
"I hope so," spoke Sig, as kindly as he could.
"Maybe I'll find my dog," went on the wayfarer. "Guess I'll look around this village a bit. It's right about off shore here that he was washed overboard. He might have swum to land, though I doubt it. But I'll look around. I think I'd have better luck if I could have my dog!"
He slouched off down the beach, talking to himself. Sig watched him go. The life guard had forgotten the boat he was whittling out of a block of wood.
"It may be the dog Rick has," said Sig to himself. "But I'm not going to tell that man. He'd take Ruddy away if I did, and he hasn't any right to him. That man would be cruel to a dog, I know. I'll just slip up and tell Rick to keep Ruddy chained up for a day or two. It isn't likely this tramp will find Ruddy, but he might. I'll go tell Rick."
And that afternoon, when he had a little time to himself, the coast guard went up to the village and called on Rick.
"Where's Ruddy?" asked Sig.
There was something so strange in his voice that the boy looked up quickly and asked:
"You haven't come to take him away; have you? You don't want him back, do you, just 'cause you found him when he come out of the ocean?"
"No, I'm not going to take Ruddy away from you," answered Sig; "but another man might. Listen, Rick! I saw a tramp to-day. He once had a reddish dog, for luck, as he said, and the dog was washed overboard. Now I'll tell you what to do."
Sig told the story of the hungry, ragged sailor who sat on the bench eating the bowl of beef stew. And Sig told how the tramp-man was going to look around to see if he could find the dog he had lost.
"Keep Ruddy chained up!" half-whispered the coast guard.
"I will!" said Rick in a low voice, and he looked over his shoulder as if, even then, the man with the scraggy beard on his face might be coming along, looking for Ruddy.
And so the setter pup, for the next three days, was kept in his kennel, or only allowed to run out at night when Rick held him on a leash. Ruddy did not like it. He whined and barked to be set free, so he might run where he pleased. But Rick, looking into the brown eyes said:
"No, Ruddy; you must stay close to the house these days. I don't want to lose you. No ragged sailor tramp is going to get you!"
Ruddy had understood there was some need to keep quiet, even as his dog ancestors had known the need of quiet when their masters were hunting in the woods. And so though the days were long and unhappy ones, Ruddy stayed close to his kennel.
Meanwhile the ragged sailor wandered about the town, looking at the different dogs he met. Perhaps if he had found one that he could have picked up and taken away he would have done so. But all the dogs growled at the sight of him, and showed their teeth. Dogs, as a rule, do not like ragged men; though no matter how old are the clothes their master wears, it makes no difference. But that is another story.
"Yes, I lost my luck when I lost that dog," growled the tramp, as he slunk away. "But I guess he never got ashore. He was lost in the ocean, I reckon. I'll have to get another mascot dog for luck."
Then he slunk out of town, and, for a time, Ruddy was safe. But Rick did not let his dog run free until after he had talked to the life guard again.
"I guess the tramp has gone away," Sig said. "I haven't seen him around, though I did the first day after Captain White's wife gave him the bowl of stew. I guess he's gone. It will be safe to let Ruddy have a run."