Man and dog landed at Castle Garden a half century ago. From that time on, as for three hundred years earlier, no member of the Mackellar family was without a collie; the best and wisest to be found.
Evolution narrowed the heads and lightened the stocky frames of these collies, as the decades crawled past.
Evolution changed the successive generations of Mackellars not at all, except to rub smoother their Highland6 burr and to make them serve America as ardently7 as ever their forefathers9 had served Scotland. But not one of them lost his hereditary10 love for the dog of the moors.
Which brings us by degrees to Jamie Mackellar, grandson 144of the emigrating Angus. Jamie was twenty-eight. His tough little body was so meagrely spare that his big heart and bigger soul were almost indecently exposed. For the rest, his speech still held an occasional word or two of handed-down ancestral dialect. In moments of excitement these inherited phrases came thicker; and with them a tang of Scots accent.
Jamie lived in the cheapest suburb of Midwestburg, and in one of the suburb’s cheapest houses. But the house had a yard. And the yard harboured a glorious old collie, a rare prize winner in his day. The house in front of the yard, by the way, harboured Jamie’s Yorkshire wife and their two children, Elspeth and Donald.
Jamie divided his home time between the house and the open. So—after true Highland fashion—did the collie.
There were long rambles11 in the forests and the wild half-cleared land beyond the suburb; walks that meant as much to Jamie as to the dog, after the Scot had been driving a contractor’s truck six days of the week for a monthly wage of seventy-five dollars.
Now, on seventy-five dollars a month many a family lives in comfort. But the sum leaves scant12 margin13 for the less practical luxuries of life. And in a sheepless and law-abiding region a high-quality collie is a nonpractical luxury. Yet Jamie would almost as soon have thought of selling one of his thick-legged children as of accepting any of the several good offers made him for the beautiful dog which had been his chum for so many years, the dog whose prize ribbons and cups from a score of local shows made gay the trophy14 corner of the Mackellar kitchen-parlour.
Then, on a late afternoon,—when the grand old collie was galloping15 delightedly across the street to meet his home-returning master,—a delivery motor car, driven by 145a speed-drunk boy, whizzed around the corner on the wrong side of the way.
The big dog died as he had lived—gallantly and without a whine16. Gathering17 himself up from the muck of the road he walked steadfastly18 forward to meet the fast-running Mackellar. As Jamie bent19 down to search the mired20 body for injuries, the collie licked his master’s dear hand, shivered slightly and fell limp across the man’s feet.
When the magistrate21 next morning heard that a mouth-foaming22 little Scot had sprung upon the running board of a delivery car and had hauled therefrom a youth of twice his size and had hammered the said youth into 100 per cent. eligibility23 for a hospital cot, he listened gravely to the other side of the story and merely fined Jamie one dollar.
The released prisoner returned with bent head and barked knuckles24 to a house which all at once had been left unto him desolate25. For the first time in centuries a Mackellar was without a collie.
During the next week the Midwestburg Kennel27 Association’s annual dog show was held at the Fourth Regiment28 Armory29. This show was one of the banner events of the year throughout Western dog circles. Its rich cash specials and its prestige even drew breeders from the Atlantic States to exhibit thereat the best their kennels30 afforded.
Thither31, still hot and sore of heart, fared Jamie Mackellar. Always during the three days of the Midwestburg dog show Jamie took a triple holiday and haunted the collie section and the ringside. Here more than once his dead chum had won blue ribbon and cash over the exhibits from larger and richer kennels. And at such times Jamie Mackellar had rejoiced with a joy that was too big for words, and which could express itself only in a furtive32 hug of his collie’s shaggy ruff.
146To-day, as usual, Jamie entered the barnlike armory among the very first handful of spectators. To his ears the reverberant33 clangour of a thousand barks was as battle music; as it echoed from the girdered roof and yammered incessantly34 on the eardrums.
As ever, he made his way at once to the collie section. A famous New York judge was to pass upon this breed. And there was a turnout of nearly sixty collies; including no less than five from the East. Four of these came from New Jersey36; which breeds more high-class collies than do any three other states in the union.
It was Jamie’s rule to stroll through the whole section, for a casual glance over the collies, before stopping at any of the benches for a closer appraisal37. But to-day he came to a halt, before he had traversed the first row of stalls. His pale-blue eyes were riveted38 on a single dog.
Lying at lazily majestic39 ease on the straw of a double-size bench was a huge dark-sable40 collie. Full twenty-six inches high at the shoulder and weighing perhaps seventy-five pounds, this dog gave no hint of coarseness or of oversize. He was moulded as by a super-sculptor. His well-sprung ribs41 and mighty42 chest and leonine shoulders were fit complements43 to the classically exquisite44 yet splendidly strong head.
His tawny45 coat was as heavy as a bison’s mane. The outer coat—save where it turned to spun46 silk, on the head—was harsh and wavy47. The under coat was as impenetrably soft as the breast of an eider duck. From gladiator shoulders the gracefully48 powerful body sloped back to hips49 which spoke51 of lightning speed and endurance. The tulip ears had never known weights or pincers. The head was a true wedge, from every viewpoint. The deep-set dark eyes were unbelievably perfect in expression and placment.
147Here was a collie! Here was a dog whose sheer perfection made Jamie Mackellar catch his breath for wonder, and then begin pawing frantically52 at his show catalogue. He read, half aloud:
729: Lochinvar Kennels. CHAMPION LOCHINVAR KING. Lochinvar Peerless—Lochinvar Queen
Followed the birth date and the words “Breeder owner.”
Jamie Mackellar’s pale eyes opened yet wider and he stared on the collie with tenfold interest; an interest which held in it a splash of reverence54. Jamie was a faithful reader of the dog press. And for the past two years Champion Lochinvar King’s many pictures and infinitely55 more victories had stirred his admiration56. He knew the dog, as a million Americans know Man-o’-War.
Now eagerly he scanned the wonder collie. Every detail,—from the level mouth and chiselled57, wedge-shaped head and stern eyes with their true “look of eagles,” to the fox brush tail with its sidewise swirl58 at the tip—Jamie scanned with the delight of an artist who comes for the first time on a Velasquez of which he has read and dreamed. Never in his dog-starred life had the little man beheld59 so perfect a collie. It was an education to him to study such a marvel60.
Two more men came up to the bench. One was wearing a linen61 duster; and fell to grooming63 King’s incredibly massive coat with expert hands. The other—a plump giant in exaggeratedly vivid clothes—chirped to the dog and ran careless fingers over the silken head. The collie waved his plumed64 tail in response to the caress65. Recalling how coldly King had ignored his own friendly advances, Jamie Mackellar addressed the plump man in deep respect.
148“Excuse me, sir,” said he humbly66, “but might you be Mr. Frayne—Mr. Lucius Frayne?”
The man turned with insolent67 laziness, eyed the shabby little figure from head to foot, and nodded. Then he went back to his inspection68 of King.
Not to be rebuffed, Mackellar continued:
“I remember reading about you when you started the Lochinvar Kennels, sir. That’ll be—let’s see—that’ll be the best part of eight years ago. And three years back you showed Lochinvar Peerless out here—this great feller’s sire. I’m proud to meet you, sir.”
Frayne acknowledged this tribute by another nod, this time not even bothering to turn toward his admirer.
Mackellar pattered on:
“Peerless got Americanbred and Limit, that year; and he went to Reserve Winners. If I’d ’a’ been judging, I’d of gave him Winners, over Rivers Pride, that topped him. Pride was a good inch-and-a-half too short in the brush. And the sable grew away too far from his eyes. Gave ’em a roundish, big look. He was just a wee peckle overshot too. And your Peerless outshowed him, besides. But, good as Peerless was, he wasn’t a patch on this son of his you’ve got here to-day. Losh, but it sure looks like you was due to make a killing69, Mr. Frayne.”
And now the Eastern breeder deigned70 to face the man whose words were pattering so meekly71 into his heedless ears. Frayne realised this little chap was not one of the ignorant bores who pester72 exhibitors at every big show; but that he spoke, and spoke well, the language of the initiate73. No breeder is above catering74 to intelligent praise of his dog. And Frayne warmed mildly toward the devotee.
“Like him, do you?” he asked, indulgently.
“Like him?” echoed Mackellar. “Like him? Man, he’s 149fifty per cent. the best I’ve set eyes on. And I’ve seen a hantle of ’em.”
“Take him down, Roke,” Frayne bade his linen-dustered kennel man. “Let him move about a bit. You can get a real idea of him when you see his action,” he continued to the dazzled Mackellar. “How about that? Hey?”
At the unfastening of his chain, Lochinvar King stepped majestically75 to the floor and for an instant stood gazing up at his master. He stood as might an idealised statue of a collie. Mackellar caught his breath and stared. Then with expert eyes he watched the dog’s perfect action as the kennel man led him up and down for half a dozen steps.
“He’s—he’s better even than I thought he could be,” sighed Jamie. “He looked too good to be true. Lord, it does tickle76 a man’s heartstrings to see such a dog! I—I lost a mighty fine collie a few days back,” he went on confidingly77. “Not in King’s class, of course, sir. But a grand old dog. And—and he was my chum, too. I’m fair sick with greeting over him. It kind of crumples78 a feller, don’t it, to lose a chum collie? One reason I wanted to come here early to-day was to look around and see were any of the for-sale ones inside my means. I’ve never been without a collie before. And I want to get me one—a reg’lar first-rater, like the old dog—as quick as I can. It’s lonesome-like not to have a collie laying at my feet, evening times; or running out to meet me.”
Lucius Frayne listened now with real interest to the little man’s timid plaint.
As Mackellar paused, shamefaced at his own non-Scottish show of feeling, the owner of the Lochinvar Kennels asked suavely80:
“What were you counting on paying for a new dog? Or hadn’t you made up your mind?”
150“Once in a blue moon,” replied Mackellar, “a pretty good one is for sale cheap. Either before the judging or if the judge don’t happen to fancy his type. I—well, if I had to, I was willing to spend a hundred—if I could get the right dog. But I tholed maybe I could get one for less.”
Still more interestedly did Frayne beam down on the earnest little Mackellar.
“It’s a pity you can’t go higher,” said he with elaborate nonconcern. “Especially since King here has caught your fancy. You see, I’ve got a four-month pup of King’s, back home. Out of my winning Lochinvar Lassie, at that. I sold all the other six in the litter. Sold ’em at gilt-edge prices; on account of their breeding. This little four-monther I’m speaking about—he was so much the best of the lot that I was planning to keep him. He’s the dead image of what King was at his age. He’s got ‘future champion’ written all over him. But—well, since you’ve lost your chum dog and since you know enough of collies to treat him right—well, if you were back East where you could look him over, I’d—well, I’d listen to your offer for him.”
He turned toward his kennel man as if ending the talk. Like a well-oiled phonograph, the linen dustered functionary81 spoke up.
“Oh, Mr. Frayne!” he blithered, ceasing to groom62 King’s wondrous82 coat and clasping both dirty hands together. “You wouldn’t ever go and sell the little ’un? Not Lochinvar Bobby, sir? Not the best pup we ever bred? Why, he’s 20 per cent. better than what King, here, was at his age. You’ll make a champion of him by the time he’s ten months old. Just like Doc Burrows83 did with his Queen Betty. He’s a second Howgill Rival, that pup 151is;—a second Sunnybank Sigurd! You sure wouldn’t go selling him? Not Bobby?”
"There’ll be other Lochinvar King pups along in a few weeks, Roke," argued Frayne conciliatingly. “And this man has just lost his only dog. If—What a pair of fools we are!” he broke off, laughing loudly. “Here we go gabbling about selling Bobby, and our friend, here, isn’t willing to go above a hundred dollars for a dog!”
The kennel man, visibly relieved, resumed operations on King with dandy-brush and cloth. But Mackellar stood looking up at Frayne as a hungry pup might plead dumbly with some human who had just taken from him his dinner bone.
“If—if he’s due to be a second Lochinvar King,” faltered84 Jamie, “I—I s’pose he’d be way beyond me. I’m a truck driver, you see, sir. And I’ve got a wife and a couple of kids. So I wouldn’t have any right to spend too much, just for a dog—even if I had the cash. But—gee85, but it’s a chance!”
Sighing softly in renunciation, he took another long and admiring gaze at the glorious Lochinvar King; and then made as though to move away. But Lucius Frayne’s dog-loving heart evidently was touched by Jamie’s admiration for the champion and by the hinted tale of his chum dog’s death. He stopped the sadly departing Mackellar.
“Tell me more about that collie you lost,” he urged. “How’d he die? What was his breeding? Ever show him?”
Now perhaps there breathes some collie man who can resist one of those three questions about his favourite dog. Assuredly none lives who can resist all three. Mackellar, in a brace86 of seconds, found himself prattling87 eagerly to this sympathetic giant; telling of his dog’s points and wisdom 152and lovableness, and of the prizes he had won; and, last of all, the tale of his ending.
Frayne listened avidly88, nodding his head and grunting89 consolation90 from time to time. At last he burst forth91, on impulse:
“Look here! You know dogs. You know collies. I see that. I’d rather have a Lochinvar pup go to a man who can appreciate him, as you would, and who’d give him the sort of home you’d give him, than to sell him for three times as much, to some mucker. I’m in this game for love of the breed, not to skin my neighbours. Lochinvar Bobby is yours, friend, for a hundred and fifty dollars. I hope you’ll say no,” he added with his loud laugh, “because I’d rather part with one of my back teeth. But anyhow I feel decenter for making the offer.”
Pop-eyed and scarlet92 and breathing fast, Jamie Mackellar did some mental arithmetic. One hundred and fifty dollars was a breath-taking sum. Nobody knew it better than did he. But—oh, there stood Lochinvar King! And King’s best pup could be Jamie’s for that amount.
Then Mackellar bethought him of an extra job that was afloat just now in Midwestburg—a job at trucking explosives by night from the tesladite factory, over on the heights, to the railroad. It was a job few people cared for. The roads were joggly. And tesladite was a ticklish93 explosive. Even the company’s offer of fifty dollars a week, at short hours, had not brought forth many volunteer chauffeurs94.
Yet Jamie was a careful driver. He knew he could minimise the risk. And by working three hours a night for three weeks he could clean up the price of the wonderful pup without going down into the family’s slim funds.
“You’re—you’re on!” he babbled95, shaking all over with pure happiness. “In three weeks I’ll send you a money 153order. Here’s—here’s—let’s see—here’s twenty-seven dollars to bind96 the bargain.”
“Roke,” said Frayne, ignoring his kennel man’s almost weeping protests, “scribble out a bill of sale for Lochinvar Bobby. And see he’s shipped here the day we get this gentleman’s money order for the balance of $150. And don’t forget to send him Bobby’s papers at the same time. Seeing it’s such a golden bargain for him, he’ll not grudge97 paying the expressage, too. I suppose I’m a wall-eyed fool, but—say! Hasn’t a man got to do a generous action once in a while? Besides, it’s all for the good of the breed.”
Ten minutes later Mackellar tore away his ardent8 eyes from inspection of the grand dog whose best pup he was so soon to earn, and pattered on down the collie section.
Then and then only did Lucius Frayne and Roke look at each other. Long and earnestly they looked. And Frayne reached out his thick hand and shook his kennel man’s soiled fingers. He shook them with much heartiness98. He was a democratic sportsman, this owner of the famed Lochinvar Kennels. He did not disdain99 to grasp the toil-hardened hand of his honest servitor; especially at a time like this.
Lochinvar King that day clove100 his path straight through “Open, Sable-and-White” and “Open, any Colour,” to “Winners”; in a division of fifty-eight collies. Then be annexed101 the cup and the forty dollars in cash awards for Best of Breed; also four other cash specials. And in the classic special for Best Dog in Show he came as near to winning as ever a present-day collie can hope to at so large a show. Jamie Mackellar, with a vibrating pride and a sense of personal importance, watched and applauded every win of his pup’s matchless sire.
“In another year,” he mused102 raptly, “I’ll be scooping103 154up them same specials with King’s gorgeous little son. This man Frayne is sure one of the fellers that God made.”
Four weeks and two days later, a past-worthy slatted crate104, labelled “Lochinvar Collie Kennels,” was delivered at Jamie’s door. It arrived a bare ten minutes after Mackellar came home from work. All the family gathered around it in the kitchen; while, with hands that would not stay steady, the head of the house proceeded to unfasten the clamps which held down its top.
It was Jamie Mackellar’ s great moment, and his wife and children were infected almost to hysteria by his long-sustained excitement.
Back went the crate lid. Out onto the kitchen floor shambled a dog.
For a long minute, as the new-arrived collie stood blinking and trembling in the light, everybody peered at him without word or motion. Jamie’s jaw105 had gone slack, at first sight of him. And it still hung supine; making the man’s mouth look like a frog penny bank’s.
The puppy was undersized. He was scrawny and angular and all but shapeless. At a glance, he might have belonged to any breed or to many breeds or to none. His coat was sparse106 and short and kinky; and through it glared patches of lately-healed eczema. The coat’s colour was indeterminate, what there was of it. Nor had four days in a tight crate improved its looks.
The puppy’s chest was pitifully narrow. The sprawly legs were out at elbow and cow-hocked. The shoulders were noteworthy by the absence of any visible sign of them. The brush was an almost hairless rat-tail. The spine107 was sagged108 and slightly awry109.
But the head was the most direful part of the newcomer. Its expressionless eyes were sore and dull. Its ears hung limp as a setter’s. The nose and foreface were as snubbily 155broad as a Saint Bernard’s. The slack jaw was badly overshot. The jowls showed a marked tendency to cheekiness and the skull110 seemed to be developing an apple-shaped dome111 in place of the semi-platform which the top of a collie’s head ought to present.
Breed dogs as carefully and as scientifically as you will; once in a way some such specimen112 will be born into even the most blue-blooded litter;—a specimen whose looks defy all laws of clean heredity; a specimen which it would be gross flattery to call a mutt.
One of three courses at such times can be followed by the luckless breeder: To kill the unfortunate misfit; to give it away to some child who may or may not maul it to death; or to swindle a buyer into paying a respectable price for it.
Thriftily113, Lucius Frayne had chosen the third course. And no law could touch him for the deal. He had played as safe, in his dirty trade, as does any vivisector.
Mackellar had bought the dog, sight unseen. Frayne had guaranteed nothing save the pedigree, which was flawless. He had said the creature was the image of King at the same age. But he had said it in the presence of no witness save his own kennel man. And the statement, in any event, was hard of refutal by law.
No; Frayne, like many another shrewd professional dog breeder, had played safe. And he had annexed one hundred and fifty dollars, in peril114-earned hoardings, for a beast whose true cash value was less than eight cents to any one. He had not even bothered to give the cur a high-sounding pedigree name.
There stood, or crouched115, the trembling and whimpering wisp of worthlessness; while the Mackellar family looked on in dumb horror. To add to the pup’s ludicrous aspect, an enormous collar hung dangling116 from his neck. 156Frayne had been thrifty117, in even this minor118 detail. Following the letter of the transportation rules, he had “equipped the dog with suitable collar and chain.” But the chain, which Jamie had unclasped in releasing the pup from the crate, had been a thing of rust119 and flimsiness. The collar had been outworn by some grown dog. To keep it from slipping off over the puppy’s head Roke had fastened to it a twist of wire, whose other end was enmeshed in the scattering120 short hairs of the youngster’s neck. From this collar’s ring still swung the last year’s license121 tag of its former wearer.
It was little Elspeth who broke the awful spell of silence.
"Looks—looks kind of—of measly, don’t he?“ she volunteered.
”Jamie Mackellar!" shrilled123 her mother, finding voice and wrath124 in one swift gasp125. “You—you went and gambled with your life on them explosion trucks—and never told me a word about it till it was over—just to earn money to buy—to buy—that!”
Then Jamie spoke. And at his first luridly127 sputtered128 sentence his wife shooed the children out of the room in scandalised haste. But from the cottage’s farthest end she could hear her spouse’s light voice still raised to shrill122 falsetto. He seemed to be in earnest converse129 with his Maker130, and the absence of his wife and children from the room lent lustre131 and scope to his vocabulary.
Outside, the night was settling down bitterly chill. A drifting snow was sifting132 over the frozen earth. The winter’s worst cold spell was beginning. But in the firelit kitchen a hope-blasted and swindled man was gripped by a boiling rage that all the frigid133 outer world could not have cooled.
Presently, through his sputtering134 soliloquy, Mackellar 157found time and justice to note that Lochinvar Bobby was still shaking with the cold of his long wagon135 ride through the snow from the station. And sullenly136 the man went out to the refrigerator in the back areaway for milk to warm for the sufferer.
He left the door open behind him. Into the kitchen seeped138 the deadly chill of night. It struck the miserable139 Bobby and roused him from the apathy140 of fright into which his advent141 to the bright room had immersed him.
The fright remained, but the impotence to move was gone. Fear had been born in his cringing142 soul, from the harsh treatment meted143 out to him in the place of his birth by kennel men who scoffed144 at his worthlessness. Fear had increased fifty fold by his long and clangorous journey across half the continent. Now, fear came to a climax145.
He had cowered147 in helpless terror before these strangers, here in the closed room. He had sensed their hostility148. But now for an instant the strangers had left him. Yes, and the back door was standing149 ajar—the door to possible escape from the unknown dangers which beset150 him on all sides.
Tucking his ratlike tail between his cow-hocks, Bobby put down his head and bolted. Through the doorway151 he scurried152, dodging153 behind the legs of Jamie Mackellar as he fled through the refrigerator-blocked areaway. Jamie heard the scrambling154 footfalls, and turned in time to make a belated grab for the fleeing dog.
He missed Bobby by an inch; and the man’s gesture seemed to the pup a new menace. Thus had Roke and the other kennel men struck at him in early days; or had seized him by tail or hind137 leg as he fled in terror from their beatings.
Out into the unfenced yard galloped155 the panic-driven 158Bobby. And through the pitch blackness Mackellar stumbled in utterly156 futile157 pursuit. The sound of Jamie’s following feet lent new speed to the cowed youngster. Instead of stopping, after a few moments, he galloped on, with his ridiculous wavering and sidewise gait.
Mackellar lived on the outskirts158 of the suburb, which, in turn, was on the outskirts of the city. By chance or by instinct Bobby struck ahead for the rocky ridge159 which divided denser160 civilisation161 from the uncleared wilderness162 and the patches of farm country to the north. Nor did the puppy cease to run until he had topped, puffingly, the ridge’s summit. There he came to a shambling halt and peered fearfully around him.
On the ridge-crest, the wind was blowing with razor sharpness. It cut like a billion waxed whiplashes, through the sparse coat and against the sagging163 ribs of the pup. It drove the snow needles into his watering eyes, and it stung the blown-back insides of his sensitive ears. He cowered under its pitiless might, as under a thrashing; and again he began to whimper and to sob164.
Below him, from the direction whence he had wormed his slippery way up the ridge, lay the squalidly flat bit of plain with its sprinkle of mean houses; behind it, the straggling suburb whence he had escaped; and behind that, the far-reaching tangle165 of glare and blackness which was Midwestburg, with miles of lurid126 light reflection on the low-hanging clouds.
Turning, the puppy looked down the farther slope of his ridge to the rolling miles of forest and clearing, with wide-scattered farmsteads and cottages. The wilds seemed less actively166 and noisily terrifying than the glare and muffled167 roar of the city behind him. And, as anything was better than to cower146 freezing there in the wind’s 159full path, Bobby slunk down the ridge’s northern flank and toward the naked black woodlands beyond its base.
The rock edges and the ice cut his uncalloused splay feet. Even out of the wind, the chill gnawed168 through coat and skin. The world was a miserable place to do one’s living in. Moreover, Bobby had not eaten in more than twenty-four hours; although a pup of his age is supposed to be fed not less than four times a day.
The rock-strewn ridge having been passed, the going became easier. Here, on the more level ground, a snow carpet made it softer, if colder. No longer running, but at a loose-jointed wolf trot169, Bobby entered the woods. A quarter mile farther on, he stopped again; at sight of something which loomed170 up at a height of perhaps three feet above the half-acre of cleared ground about it.
He had strayed into the once-popular Blake’s Woods Picnic Grove171, and the thing which arrested his sick glance was the dancing platform which had been erected173 at the grove’s painfully geometrical centre.
Years agone, Blake’s Woods had been a favourite outing ground for Midwestburg’s workers. The coming of the interurban trolley174, which brought Boone Lake Beach within half an hour of the city, had turned these woods into a dead loss as far as local pleasure seekers were concerned. The benches had been split up or stolen or had rotted. The trim central patch of green sward had been left to grow successive unmown harvests of ragweed.
The dancing platform, with its once-smooth floor and the bright-painted lattice which ran around its base, was sharing the fate of the rest of the grove. The floor was sunken and holey. The laths of the lattice had fallen away in one or two places, and everywhere they had been washed free of their former gay paint.
Bobby’s aimless course took him past one end of the 160platform, as soon as he discovered it was harmless and deserted175. A furtive sidelong glance, midway of the latticed stretch, showed him a weed-masked hole some two feet square, where the laths had been ripped away or had been kicked in. The sight awoke vague submemories, centuries old, in the artificially reared pup. Thus had his wolf forbears seen, and explored for den3 purposes, gaps between rocks or under windfalls. Bobby, moving with scared caution, crept up to the opening, sniffed176 its musty interior; and, step by step, ventured in under the platform.
Here it was still bitter cold; yet it was sensibly warmer than in the open. And, year after year, dead leaves had been wind-drifted through the gap. Riffles of them lay ankle deep near the entrance. Down into the thickest of the riffles the wretched puppy wiggled his shivering way. There he lay, still shaking, but gaining what scant comfort he might from the warmth of the leaves beneath and around him.
Presently from sheer nervous fatigue177 he snoozed.
It was past midnight when Bobby awoke. He was awakened178 less by cold than by ravening179 hunger. His was not the normal increase of appetite that had come upon him at such times as the Lochinvar kennel men had been an hour or so late with his dinner. This was the first phase of famine.
Fear and discomfort180 had robbed him of hunger throughout the train journey. But now he was safe away from the strangers who had seemed to menace his every move; and he had had a few hours of sleep to knit his frayed181 nerves. He was more than hungry. He was famished182. All his nature cried out for food.
Now, never in his brief life had Lochinvar Bobby found his own meals. Never had he so much as caught a mouse 161or rifled a garbage pail. In sanitary183 man-made kennel run and hutch had he passed all his time. Not his had been the human companionship which sharpens a collie’s brain as much as does stark184 need. And he had no experience of food, save that which had been served him in a tin dish. He did not know that food grows in any other form or place.
But here was no tin dish heaped with scientifically balanced, if uninspired, rations5. Here was no manner of food at all. Bobby nosed about among the dead leaves and the mould of his new-found den. Nothing was there which his sense of smell recognised as edible185. And goaded186 by the scourge187 of hunger he ventured out again into the night. The wind had dropped. But the cold had only intensified188; and a light snow was still sifting down.
Bobby stood and sniffed. Far off, his sensitive nostrils189 told him, was human habitation. Presumably that meant food was there, too. Humans and food, in Bobby’s experience, always went together. The pup followed the command of his scent190 and trotted191 dubiously193 toward the distant man-reek.
In another quarter-hour the starving pup was sniffing194 about the locked kitchen door of a farmhouse195. Within, he could smell milk and meat and bread. But that was all the good it did him. Timidly he skirted the house for ingress. Almost had he completed the round when a stronger odour smote196 his senses. It was a smell which, of old he would have disregarded. But, with the primal197 impulse of famine, other atavistic traits were stirring in the back of his necessity-sharpened brain.
His new scent was not of prepared food, but of hot and living prey198. Bobby paused by the unlatched door of the farm chicken coop. Tentatively he scratched at the white-washed panel. Under the pressure the door swung inward. 162Out gushed199 a pleasant warmth and a monstrously200 augmented201 repetition of the whiff which had drawn202 him to the henhouse.
Just above him, well within reach, perched fifteen or twenty feathery balls of varicoloured fluff. And famine did the rest.
Acting203 on some impulse wholly beyond his ken26, Bobby sprang aloft and drove his white milk teeth deep into the breast of a Plymouth Rock hen.
Instantly, his ears were assailed204 by a most ungodly racket. The quiet hencoop was hideous205 with eldritch squawks and was alive with feathers. All Bobby’s natural fear urged him to drop this flapping and squawking hen and to run for his life.
But something infinitely more potent206 than fear had taken hold upon him. Through his fright surged a sensation of mad rapture207. He had set teeth in live prey. Blood was hot in his nostrils. Quivering flesh was twisting and struggling between his tense jaws208. For the moment he was a primitive209 forest beast.
Still gripping his noisy five-pound burden, he galloped out of the hencoop and across the barnyard; heading instinctively210 for the lair212 in which he had found a soft bed and safety from human intruders. As he fled, he heard a man’s bellowing213 voice. A light showed in an upper window of the house. Bobby ran the faster.
The hen was heavy, for so spindling a killer214. But Bobby’s overshot jaws held firm. He dared not pause to eat his kill, until he should be safe away from the shouting man.
Stumbling into his platform den, half dead with hunger and fatigue, the dog sought his bed of leaves. And there he feasted, rather than ate. For never before had he known such a meal. And when the last edible morsel215 of 163it was gorged216, he snuggled happily down in his nest and slept.
Poultry217 bones are the worst and most dangerous fare for any domesticated218 dog. Their slivers219 tear murderously at throat and stomach and intestines220; and have claimed their slain221 victims by the hundred. Yet, since the beginning of time, wild animals, as foxes and wolves, have fed with impunity222 on such bones. No naturalist223 knows just why. And for some reason Bobby was no more the worse for his orgy of crunched224 chicken-bones than a coyote would have been.
He awoke, late in the morning. Some newborn sense, in addition to his normal fear, warned him to stay in his den throughout the daylight hours. And he did so; sleeping part of the time and part of the time nosing about amid the flurry of feathers in vain search for some overlooked bone or fragment of meat.
Dusk and hunger drove him forth again. And, as before, he sought the farmstead which had furnished him with so delicious a meal. But as he drew near, the sound of voices from indoors and the passing of an occasional silhouette225 across the bright window shades of the kitchen warned him of danger.
When, as the kitchen light was blown out, he ventured to the chicken coop he found the door too fast-barred to yield to his hardest scratch. Miserably226 hungry and disappointed he slunk away.
Three farms did Bobby visit that night before he found another with an unlatched henhouse door. There the tragedy of the preceding evening was repeated. Lugging228 an eight-pound Dominic rooster, Bobby made scramblingly for his mile-distant lair. Behind him again raged sound and fury. The eight-pound bird with its dangling legs and tail feathers kept tripping up the fleeing dog; 164until, acting again on instinct, Bobby slung229 the swaying body over his shoulder, fox-fashion, and thus made his way with less discomfort.
By the third night the collie had taken another long step in his journey backward to the wild. When a dog kills a chicken every one within a half mile is likely to be drawn by the sound. When a fox or wolf or coyote kills a chicken, the deed is done in dexterous230 silence; with no squawks or flurry of feathers to tell the story. Nature teaches the killer this secret. And Nature taught it to Bobby; as she has taught it to other gone-wild dogs.
As a result, his depredations231, thereafter, left no uproar232 behind them. Also, he learned presently the vulpine art of hoarding;—in other words, when safety permitted, to stay on the ground until he had not only slain but eaten one chicken, and then to carry another bird back to his lair for future use. It cut down the peril of over-many trips to neighbouring coops.
In time, he learned to rely less and less on the close-guarded chickens in the vicinity of his den, and to quarter the farm country for a radius233 of ten or more miles in search of food. The same queer new instinct taught him infinite craft in keeping away from humans and in covering his tracks.
He was doing no more than are thousands of foxes throughout the world. There was no miracle in his new-found deftness234 as a forager236. Nature was merely telling her ancient and simple secrets to a wise little brain no longer too clogged237 by association with mankind to learn them.
There was a profitable side line to Bobby’s chicken hunts. The wilder woods, back of Midwestburg, abounded238 in rabbits for such as had the wit to find them. And Bobby acquired the wit.
165Incredibly soon, he learned the wolf’s art of tracking a cottontail and of stalking the prey until such moment as a lightning dash and a blood-streaked swirl in the snow marked the end of the chase. Squirrels, too, and an occasional unwary partridge or smaller bird, were added to the collie’s menu. And more than once, as he grew stronger, Bobby lugged239 homeward over his shoulder a twenty-pound lamb from some distant sheepfold.
Nature had played a vilely240 cruel trick on Lochinvar Bobby by bringing him into the world as the puny241 and defective242 runt of a royal litter. She had threatened his life by casting him loose in the winter woods. But at that point Nature seemed to repent243 of her unkindness to the poor helpless atom of colliehood. For she taught him the closest-guarded secrets of her awful Live-On-One-Another ritual.
As winter grew soggy at the far approach of spring, Bobby found less and less trouble in making a nightly run of thirty miles in search of meals or in carrying back to his lair the heaviest of burdens.
Feasting on raw meat—and plenty of it—living in the open, with the icy cold for his bedfellow, he was taking one of the only two courses left to those who must forage235 or die. Readily enough he might have dwindled244 and starved. The chill weather might have snuffed out his gangling245 life. Instead, the cold and the exposure, and the needful exercise, and the life according to forest nature, and the rich supply of meat that was his for the catching—all these had worked wonders on the spindling runt.
His narrow chest had filled out, from much lung work. His shoulders, from the same cause and from incessant35 night running, had taken on a splendid breadth. His gawkily shambling body grew rapidly. The overshot 166puppy jaw was levelling. And as his frame grew it shaped itself along lines of powerful grace, such as Nature gives to the leopard246 and to the stag. Incessant exposure to the cold had changed his sparse covering of hair to a coat whose thickness and length and texture247 would have been the wonder of the dog-show world. In brief, his mode of life was achieving for him what all the kennel experts and vets248 unhung could not have accomplished249.
It had been a case of kill or cure. Bobby was cured.
After the departure of the snows and the zero nights, and before the leafage made secret progress safe through forest and meadow, Bobby knew a period of leanness. True, he foraged250 as before, but he did it at far greater risk and with less certainty of results.
For—he could not guess why—the countryside was infested251 nowadays with armed men; men who carried rifle or shot-gun and who not only scoured252 hill and valley by daylight but lurked253 outside chicken coops and sheepfolds by night.
Of course, by day Bobby could avoid them—and he did—by lying close in his den. And at night his amazingly keen sense of smell enabled him to skirt them, out of gun-shot range, as they waited at barn door or at fold gate. But such necessity for caution played havoc254 with his chances for easily acquired food. And for the most part he had to fall back on rabbit-catching or to travelling far afield. This, until the thickening of foliage255 made his hunting excursions safer from detection by human eye.
There was sufficient reason for all this patrolling of the district. During the past few months word had seeped through the farm country that a wolf was at large in the long wolfless region; and that he was slaughtering256 all manner of livestock257, from pullets to newborn calves258.
167No dog, it was argued, could be the killer. For no known dog could slay259 so silently and cover his tracks with such consummate260 skill. Nor could a fox carry away a lamb of double its own weight. The marauder must be a wolf. And old-timers raked up yarns261 of the superhumanly clever exploits of lone79 wolves, in the days when populous262 Midwestburg was a trading post.
The county Grange took up the matter and offered a bounty263 of fifty dollars for the wolf’s scalp and ears. It was a slack time on the farms—the period between woodcutting and early planting. It was a slack time in Midwestburg, too; several mills having shut down for a couple of months.
Thus, farmers and operatives amused themselves by making a try for the fifty dollars and for the honour of potting the super-wolf. It was pleasant if profitless sport for the hunters. But it cut down Bobby’s rations; until farm work and reopening mills called off the quest. Then life went on as before; after a buckshot graze on the hip50 had taught the collie to beware of spring guns and to know their scent.
So the fat summer drowsed along. And so autumn brought again to the northern air the tang which started afresh the splendid luxuriance of the tawny coat which Bobby had shed during the first weeks of spring.
Late in December the dog had a narrow escape from death. A farmer, furious at the demise264 of his best Jersey calf265, went gunning afresh for the mysterious wolf. With him he took along a German police dog—this being before the days when that breed was de-Germanised into the new title of “shepherd dog.” He had borrowed the police dog for the hunt, lured267 by its master’s tales of his pet’s invincible268 ferocity.
168Man and dog had searched the woods in vain all day, some five miles to north of Bobby’s cave. At early dusk they were heading homeward through a rock gulch269.
The wind was setting strong from the north. Midway through the gulch the police dog halted, back abristle, growling270 far down in his throat. The man looked up.
As he did so, Bobby topped the cliff which formed the gulch’s northerly side. The collie was on his way to a farm in the valley beyond, which he had not visited for so long a time that its occupants might reasonably be supposed to have relaxed some of their unneighbourly vigilance. The wind from the north kept him from smelling or hearing the two in the gully a hundred feet to south of him.
Yet, reaching the summit, Bobby paused; his wonted caution bidding him search the lower grounds for sign of danger, before travelling farther by fading daylight in such an exposed position.
It was then that the farmer saw him clearly, for the best part of two seconds, silhouetted271 against the dying sunset. The man knew little enough of collies, and less of wolves. And his mental vision was set for a wolf. Thus, to the best of his belief, a wolf was what he saw. But he saw also something he had not expected to see.
The last rays of the sun glinted on a bit of metal that swung beneath Bobby’s shaggy throat; metal that had been worn bright by constant friction272 with the dog’s ruff.
Thanks to the twist of wire which had been fastened into his hair, Bobby had not slipped the leathern collar wherewith Frayne had equipped him. And later his swelling273 muscular neck had been large enough to hold it on. From its ring the old license tag still dangled274.
Up went the farmer’s gun. He fired both barrels. As he pressed the two triggers at once, the police dog made a 169rush for the collie. The farmer chanced to be just in front of his canine275 companion. The police dog sought a short cut, to reach his foe276, by diving between the marksman’s slightly spread legs. The two gun barrels were fired straight upward into the sky; and the tripped-up hunter sat down with extreme suddenness on a pointed227 jut277 of rock.
By the time he could focus his maddened gaze on the cliff-top again, Bobby had vanished. The police dog was charging over the summit at express-train speed. The farmer shook an impotent fist after the disappearing spoiler of his aim.
“I hope he licks the life out of you if you ever catch up with him, you bunglin’ fool!” he bellowed278.
His wish came true. Next day, in a hollow, a mile farther on, the body of the police dog was found, a score of slashes280 on his greyish hide and one through his jugular281. No police dog ever lived that could catch up with a galloping collie who did not want to be caught. Bobby had varied282 a career of profit with a moment or two of real pleasure.
Two days later, in the Midwestburg Herald283, Jamie Mackellar read the account of this fragmentary drama. He scanned it with no deep interest. Tales of the wolf had grown stale to Herald readers. But suddenly his attention focused itself on the line:
“Mr. Gierson declares that a small disk of metal was suspended from the throat of the brute284.”
Jamie laid down the paper and went into executive session with his own inner consciousness. A disk of metal, suspended from the throat of an animal, means but one thing. It is a license tag. Never has such a tag been fastened to a wolf.
Back into Mackellar’s memory came the picture of a 170poor shivering waif from whose meagre and almost naked throat hung a huge collar; a collar affixed285 by wire which was wound into such sparse strands287 of hair as could be made to support it.
On the morning after the next snowfall, Jamie took a day off. Carrying only a collar and chain and a muzzle288, he fared forth into the woods. All day he hunted. He found nothing.
A week later came another snowfall in the night. Next morning Mackellar set forth again; this time letting his little son Donald come along. He had told his family the far-fetched suspicion that had dawned upon him, and Donald had clamoured to join the hunt.
On his first search, Jamie had quartered the country to west of the ridge. To-day he climbed the rocks and made his way into the rolling land below. Skirting Blake’s Woods, he was moving on toward the farms when, in the fresh snow, he came upon the tracks he sought. For an hour he followed them. Apparently289 they led nowhere. At least, they doubled twice upon themselves and then vanished on a long outcrop of snowless rock which stretched back into Blake’s Woods.
Tiring of this fruitless way of spending the morning, Donald strayed from his father. Into the woods he wandered. And presently he sighted the dancing platform amid its tangle of dead weeds. Running over to it, the boy climbed thereon. Then, striking an attitude, he began to harangue290 an invisible audience, from the platform edge; after the manner of a cart-tail political orator291 he had observed with emulous delight.
“My friends!” he shrilled, from memory, “Our anc’st’rs fit fer the lib’ty we enjoy! Are we goin’ to—? Ouch! Hey, Daddy!”
One rhetorically stamping little foot had smashed 171through the rotten boarding. Nor could Donald draw it out. At the yell of fright, Jamie came running. But, a few yards from his son, Mackellar slid to a stop. His eyes were fixed286 on an opening just below the boy’s imprisoned292 foot; an opening from which the passage of Donald’s advancing body had cleared aside some of the tangled293 weeds. From the tip of a ragged294 lath, at the edge of this aperture295, fluttered a tuft of tawny hair.
Pulling Donald free, Mackellar got down on all fours and peeped into the space beneath the platform. For a few seconds he could see nothing. Then, as his eyes accustomed themselves to the dimness, he descried296 two greenish points of light turned toward him from the farthest corner of the lair.
“Bobby?” called the man doubtfully.
The cornered dog heard the name. It roused vague half memories. The memories were not pleasant; though the voice had in it a friendliness297 that stirred the collie strangely.
Bobby crouched the closer to earth and his lips writhed298 back from murderous white teeth. The man called again; in the same friendly, coaxing299 voice. Then he began to crawl forward a foot or so. Behind him the excited boy was blocking the only way out of the den.
The Lochinvar Bobby of ten months ago would have cowered whimperingly in his corner, waiting for capture. He might even have pleaded for mercy by rolling over on his back.
The Lochinvar Bobby of to-day was quite another creature. He laid out his plan of campaign, and then in the wink300 of an eye he carried it into effect.
With a rabid snarl301 he charged the advancing man. As Jamie braced302 himself to fend303 off the ravening jaws, the dog veered304 sharply to one side and dashed for the opening. 172Instinct told him the boy would be easier to break past than the man.
But it was not Jamie Mackellar’s first experience with fighting or playing dogs. As Bobby veered, Jamie slewed305 his own prostrate306 body to the same side and made a grab for the fast-flying collie. His fingers closed and tightened307 around Bobby’s left hind leg, just below the hock.
With a snarl, Bobby wheeled and drove his jaws at the captor’s wrist; in a slash279 which might well have severed308 an artery309. But, expecting just such a move, Jamie was ready with his free hand. Its fingers buried themselves in the avalanche310 of fur to one side of Bobby’s throat. The slashing311 eye-teeth barely grazed the pinioning312 wrist. And Bobby thrashed furiously from side to side, to free himself and to rend313 his enemy.
Mackellar’ s expert hands found grips to either side of the whirling jaws, and he held on. Bit by bit, bracing314 himself with all his wiry strength, he backed out; dragging the frantic53 beast behind him.
Five minutes later, at the expense of a few half-averted bites, he had the muzzle tight-bound in place and was leading the exhausted316 and foaming collie toward Midwestburg. Bobby held back, he flung himself against the chain, he fought with futile madness against the gentle skill of his master.
Then shuddering317 all over he gave up the fight. Head and tail a-droop, he suffered himself to be led to prison.
“It’s Lochinvar Bobby, all right!” the wondering Jamie was saying to his son in intervals318 of lavishing319 kindly320 talk and pats on the luckless dog. "The collar and tag prove that. But if it wasn’t for them, I’d swear it couldn’t be the same. It’s—it’s enough to take a body’s breath away, Donald! I’ve followed the dog game from the time I was born, but I never set eyes on such a collie in all my 173days. Just run your hand through that coat! Was there ever another like it? And did you ever see such bone and head? He’s—Lord, to think how he looked when that Frayne crook321 sawed him off on me! It’s a miracle he lived through the first winter. I never heard of but one other case like it. And that happened up in Toronto, if I remember right.
“Now, listen, sonny: I’m not honing to be sued for damages by every farmer in the county. So let’ em keep on looking for their wolf. This is a dog I bought last year. He’s been away in the country till now. That’s the truth. And the rest is nobody’s business. But—but if it keeps me speiring for a week, to figger it out, I’m going to hit on some way to let Mr. Lucius Frayne, Esquire, see he hasn’t stung me so hard as he thought he did!”
For two days Bobby refused to eat or drink. In the stout322 inclosure built for him in Mackellar’s back yard he stood, head and tail a-droop, every now and then shivering as if with ague. Then, little by little, Jamie’s skilled attentions did their work. The wondrous lure266 of human fellowship, the joy of cooked food, and the sense of security against harm, and, above all, a collie’s ancestral love for the one man he chooses for his god—these wrought323 their work.
In less than a fortnight Bobby was once more a collie. The spirit of the wild beast had departed from him; and he took his rightful place as the chum of the soft-voiced little Scot he was learning to worship. Yes, and he was happy,—happier than ever before;—happy with a new and strangely sweet contentment. He had come into a collie’s eternal heritage.
The Westminster Kennel Club’s annual dog show at Madison Square Garden, in New York, is the foremost 174canine classic of America and, in late years, of the whole world.
A month before that year’s Westminster Show, Lucius Frayne received a letter which made the wontedly saturnine324 sportsman laugh till the tears spattered down his nose. The joke was too good to keep to himself. So he shouted for Roke, and bade the kennel man share the fun of it with him.
He read aloud, cacklingly, to the listening Roke:
Mr. Lucius Frayne,
My dear Sir:
Last year, out to the Midwestburg show, here, you sold me a fine puppy of your Ch. Lochinvar King. And as soon as I could raise the price you sent him on here to me. I would of written to you when I got him, to thank you and to say how pleased I was with him and how all my friends praised him. But I figured you’re a busy man and you haven’t got any waste time to spend in reading letters about how good your dogs are. Because you know it already. And so I didn’t write to you. But I am writing to you now. Because this is business.
You know what a grand pup Bobby was when you sent him to me? Well to my way of thinking he has developed even better than he gave promise to. And some of my friends say the same. To my way of thinking he is the grandest collie in North America or anywhere else to-day. He is sure one grand dog. He turned out every bit as good as you said he would. He’s better now than he was at five months.
I want to thank you for letting me have such a dog, Mr. Frayne. Just as you said, he is of Champion timber. Now this brings me to the business I spoke about.
175Granther used to tell me how the gentry325 on the other side would bet with each other on their dogs at the shows. Six months ago my Aunt Marjorie died and she willed me nine hundred dollars ($900). It is in bank waiting for a good investment for it. Now here is an investment that seems to me a mighty safe one. Me knowing Bobby as I do. A fine sporting investment. And I hope it may please you as well. I am entering Bobby for Westminster. I read in Dog News that you are expecting to enter Champion Lochinvar King there, with others of your string. So here is my proposition.
I propose you enter King for “Open, Sable-and-White” and “Open, Any Colour,” these being the only regular classes a sable champion is eligible326 for. I will enter Bobby in the same classes, instead of “Novice” as I was going to. And I will wager327 you six hundred dollars ($600) even, that the judge will place Bobby above King. I am making this offer knowing how fine King is but thinking my dog is even better. For Bobby has really improved since a pup. My wife thinks so too.
If this offer pleases you, will you deposit a certified328 check of six hundred dollars ($600) with the editor of Dog News? He is a square man as every one knows and he will see fair play. He has promised me he will hold the stakes. I am ready to deposit my certified check for six hundred dollars ($600) at once. I would like to bet the whole nine hundred dollars ($900). Knowing it a safe investment. Knowing Bobby like I do. But my wife doesn’t want me to bet it at all and so we are compromising on six hundred dollars ($600).
Please let me hear from you on this, Mr. Frayne. And I thank you again for how you treated me as regards 176Bobby. I hope to repay you at Westminster by letting you see him for yourself.
Your ob’t servant,
James A. Mackellar.
Yes, it was a long letter. Yet Frayne skipped no word of it. And Roke listened, as to heavenly music.
“Talk about Lochinvar luck!” chortled Frayne as he finished. “The worst pup we ever bred; and we sold him for one-fifty! And now he is due to fetch us another six hundred, in dividends329. He—”
“You’re going to cover his bet?” queried330 Roke. “Good! I was afraid maybe you’d feel kind of sorry for the poor cuss, and—”
“Unless I break both wrists, in the next hour,” announced Frayne, “that certified check will start for the Dog News office by noon. It’s the same old wheeze331: A dub192 has picked up a smattering of dog talk; he thinks he knows it all. He buys a bum332 pup with a thundering pedigree. The pedigree makes him think the pup is a humdinger. He brags333 about it to his folks. They think anything that costs so much must be the best ever, no matter how it looks. And he gets to believing he’s got a world beater. Then—”
“But, boss,” put in Roke with happy unction, “just shut your eyes and try to remember how that poor mutt looked! And the boob says he’s ‘even better than he gave promise to be.’ Do you get that? Yet you hear a lot about Scotchmen being shrewd! Gee, but I wish you’d let me have a slice of that $600 bet! I’d—”
“No,” said Frayne judicially334. “That’s my own meat. It was caught in my trap. But I tell you what you can do: Wait till I send my check and till it’s covered, and then write to Mackellar and ask him if he’s willing to bet 177another $150, on the side, with you. From the way he sounds, you ought to have it easy in getting him to make the side bet. He needn’t tell his wife. Try it anyhow; if you like.”
Roke tried it. And, after ridiculously small objection on Jamie’s part, the side bet was recorded and its checks were posted with the editor of Dog News. Once more Lucius Frayne and his faithful kennel man shook hands in perfect happiness.
To the topmost steel rafters, where the grey February shadows hung, old Madison Square Garden echoed and reverberated335 with the multi-keyed barks of some two thousand dogs. The four-day show had been opened at ten o’clock of a slushy Wednesday morning. And as usual the collies were to be judged on the first day.
Promptly336 at eleven o’clock the clean-cut collie judge followed his steward337 into the ring. The leather-lunged runner passed down the double ranks of collie benches, bawling338 the numbers for the Male Puppy Class.
The judge had a reputation for quickness, as well as for accuracy and honesty. The Open classes, for male dogs, were certain to come up for verdict within an hour, at most.
Seven benches had been thrown into one, for the Frayne dogs. At its back ran a strip of red silk, lettered in silver: “LOCHINVAR COLLIE KENNELS.” Seven high-quality dogs lay or sat in this space de luxe. In the centre—his name on a bronze plate above his head—reclined Lochinvar King.
In full majesty339 of conscious perfection he lay there; magnificent as a Numidian lion, the target for all eyes. Conditioned and groomed340 to the minute, he stood out from his high-class kennel-mates like a swan among cygnets.
178Frayne, more than once in the show’s first hour or so, left his much-admired benches; for a glance at a near-by unoccupied space, numbered 568. Here, according to the catalogue, should be benched Lochinvar Bobby.
But Bobby was nowhere to be seen.
Congratulating himself on his own craft in having inserted a forfeit341 clause in the bet agreement, Frayne was none the less disappointed that the fifth-rate mutt had not shown up.
He longed for a chance to hear the titter of the railbirds; when the out-at-elbow, gangling, semi-hairless little nondescript should shamble into the ring. Bobby’s presence would add zest342 to his own oft-told tale of the wager.
According to American Kennel Club rules, a dog must be on its bench from the moment the exhibition opens until the close, excepting only when it is in the ring or at stated exercise periods. That rule, until recently, has been most flagrantly disregarded by many exhibitors. In view of this, Frayne made a trip to the exercise room and then through the dim-lit stalls under the main floor.
As he came back from a fruitless search for Bobby or for Mackellar, he passed the collie ring. “Limit; Dogs,” was chalked on the blackboard. Two classes more—“Open, Merle,” and "Open, Tricolour"—and then King must enter the ring for “Open, Sable.” Frayne hurried to the Lochinvar benches, where Roke and another kennel man were fast at work putting finishing touches to King’s toilet.
The great dog was on his feet, tense and eager for the coming clash. Close behind the unseeing Roke, and studying King with grave admiration, stood Jamie Mackellar.
“Hello, there!” boomed Frayne with loud cordiality, bearing down upon the little man. “Get cold feet? I 179see your dog’s absent. Remember, you forfeit by absence.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jamie with meekness343, taking off his hat to the renowned344 sportsman, and too confused in fumbling345 with its wabbly brim to see the hand which Frayne held out to him. “Yes, sir. I remember the forfeit clause, sir. I’m not forfeiting346. Bobby is here.”
“Here? Where? I looked all over the—”
“I hired one of the cubby-hole rooms upstairs, sir; to keep him in, nights, while he’s here. And I haven’t brought him down to his bench yet. You see, he—he ain’t seen many strangers. And you’ll remember, maybe, that he used to be just a wee peckle shy. So I’m keeping him there till it is time to show him. My boy, Donald, is up, now, getting him ready. They’ll be down presently, sir. I think you’ll be real pleased with how Bobby looks.”
"I’m counting on a heap of pleasure," was Frayne’s cryptic347 reply, as he turned away to mask a grin of utter joy.
Five grey dogs were coming down the aisle348 to their benches. The Merle Class had been judged and the Tricolours were in the ring. There were but four of these.
In another handful of minutes the “Open, Sable” Class was called. It was the strongest class of the day. It contained no less than three champions; in addition to four less famous dogs, like Bobby;—seven entries in all.
Six of these dogs were marched into the ring. The judge looked at the steward, for the “all-here” signal. As he did so, the seventh entrant made his way past the gate crowd and was piloted into the ring by a small and cheaply clad man.
While the attendant was slipping the number board on Mackellar’s arm, Lucius Frayne’s eyes fell upon Lochinvar Bobby. So did those of the impatient judge and the ninety out of every hundred of the railbirds.
180Through the close-packed ranks of onlookers349 ran a queer little wordless mutter—the most instinctive211 and therefore the highest praise that can be accorded.
Alertly calm of nerve, heedless of his surroundings so long as his worshipped god was crooning reassurances350 to him, Bobby stood at Mackellar’s side.
His incredible coat was burnished351 like old bronze. His head was calmly erect172, his mighty frame steady. His eyes, with true eagle look, surveyed the staring throng352.
Never before, in all the Westminster Club’s forty-odd shows, had such a collie been led into the ring. Eugenic353 breeding, wise rationing354 and tireless human care had gone to the perfecting of other dogs. But Mother Nature herself had made Lochinvar Bobby what he was. She had fed him bountifully upon the all-strengthening ration4 of the primal beast; and she had given him the exercise-born appetite to eat and profit by it. Her pitiless winter winds had combed and winnowed355 his coat as could no mortal hand, giving it thickness and length and richness beyond belief. And she had moulded his growing young body into the peerless model of the Wild.
Then, because he had the loyal heart of a collie and not the incurable356 savagery357 of the wolf, she had awakened his soul and made him bask358 rapturously in the friendship of a true dog-man. The combination was unmatchable.
“Walk your dogs, please,” ordered the judge, coming out of his momentary359 daze360.
Before the end of the ring’s first turn, he had motioned Frayne and Mackellar to take their dogs into one corner. He proceeded to study the five others; awarding to two of them the yellow third-prize ribbon and the white reserve, and then ordering the quintet from the ring. After which he beckoned361 Bobby and King to the judging block.
181In the interim362, Frayne had been staring goggle-eyed at the Midwestburg collie. He tried to speak; but he could not. A hundred thoughts were racing315 dumbly through his bemused brain. He stood agape, foolish of face.
Jamie Mackellar was pleasantly talkative.
“A grand class, this,” he confided363 to his voiceless comrade. “But, first crack, Judge Breese had the eye to single out our two as so much the best that he won’t size ’em up with the others. How do you like Bobby, sir? Is he very bad? Don’t you think, maybe, he’s picked up, just a trifle, since you shipped him to me? He’s no worse, anyhow, than he was then, is he?”
Frayne gobbled, wordlessly.
“This is the last time I’ll show him, for a while, Mr. Frayne,” continued Jamie, a grasping note coming into his timid voice. “The cash I’m due to collect from you and Mr. Roke will make enough, with the legacy364 and what I’ve saved, to start me in business with a truck of my own. Bobby and I are going into partnership365. And we’re going to clean up. Bobby is putting seven hundred and fifty dollars and to-day’s cash prizes into the firm. He and I are getting out of the show-end of collie breeding, for a time. The more we see of some of you professionals, the better we like cesspools. If dogs weren’t the grandest animals the good Lord ever put on earth, a few of the folks who exploit them would have killed the dog game long ago. It—. Judge Breese is beckoning366 for us!”
Side by side, the two glorious collies advanced to the judging block. Side by, side, at their handlers’ gestures, they mounted it. And again from the railbirds arose that queer wordless hum. Sire and son, shoulder to shoulder, faced the judge.
And, for the first time in his unbroken career of conquest, 182Lochinvar King looked almost shabby; beside the wondrous young giant he had sired. His every good point—and he had no others—was bettered by Bobby.
As a matter of form, Breese went over both dogs with meticulous367 care; testing coat-texture, spring of ribs, action, soundness of bone, carriage, facial expression, and the myriad368 other details which go into the judging of a show dog. Long he faced them, crouching369 low and staring into their deep-set eyes; marking the set and carriage of the tulip ears; comparing point with point; as becomes a man who is about to give victory to an Unknown over a hitherto Invincible.
Then with a jerk of his head he summoned the steward with the judging book and ribbons. And, amid a spontaneous rattle370 of applause, Jamie Mackellar led his splendid dog to the far end of the ring, with one hand; while in the fingers of the other fluttered a strip of gold-lettered dark blue ribbon.
Back came both collies for the “Open, Any Colour Class,” and the verdict was repeated; as it was repeated in the supreme371 “Winners’” Class which followed. “Winners’” Class carried, with its rosette and cash specials, a guerdon of five points toward Bobby’s championship.
Then followed the rich harvest of other cash specials in the collie division, including $25 for “Best of Breed,” and for the next three days even fatter gleanings from among the variety classes and unclassified specials. These last awards ranged from five dollars to twenty-five dollars apiece; apart from a valiseful of silver cups and like trophies372 which are more beautiful than pawnable.
On Saturday, Jamie Mackellar and Bobby took the midnight train for Midwestburg; richer by almost nine hundred dollars for their New York sojourn373.
Rolling sweetly around in Jamie’s memory was a brief 183talk he had had with Roke, an hour before the close of the show. Sent as emissary by Frayne, the kennel manager had offered Mackellar a flat two thousand dollars for the sensational374 young prize winner.
“We’re not parting company, Bobby and I,” Jamie had made civil answer. “Thanking you and your boss just as much. But tell Mr. Frayne if ever I breed a pup as good as Bobby was when he came to me, he can have it for an even hundred and fifty. I wouldn’t want such a fine chap to think I’m not just as clean a sportsman as what he is!”
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1
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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ration
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| n.定量(pl.)给养，口粮；vt.定量供应 | |
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rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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12
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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19
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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20
mired
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| abbr.microreciprocal degree 迈尔德（色温单位）v.深陷( mire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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eligibility
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| n.合格，资格 | |
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knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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25
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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armory
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| n.纹章，兵工厂，军械库 | |
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kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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reverberant
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| a.起回声的 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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appraisal
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| n.对…作出的评价；评价，鉴定，评估 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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39
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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40
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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41
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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42
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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43
complements
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| 补充( complement的名词复数 )； 补足语； 补充物； 补集（数） | |
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44
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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45
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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46
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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47
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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48
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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49
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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50
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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51
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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52
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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53
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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54
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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55
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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56
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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57
chiselled
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| adj.凿过的，凿光的； （文章等）精心雕琢的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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58
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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59
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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60
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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61
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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62
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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63
grooming
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| n. 修饰, 美容，（动物）梳理毛发 | |
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plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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65
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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66
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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68
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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69
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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70
deigned
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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72
pester
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| v.纠缠，强求 | |
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73
initiate
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| vt.开始，创始，发动；启蒙，使入门；引入 | |
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74
catering
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| n. 给养 | |
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75
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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76
tickle
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| v.搔痒，胳肢；使高兴；发痒；n.搔痒，发痒 | |
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77
confidingly
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| adv.信任地 | |
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78
crumples
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| 压皱，弄皱( crumple的第三人称单数 )； 变皱 | |
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79
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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80
suavely
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81
functionary
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| n.官员；公职人员 | |
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82
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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83
burrows
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| n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 )；翻寻 | |
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84
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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85
gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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86
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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87
prattling
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的现在分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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88
avidly
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| adv.渴望地，热心地 | |
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grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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92
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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93
ticklish
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| adj.怕痒的；问题棘手的；adv.怕痒地；n.怕痒，小心处理 | |
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94
chauffeurs
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| n.受雇于人的汽车司机( chauffeur的名词复数 ) | |
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95
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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97
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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98
heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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clove
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| n.丁香味 | |
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101
annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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102
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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103
scooping
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| n.捞球v.抢先报道( scoop的现在分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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104
crate
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| vt.(up)把…装入箱中；n.板条箱，装货箱 | |
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105
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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106
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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107
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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108
sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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109
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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110
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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111
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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112
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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113
thriftily
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| 节俭地； 繁茂地； 繁荣的 | |
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114
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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115
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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117
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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118
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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119
rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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120
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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121
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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122
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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123
shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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125
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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126
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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127
luridly
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| adv. 青灰色的(苍白的, 深浓色的, 火焰等火红的) | |
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128
sputtered
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| v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的过去式和过去分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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129
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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130
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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131
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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132
sifting
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| n.筛，过滤v.筛( sift的现在分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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133
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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134
sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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135
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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136
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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137
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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138
seeped
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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139
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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140
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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141
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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142
cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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143
meted
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| v.（对某人）施以，给予（处罚等）( mete的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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146
cower
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| v.畏缩，退缩，抖缩 | |
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147
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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148
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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149
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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150
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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151
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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152
scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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154
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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155
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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156
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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157
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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158
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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159
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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160
denser
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| adj. 不易看透的, 密集的, 浓厚的, 愚钝的 | |
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161
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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162
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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163
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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164
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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165
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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166
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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167
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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168
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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169
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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170
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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171
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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172
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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173
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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174
trolley
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| n.手推车，台车；无轨电车；有轨电车 | |
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175
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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176
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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177
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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178
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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179
ravening
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| a.贪婪而饥饿的 | |
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180
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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181
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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182
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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183
sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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184
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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185
edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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186
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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187
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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188
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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189
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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190
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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191
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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192
dub
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| vt.（以某种称号）授予，给...起绰号，复制 | |
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193
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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194
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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195
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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196
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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197
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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198
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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199
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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200
monstrously
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201
Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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202
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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203
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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204
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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205
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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206
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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207
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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208
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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209
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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210
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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211
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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212
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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213
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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214
killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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215
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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216
gorged
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| v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的过去式和过去分词 )；作呕 | |
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217
poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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218
domesticated
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| adj.喜欢家庭生活的；（指动物）被驯养了的v.驯化( domesticate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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219
slivers
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| （切割或断裂下来的）薄长条，碎片( sliver的名词复数 ) | |
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220
intestines
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| n.肠( intestine的名词复数 ) | |
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221
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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222
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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223
naturalist
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| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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224
crunched
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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225
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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226
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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227
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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228
lugging
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| 超载运转能力 | |
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229
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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230
dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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231
depredations
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| n.劫掠，毁坏( depredation的名词复数 ) | |
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232
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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233
radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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234
deftness
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235
forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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236
forager
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| n.强征（粮食）者；抢劫者 | |
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237
clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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238
abounded
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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239
lugged
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| vt.用力拖拉（lug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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240
vilely
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| adv.讨厌地，卑劣地 | |
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241
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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242
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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243
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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244
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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245
gangling
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| adj.瘦长得难看的 | |
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246
leopard
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| n.豹 | |
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247
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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248
vets
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| abbr.veterans （复数）老手，退伍军人；veterinaries （复数）兽医n.兽医( vet的名词复数 )；老兵；退伍军人；兽医诊所v.审查（某人过去的记录、资格等）( vet的第三人称单数 )；调查；检查；诊疗 | |
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249
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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250
foraged
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| v.搜寻（食物），尤指动物觅（食）( forage的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指用手）搜寻（东西） | |
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251
infested
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|
| adj.为患的，大批滋生的（常与with搭配）v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 )；遍布于 | |
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252
scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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253
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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254
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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255
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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256
slaughtering
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的现在分词 ) | |
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257
livestock
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| n.家畜，牲畜 | |
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258
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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259
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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260
consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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261
yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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262
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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263
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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264
demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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265
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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266
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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267
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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268
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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269
gulch
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| n.深谷，峡谷 | |
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270
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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271
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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272
friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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273
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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274
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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275
canine
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|
| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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276
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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277
jut
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| v.突出；n.突出，突出物 | |
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278
bellowed
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|
| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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279
slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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280
slashes
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| n.（用刀等）砍( slash的名词复数 )；（长而窄的）伤口；斜杠；撒尿v.挥砍( slash的第三人称单数 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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281
jugular
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| n.颈静脉 | |
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282
varied
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|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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283
herald
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|
| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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284
brute
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|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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285
affixed
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|
| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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286
fixed
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|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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287
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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288
muzzle
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|
| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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289
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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290
harangue
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| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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291
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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292
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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293
tangled
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|
| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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294
ragged
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|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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295
aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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296
descried
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|
| adj.被注意到的，被发现的，被看到的 | |
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297
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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298
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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299
coaxing
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|
| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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300
wink
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|
| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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301
snarl
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|
| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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302
braced
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|
| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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303
fend
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| v.照料（自己），（自己）谋生，挡开，避开 | |
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304
veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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305
slewed
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|
| adj.喝醉的v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去式 )( slew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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306
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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307
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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308
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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309
artery
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| n.干线，要道；动脉 | |
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310
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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311
slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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312
pinioning
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| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的现在分词 ) | |
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313
rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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314
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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315
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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316
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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317
shuddering
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|
| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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318
intervals
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|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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319
lavishing
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的现在分词 ) | |
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320
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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321
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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323
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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324
saturnine
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| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
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325
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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326
eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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327
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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328
certified
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| a.经证明合格的；具有证明文件的 | |
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329
dividends
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|
| 红利( dividend的名词复数 )； 股息； 被除数； （足球彩票的）彩金 | |
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330
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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331
wheeze
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|
| n.喘息声，气喘声；v.喘息着说 | |
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332
bum
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|
| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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333
brags
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的第三人称单数 ) | |
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334
judicially
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| 依法判决地，公平地 | |
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335
reverberated
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|
| 回响，回荡( reverberate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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336
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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337
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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338
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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339
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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340
groomed
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| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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341
forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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342
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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343
meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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344
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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345
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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346
forfeiting
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的现在分词 ) | |
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347
cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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348
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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349
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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350
reassurances
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| n.消除恐惧或疑虑( reassurance的名词复数 )；恢复信心；使人消除恐惧或疑虑的事物；使人恢复信心的事物 | |
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351
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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352
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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353
eugenic
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| adj.优生的 | |
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354
rationing
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| n.定量供应 | |
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355
winnowed
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| adj.扬净的，风选的v.扬( winnow的过去式和过去分词 )；辨别；选择；除去 | |
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356
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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357
savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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358
bask
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| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
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359
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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360
daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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361
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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362
interim
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| adj.暂时的，临时的；n.间歇，过渡期间 | |
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363
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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364
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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365
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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366
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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367
meticulous
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| adj.极其仔细的，一丝不苟的 | |
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368
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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369
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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370
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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371
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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372
trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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373
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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374
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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