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Updated: May 6, 2025
A man or woman is a fool to care that way about any mere dog. "But Lad isn't a 'mere' dog," contradicted the Mistress, stooping to pet the collie's classic head as it lay across her foot. "He's he's Laddie." The sound of his name pierced the sleep mists and brought the dog to wakefulness. He raised his head inquiringly toward the Mistress, and his plumed tail began to thump the floor.
A distant, reverberating report caused the two men to jerk into attitudes of tense surprise. "What the hell!" exclaimed Overland, running toward the tent. "That wasn't the kid. Collie's only packin' a automatic, and here it is." He stopped in the tent-door, grabbed up the gun and belt, and ran down the cañon, Winthrop following breathlessly.
I shrugged my shoulders in silence, and called up Nous to give him my untouched dinner. "The best joke of it is, too," I said, suspending a strip of sirloin over the collie's nose, "the publishers admit if I had less talent they would print my things. I could not understand why my 'Laura Dean' was refused, so I went down to the publishers to try and find out.
Mounting, Collie spurred through the greasewood, trusting to the pony's natural activity and sure-footedness. Louise, sitting on the dream-rock in the old meadow, gazed out across the valley. Black Boyar stood near with trailing bridle-reins. Despite herself the girl kept recalling Collie's face as he had talked with her at the ranch.
'It will shine again, he said, as if I didn't know that. Collie's a pretty sick man." Later Winthrop and Louise joined the others at the veranda. Louise excused herself. She searched a long time before she found another rose. This time it was a Colombe bud, full, red, and beautiful. She stepped to Collie's window. "Boy!" she called softly.
But there was that in his tone which brought Collie's head up. The lad pushed back his battered felt hat and ran his fingers through his wavy black hair, perplexedly. "What's the matter, Red? What's the matter?" "Nothin'. Jest thinkin'." Yet the tramp's eyes narrowed as he glanced furtively past the girl to where Boyar, the black pony, grazed in the meadow.
As soon as the collie was found, he directed that all the ordinary tricks should be taught it, and every day until he left New York he visited the creature, who remembered him so well that on the collie's arrival late last evening, he had feared its joyous barking out at the barn would waken Jewel.
He lunged murderously at his mark. Yes, and this time he found it. His teeth had touched the pudgy throat, and began to cleave their remorseless way to the very life of the man who had slain Lady. But, out of the jumble of cries and stamping feet and explosive shouts from the scared onlookers on the veranda above, one staccato yell pierced the swirl of rage-mists in the avenging collie's brain.
"No," said Jewel, "this dog ought not to dance;" and as the collie's golden eyes met hers, she drew nearer still in fascination, and he touched her outstretched hand curiously, with his cold nose. "Oh, well, but we like accomplished dogs," said Mr. Evringham coldly. "Who says this dog ain't accomplished?" returned the man, in an injured tone. "Just stand back there a bit, young lady."
There had been scarce a breathing-space between the second report of the pistol and the collie's counterattack. But there had been time enough for the onward-plunging thief to step into the narrow lip of the water-pipe ditch. The momentum of his own rush hurled the upper part of his body forward. But his left leg, caught between the ditch-sides, did not keep pace with the rest of him.
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