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Updated: June 10, 2025
"Where did he come from?" growled Dancing in the morning as he sat with his pipe regarding the intruder, who acted quite at home, with a critical eye. Bucks explained that this was the tie foreman's runaway dog, Scuffy, and beyond Scuffy's first appearance at the tent door he could tell him nothing. Scuffy simply and promptly assumed a place in camp and Bucks became, willy-nilly, his sponsor.
When seeing as a reg'lar party of the Malays, every man with his bit of a toasting fork by his side, come round to stare at 'em, Sergeant Lund he says to himself, `Lor'! what a pity it is as I haven't got Private Tomkins, or Private Binns, or two or three more nice smart, handsome chaps o' that kind with me, instead of such a scuffy couple o' fellows as Sim and Mustard."
The hounds were too filled with the prospect of sport to pay any attention to Scuffy. In vain, Bob Scott tried to set them on him and drive him back to camp. On this occasion, when bullying would plainly have been justified, no hound would assail Scuffy.
The hounds gave tongue vigorously, and Scuffy, who had by this time not only established himself but had impudently taken the lead and was heading the pack, barked loudest and longest. "Did anybody ever see conceit equal to that?" demanded Stanley. "Look at that cur leading the hounds." Bucks was mortified and expressed his regret. "Don't mind him, Bucks," remarked Dancing consolingly.
Exposing himself recklessly, Scott tried to urge the dogs forward, but they had lost their nerve. It needed only this to upset everything. The hunters closed in together, and the critical moment had come; deaf alike to command and entreaty, the two hounds refused to go in, and Scuffy, flying wildly about the bear, seemed unable to check him.
There were no other passengers, and except for the frequent blasts of the engine whistle the night passed quietly enough. Bucks dreamed of fighting bears with Scuffy, and found himself repeatedly rolling down precipitous mountains without landing successfully anywhere.
It looked like certain death for Scuffy, but the tramp dog did not hesitate. He rushed at the bear with a fury of snapping, though not without a lively respect for the sweep of the brute's fore paws. The little dog, freeing himself forever in that moment from the stigma of cur, put up a fight that astonished the big brute.
Bucks, collecting his disordered faculties, raised his rifle to help his champion with a shot. His heart beat like a hammer in his throat, but he knew there was only one thing to do, that was to get the rifle-sights carefully lined in his eye and shoot when Scuffy gave him an opening. It came in a moment when the bear turned to smash Scuffy on his flank. Bucks fired.
In truth, Scuffy was the liveliest and most impudent dog in the pack, and when the fight was fully on, managed to worry the angry bear more than the hounds did. Within a moment the black hound, over-bold, imprudently rushed the bear in front. A paw darting from the huge beast caught him like a trip-hammer and stretched him helpless.
At the last moment a complication arose. Scuffy, who until the moment of starting had for prudential reasons that is, to avoid being eaten up remained in obscurity, joined the hunters. Every one in turn tried to drive him back, but long practice had made him expert in dodging missiles and had rendered him insensible to reproach.
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