Part 12 (1/2)

Yonder down the street gla.s.s k.n.o.bs of telephone poles glistened in the sun. At the end of the street rose the white columns of a long building with a big, black, dust-covered car in front. Women in white, children with nurses, sallow mountain folk, were abroad in the first coolness of the afternoon. It was the busy season, when the heat of cities drives people to the fresh air of the mountains and a hundred such villages spring into life and laughter.

Through this holiday crowd went the red-faced, dusty man. Twenty paces behind followed the gaunt Irish setter. People stopped in the street to look back at him. Children pulled on their nurses' hands, thrilling to make friends with such a big dog, then pulled back, distrustful of the look in his eyes. Man, then dog, pa.s.sed the drug store where behind plate-gla.s.s windows cool-dressed men and women sat at slender tables.

Next to the drug store was a brick garage with a gasolene meter in front. About the entrance loitered a group of men watching. One was bigger than the rest and wore a wide-brimmed hat.

Through this group pushed the man with the ten-gallon can. Close behind now followed the gaunt Irish setter. It happened quickly, like one of those mountain tragedies that brood over such places, remnants of feuds that hang on to the skirts of civilization. Two m.u.f.fled pistol shots broke the peace and security of the village and brought men running to the garage. For the man with the ten-gallon can had turned at last, and Frank had sprung straight at his throat.

From the confusion of crowding men came the hoa.r.s.e shout,

”Turn me loose! Let me kill that dog! Can't you see? He's mad as h.e.l.l!”

”I've got the dog all right!” cried the big man in the broad-brimmed hat. ”If he's mad I'll 'tend to him!”

Plunging, barking, begging to be turned loose, old Frank was dragged backward across the cement floor. In the door of a gla.s.s-enclosed office the big man, holding tight to his collar, turned.

”Here--you--Sam!” he panted. ”Run to the hotel. Tell Mr. Earle--the gentleman that just came with his wife--we got a man down here and a red Irish setter. Quick! Catch him before he leaves!”

Then they were in the office, and the door was shut. The big man had sunk breathless into a chair still holding to the dog's collar. He was quiet now. But the blood that dripped slowly on the floor was no redder than his eyes. The door opened and he plunged forward. But it was a stranger--a young man with a star on his coat.

”Sam got 'em, Sheriff,” he said, ”they're comin' now. Must I bring the man in here?”

”No. Keep him out there. This fellow's still seein' red.”

”Hit?”

”Ear. That's all.”

”Well, he left his mark on that devil, all right!”

The young man went out. Still the sheriff held the dog's collar. Still through the gla.s.s windows the crowd stared in. But suddenly it parted and then Frank saw them.

”Hold on!” panted the sheriff. ”No use to tear the house down. They'll be in here in a minute!”

The door opened, they were in the office, the sheriff had turned him loose. He was jumping up against his tall master, long ears thrown back, upraised eyes aglow, heart pounding against his lean ribs. But it was the look in his young mistress's eyes that brought him down to the floor before her in sudden recollection that went straight to his heart, that set him all atremble with choking eagerness.

”Take us to him, Frank!” she gasped, her hands clenched tight against her breast.

He led them--master and mistress and strange officers, neighbours from back home, old Squire Kirby, Bob Kelley, John Davis--led them out of the town, up the shaded road across which slanting sunbeams gently sifted.

He led them to that car he had followed secretly through the days and watched without sleep through the nights. Only his master's low-voiced command held him back with them.

”Steady, Frank! Steady, old man!”

But they must have made some noise, quiet as they tried to be. For before they reached the car the heavy man scrambled out, stared for a moment in stupid bewilderment, then threw both hands high up over his head.

”Don't shoot!” he pleaded hoa.r.s.ely, his heavy face aquiver. ”We ain't done the kid no harm!”

Then it was that Frank broke away and rushed at last to that curtained car. With s.h.i.+ning eyes he sprang into the front, over the seat, into the rear. Tommy's arms were about his neck, Tommy was crying over and over to the woman, all out of breath:

”It's F'ank, Nita! He didn't go home. I saw him in the bushes!”

”It's your mother, too,” she said. ”Come after you.” She tried to smile.