Part 29 (1/2)

”I suppose Lad swallowed them,” ironically put in The Place's foreman. ”That makes about as much sense as the rest of the yarn. The Old Dog would no sooner----”

”Do you really mean to say you saw Lad--saw and _recognized_ him--in Mr. t.i.tus's barnyard, growling over a sheep he had just killed?”

demanded the Mistress.

”I sure do,” affirmed Schwartz. ”And I----”

”An' he's ready to go on th' stand an' take oath to it!” supplemented t.i.tus. ”Unless you'll pay me the damages out of court. Them sheep cost me exac'ly $12.10 a head, in the Pat'son market, one week ago. An'

sheep on the hoof has gone up a full forty cents more since then. You owe me for them four sheep exac'ly----”

”I owe you not one red cent!” denied the Master. ”I hate law worse than I hate measles. But I'll fight that idiotic claim all the way up to the Appellate Division before I'll----”

The Mistress lifted a little silver whistle that hung at her belt and blew it. An instant later Lad came galloping gaily up the lawn from the lake, adrip with water from his morning swim. Straight, at the Mistress' summons, he came, and stood, expectant, in front of her, oblivious of others.

The great dog's mahogany-and-snow coat shone wetly in the suns.h.i.+ne.

Every line of his splendid body was tense. His eyes looked up into the face of the loved Mistress in eager antic.i.p.ation. For a whistle-call usually involved some matter of more than common interest.

”That's the dog!” cried Schwartz, his thick voice betraying a shade more of its half-lost German accent, in the excitement of the minute. ”That's the one. He has washed off the blood. But that is the one. I could know him anywhere at all. And I knew him, already. And Mr. Romaine told me to be looking out for him, about the sheep, too.

So I----”

The Master had bent over Lad, examining the dog's mouth. ”Not a trace of blood or of wool!” he announced. ”And look how he faces us! If he had anything to be ashamed of----”

”I got a witness to prove he killed my sheep,” cut in Romaine. ”Since you won't be honest enough to square the case out of court, then the law'll take a tuck in your wallet for you. The law will look after a poor man's int'rest. I don't wonder there's folks who want all dogs done 'way with. Pesky curs! Here, the papers say we are short on sheep, an' they beg us to raise 'em, because mutton is worth double what it used to be, in open market. Then, when I buy sheep, on that sayso, your dog gets four of 'em the very first week. Think what them four sheep would 'a meant to----”

”I'm sorry you lost them,” the Master interrupted. ”Mighty sorry. And I'm still sorrier if there is a sheep-killing dog at large anywhere in this region. But Lad never----”

”I tell ye, he _did!_” stormed t.i.tus. ”I got proof of it. Proof good enough for any court. An' the court is goin' to see me righted.

It's goin' to do more. It's goin' to make you shoot that killer, there, too. I know the law. I looked it up. An' the law says if a sheep-killin' dog----”

”Lad is not a sheep-killing dog!” flashed the Mistress.

”That's what he is!” snarled Romaine. ”An', by law, he'll be shot as sech. He----”

”Take your case to law, then!” retorted the Master, whose last shred of patience went by the board, at the threat. ”And take it and yourself off my Place! Lad doesn't 'run' sheep. But, at the word from me, he'll ask nothing better than to 'run' you and your German every step of the way to your own woodshed. Clear out!”

He and the Mistress watched the two irately mumbling intruders plod out of sight up the drive. Lad, at the Master's side, viewed the accusers' departure with sharp interest. Schooled in reading the human voice, he had listened alertly to the Master's speech of dismissal. And, as the dog listened, his teeth had come slowly into view from beneath a menacingly upcurled lip. His eyes, half shut, had been fixed on t.i.tus with an expression that was not pretty.

”Oh, dear!” sighed the Mistress miserably, as she and her husband turned indoors and made their way toward the breakfast room. ”You were right about 'good old Mr. Trouble dropping in on us.' Isn't it horrible? But it makes my blood boil to think of Laddie being accused of such a thing. It is crazily absurd, of course. But----”

”Absurd?” the Master caught her up. ”It's the most absurd thing I ever heard of. If it was about any other dog than Lad, it would be good for a laugh. I mean, Romaine's charge of the dog's doing away with no less than four sheep and not leaving a trace of more than one of them.

That, alone, would get his case laughed out of court. I remember, once in Scotland, I was stopping with some people whose shepherd complained that three of the sheep had fallen victim to a 'killer.' We all went up to the moor-pasture to look at them. They weren't a pretty sight, but they were all _there_. A dog doesn't devour a sheep he kills. He doesn't even lug it away. Instead, he just----”

”Perhaps you'd rather describe it _after_ breakfast,” suggested the Mistress, hurriedly. ”This wretched business has taken away all of my appet.i.te that I can comfortably spare.”

At about mid-morning of the next day, the Master was summoned to the telephone.

”This is Maclay,” said the voice at the far end.

”Why, h.e.l.lo, Mac!” responded the Master, mildly wondering why his old fis.h.i.+ng-crony, the village's local Peace Justice, should be calling him up at such an hour. ”If you're going to tell me this is a good day for small-mouth ba.s.s to bite I'm going to tell you it isn't. It isn't because I'm up to my neck in work. Besides, it's too late for the morning fis.h.i.+ng, and too early for the ba.s.s to get up their afternoon appet.i.tes. So don't try to tempt me into----”