Silversheene/Chapter 13
IN October following the great race, Richard Henderson, the latest champion dog musher, and Silversheene, the King of all Alaskan sled dogs, took a steamer at St. Michael, bound for the United States. It is safe to say that when they went aboard they were the happiest dog and man in all Alaska. They had spent the summer rather leisurely travelling about and enjoying themselves. Richard had disposed of the other dogs in the famous team at fancy prices, and this money, together with the ten thousand which he had won in the sweepstake, made him feel quite like a capitalist.
But, as his father had prophesied, he had had his fill of Alaska. This land of brutal ity and force where only the heavy fist counted. This country that stripped men's souls of all the finer qualities and left them nothing but blood and iron as a requisite for success.
Yet he and Silversheene had gloried in the life. The battle with the elements and the hard conditions had suited them both. But they were dominant spirits. A good fight was to their liking.
They had matched their strength and courage against the best that Alaska had to offer and had won, so they were well content. It was enough now to take life easy and think with a glow of pleasure of the great race and all the other hard conditions.
When Richard had come north the year before it had been springtime and the air was balmy, but now it was keen and almost cutting.
The gulls, the auks, the white geese and all the other northern birds were winging their way southward, and their numbers were amazing.
The autumn migration of the seals was also taking place, and they were travelling southward, not only in thousands, but in tens and even hundreds of thousands.
They saw seals everywhere in Behring Sea. They were upon the rocks, along shore, swimming in the open sea, disporting themselves upon the very crest of the waves. A mighty countless host of strange migrants. They swam without chart or compass. Many of them going more than ten thousand miles from their home in the St. Paul Islands, but when spring came again they would turn their noses unerringly northward and find the island more easily than the mariner could have done with his chart and compass.
Yes, it was a great country, this northern wilderness, with its wonderful rivers and mountains and forests, but Richard thought that old Oregon would look better to him than ever before, once he saw his native state again.
They had arrived home in time to eat Thanksgiving dinner with the rest of the family, and it was a thanksgiving day all remembered for the rest of their lives. They received Silversheene as one returned from the dead, and petted and praised him until his tail was fairly lame wagging appreciation. Mrs. Henderson told Eleanor that she would break the dog's neck if she hugged him so much, but both dog and girl seemed to think it was all right.
There was but one cloud on the horizon to mar the homecoming of Dick and Silversheene, and this was because of their old enemmy Pedro Garcia. He had become very insolent and untrustworthy of late, and Mr. Henderson had been compelled to discharge him. After he had left town, ten thousand dollars was found missing from the safe. While that very morning Mr. Henderson had received a letter from the greaser in which he threatened to return some night and shoot up the house.
Dick laughed when he read it.
"Let him come," he said. "I have had considerable practice with a .44 since I left Oregon. I would like nothing better than to take a crack at the dirty greaser's head. I guess Silversheene would like to get his teeth into his legs also. Between us we ought to hold the ranch. Don't you folks worry. We will look out for things. He probably thought he could bully you when I was away, but we are ready for him now, so let him come."
When Richard held the letter out for Silversheene to smell it, to the surprise of all but Dick the dog's hackles went up and his eyes became like living coals, while he uttered a low menacing growl. "What did I tell you?" cried Dick excitedly. "Silversheene hasn't forgotten the man who sold him into slavery. We will settle that account with him yet." So Richard scoured the room over the stable for Pedro's old clothes. He finally secured some shoes and pants which still held the man's body scent. These he displayed to Silversheene and told him to eat him up. Even Dick was amazed at the towering rage into which the old fighter flew when he realized that he was to trail his old enemy.
"I guess we have made it plain to him, Father," said Dick. "He knows as well as I do that Pedro is the quarry and we are all out to get him. You need not worry about his stealing a march on this place. That dog won't close an eye at night until he gets him, and when he does come upon him, if there isn't a tree nearby there will be a dead greaser."
"Aren't you afraid Pedro will kill him before you can come to his aid?" inquired Eleanor fearfully.
"No, I guess not," said Dick. "Why, I shot at him myself for nearly a week and did him no harm. He knows guns and revolvers and will look out for himself."
As Richard had prophesied, Silversheene took his responsibility in regard to Pedro Garcia very seriously. He slept by day and at night was on guard. Even his old friend Jerry, the cocker spaniel, could not get him to play much during these days of watching. He had seen too much serious work during his two years in Alaska to play now.
So each night he might be seen walking sedately about the place inspecting all the outbuildings. Or perhaps he would lie in some conspicuous place where he could watch all the approaches to the ranch.
Each night at eleven, when Eleanor went to bed, he would come under her window and sit upon his haunches watching until she came to the window and said good-night to him. Then he would go back to his silent vigil. His family, those he loved, were in danger and he was standing guard like a faithful sentinel.
The dastardly attempt of Pedro to harm those who had been his benefactors came much sooner than Dick had anticipated. In fact, he thought the threatening letter bluff, and hardly expected the greaser to return at all. That was why he had not worried about the Mexican's shooting Silversheene.
So he was much astonished one night about a week after his return by a terrific din in the backyard.
First there was an angry snarl from Silversheene, and then two shots fired in quick succession. At the sound of the revolver Dick's heart went sick. He had been too sure that Silversheene could take care of himself. Perhaps the greaser had gotten him at close range. But the shots were immediately followed by a series of blood-curdling yells in a high-keyed, frenzied voice that sounded very much like Pedro's. As these yells continued and they were intermingled with more furious snarls from Silversheene, Dick concluded he was giving a good account of himself. So without waiting to dress he ran downstairs, two steps at a time, and hurried into the yard. This was what had happened in the meantime in the backyard.
Silversheene had been lying on the top of a low brick wall which enclosed the garden at the back of the house. He felt quite sure danger would come from this unprotected quarter. He was lying perfectly motionless, seemingly asleep. But he was very much awake, although his head was between his paws. His eyes were wide open and gazing intently about while his keen nostrils, which were as sharp as the scent of a wolf, were continually testing the air, and his pointed ears were cocked. Presently he lifted his head cautiously, his nostrils extended several times rapidly, and his ears became a little more erect. After perhaps a minute his vigilance was rewarded for he saw a figure, which he thought he recognized, open the gate at the back of the garden and approach the house. A dog with less wisdom and with less hunting instinct might have sprung down from his perch at once and made for the intruder, and thus given him a chance to escape, but not so Silversheene. He had watched and waited too many times by squirrel holes and by beaver dams not to know that it was useless to strike until the quarry was within reach, so he lay still upon the wall and watched. The only change in him was that his eyes turned to two living coals and his whole body went rigid.
When he did spring it would be with the propulsion of steel springs.
The cunning dog waited until Pedro had passed the middle of the garden and was between him and the house, then he sprang from his hiding place like a white flash, and, with a blood-curdling snarl, came in a series of great bounds over rosebushes and across flower beds, straight towards the terrified greaser.
At the first sound Pedro had whirled and faced his adversary and then uttered a yell edged with superstitious terror and this was the frantic thought which raced through his fevered brain:
It was Silversheene—no, it could not be! He had sold him for the Alaskan dog trade two and a half years before. No southland dog who went to Alaska ever came back. They all died in the traces. No, this could not be Silversheene, for he was dead. Then, horror of horrors! This mad creature bounding towards him like a frenzied thing was an apparition. Silversheene was dead, and this was his spirit.
A dog without flesh or bone who was coming to avenge him.
Pedro did not know whether it would do any good to shoot at him or not, but that seemed the only thing to do, besides it was instinctive, so he had raised his revolver hurriedly and fired twice. But the apparition did not even feel his shots. It was the spirit dog of vengeance.
So when Silversheene was almost upon him the greaser had dropped his revolver and gone up the nearest tree like a monkey.
It might be useless to climb a tree to avoid a spirit dog but that also was instinctive.
Yet when he felt Silversheene's teeth in his leg and heard his pants ripped clean from his body he changed his mind about it being a spirit dog of vengeance. It was a sure-enough flesh and blood dog. He had barely missed pulling him out of the tree. So Pedro scrambled up higher and drew his knife, while Silversheene started to climb the tree, unmindful of the gleaming knife and the man's kicks and curses.
This was the fiend who had sold him into captivity, the devil who was going to hurt his dear friends. Well, he had treed him, and he would drag him down and throttle him just as he and his pack of gray wolves had killed a half-breed one dark night on the Alaskan trail.
It was at this point, when Pedro had climbed to fifteen feet and Silversheene was close upon him, and the greaser was slashing at him with his cruel knife, that Dick appeared under the tree with his .44. Mr. Henderson also was soon on the scene, while Eleanor who had nearly fainted at sound of the shots was watching from her window.
Silversheene was so furious that he paid no attention to Dick's calls to come down, but steadily climbed towards his victim.
Dick was finally obliged to climb up and draw him down by main force, while Mr. Henderson covered the greaser with his revolver.
At last the noble dog was safe on the ground, although every hair on his back stood erect and his eyes flashed so that Dick himself was almost afraid of him.
Finally Mr. Henderson went into the house and telephoned for the sheriff while Dick and the dog stood guard.
It was with great satisfaction that they at last saw Pedro handcuffed and taken away to the county jail to await his trial. Silversheene was, of course, the hero of the capture.
The following morning, the Henderson family, including Silversheene, went to the courthouse to the trial of Pedro Garcia.
Richard and Mr. Henderson each took the stand and told at length the greaser's treachery. They told of his selling Silversheene for the Alaskan dog trade, of his theft of the money and the threatening letter, and of his final dramatic capture by the dog. There was a great crowd in the courthouse.
Many of the spectators were as anxious to see the winner of the Alaskan sweepstake as they were to see justice done.
When Pedro finally took the stand in his own defense, which he did with much swagger, Silversheene was so furious that it was all Dick could do to quiet him.
The judge, who was a great lover of dogs and knew a gentleman when he saw one, was much impressed by Silversheene's rage. He finally invited Silversheene to sit with him upon the bench and they sat side by side, judge and dog, and tried the man. But in this case the man was more of a brute than was the dog.
The Mexican was finally bound over to the grand jury, and the Hendersons later had the satisfaction of seeing Pedro given a ten-year job with the Oregon chain gang. So his evil-doings, due to the cleverness of Silversheene, were at an end.
When Silversheene and Dick had first returned to Oregon and the bosom of their family, the dog had been occasionally haunted by the hardships and the horrors of the old days. Sometimes, even while lying under a giant shade tree, with the scent of roses heavy upon the balmy air, he would dream of the Alaskan trail, of the scourge of a long black lash and the killing pace.
Often, while the fragrant breezes fanned the tree tops and the song birds sang of love and beauty, Silversheene would lie on the velvet lawn dreaming of the Alaskan blizzard and his pound of frozen dry fish, or of a cold bed in the frosty snowbank.
Or, perhaps he would be lying by a cheerful open fire with the family all about him when the specters of the old days and ways would steal upon him. Instead of the frescoed room, the walls would fade away to the open fields under the starry sky and his friends would change to cave men and women, with long arms and short legs, with bodies partly covered with hair, and they would all be crouching about the feeble campfire looking fearfully into the darkness at the gray wolf sitting upon his haunches watching them.
Then the man would pick up a firebrand and throw it at the gray prowler and he would slink away into the darkness. Or Silversheene would dream that he again heard his wild brother, the wolf, calling to him in that thin, weird, high-keyed, wolf howl, the call of the wolf to the dog.
At such times he would stir uneasily in his sleep and his legs would twitch, and if they did not awaken him he would at last spring up with an angry bark or a pitiful whimper and look fearfully about him for the gray shape, the shade of the wolf that he had been.
Then he would see all his beloved family and the cheerful room and the bright fire-light and look very foolish. At such times he usually went to Dick to be comforted, for he had also seen these things in the stern old days in Alaska, and understood.
But by degrees these bad dreams of the past, and the intuitions of his heritage of wolf ancestry, faded away, until they were almost forgotten.
Thus it was that Silversheene grew old, with the hard, relentless things in his life growing dim and distant and the bright and beautiful things each year becoming brighter and more real. He grew old with his beloved family about him. By the open fire or out on the ranch he was always one of them. There was no chair too good for him, and no seat too comfortable. They all loved him as dog was never loved before and he repayed them in kind. They were his royalty, his Kings and Queens for whom he would gladly have laid down his life. All but Richard, and Dick was his god.
Often he would steal away from the rest of the family to be alone with Dick. They had struggled and suffered together and there was a love between them and an understanding that did not quite attain with the others. As Richard had told Scotty Ellis when he clasped the grizzled musher's hard hand at the end of the great race, they were brothers.
The end