His Dog | Page 5

grunted Link, letting the stone drop to the road, "got nerve, too,
ain't you, friend? 'Tain't every cuss that can wag his tail when his leg's
bust."
Kneeling down again he examined the broken foreleg more carefully.
Gentle as was his touch, yet Link knew it must cause infinite torture.
But the dog did not flinch. He seemed to understand that Ferris meant
kindly, for he moved his magnificent head far enough to lick the man's
hand softly and in gratitude.
The caress had an odd effect on the loveless Ferris. It was the first
voluntary mark of affection he had encountered for longer than he liked
to remember. It set old memories to working.
The Ferris farm, since Link's birth, had been perhaps the only home in
all that wild region which did not boast a dog of some kind. Link's
father had had an inborn hatred of dogs. He would not allow one on the
place. His overt excuse was that they killed sheep and worried cattle,
and that he could not afford to risk the well-being of his scanty hoard of
stock.
Thus, Link had grown to manhood with no dog at his heels, and
without knowing the normal human's love for canine chumship.
The primal instinct, long buried, stirred within him now; at touch of the
warm tongue on his calloused hand and at sound of that friendly tail
wagging in the dry grass. Ashamed of the stirrings in him, he sought to
explain them by reminding himself that this was probably a valuable
animal and that a reward might be offered for his return. In which case
Link Ferris might as well profit by the cash windfall as anyone else.
Taking off his coat, Ferris spread it on the ground. Then, lifting the
stricken collie as gently as he could, he deposited him on the coat and
rolled its frayed edges about him. After which he picked up the swathed
invalid and bore him home.
During the mile trudge the collie's sixty pounds grew unbearably heavy,

to the half-drunk Ferris. More than once he was minded to set down his
burden and leave the brute to his fate.
But always the tardy realization that the journey was more painful to
the dog than to himself gave Link a fresh grip on his determination.
And at last,--a long and tiring last,--they reached the tumble-down
farmhouse where Link Ferris kept bachelor's hall.
Laying his patient on the kitchen table, Link lighted a candle and went
in search of such rude appliances as his father had been wont to keep in
store for any of the farm's animals that might be injured.
Three times as a lad Link had seen his father set the broken leg of a
sheep, and once he had watched the older man perform a like office for
a yearling heifer whose hind leg had become wedged between two
brookside stones and had sustained a compound fracture. From Civil
War hospital experience the father had been a deft bonesetter. And
following his recollection of the old man's methods, Link himself had
later set the broken leg of one of his lambs. The operation had been a
success. He resolved now to duplicate it.
Slowly and somewhat clumsily he went to work at the injured dog. The
collie's brave patience nerved him to greater tenderness and care. A
veterinary would have made neater work of the bonesetting, but hardly
could have rendered the job more effective.
When the task was achieved Link brought his patient a bowl of cold
water--which the collie drank greedily--and some bread and meat
scraps which the feverish patient would not touch.
As he worked at his bonesetting task, Ferris had more chance to study
his new acquisition. The dog was young--probably not more than two
years old. The teeth proved that. He wore a thin collie collar with no
inscription on its silver band.
Even to Link's inexperienced eye he was an animal of high breeding
and of glorious beauty. Link told himself he would perhaps get as much
as ten dollars for the return of so costly a pet. And he wondered why
the golden prospect did not seem more alluring.
Three times in the night Link got up to give the collie fresh water and
to moisten and re-adjust the bandages. And, every time, the sight of his
rescuer would cause the dog's tail to thump a joyous welcome and
would fill the dark eyes with a loving gratitude which went straight to
Ferris's lonely heart.

In the morning the dog was prevailed upon to lap a saucer of warm
milk, and even to nibble at a crust of soaked bread. Link was ashamed
of his own keen and growing interest in his find. For the first time he
realized