Kazan | Page 2

him. Should he

cringe back? Should he snap? Was she one of the things on the wall,
and his enemy? Should he leap at her white throat? He saw the man
running forward, pale as death. Then her hand fell upon his head and
the touch sent a thrill through him that quivered in every nerve of his
body. With both hands she turned up his head. Her face was very close,
and he heard her say, almost sobbingly:
"And you are Kazan--dear old Kazan, my Kazan, my hero dog--who
brought him home to me when all the others had died! My Kazan--my
hero!"
And then, miracle of miracles, her face was crushed down against him,
and he felt her sweet warm touch.
In those moments Kazan did not move. He scarcely breathed. It seemed
a long time before the girl lifted her face from him. And when she did,
there were tears in her blue eyes, and the man was standing above them,
his hands gripped tight, his jaws set.
"I never knew him to let any one touch him--with their naked hand," he
said in a tense wondering voice. "Move back quietly, Isobel. Good
heaven--look at that!"
Kazan whined softly, his bloodshot eyes on the girl's face. He wanted
to feel her hand again; he wanted to touch her face. Would they beat
him with a club, he wondered, if he dared! He meant no harm now. He
would kill for her. He cringed toward her, inch by inch, his eyes never
faltering. He heard what the man said--"Good heaven! Look at
that!"--and he shuddered. But no blow fell to drive him back. His cold
muzzle touched her filmy dress, and she looked at him, without moving,
her wet eyes blazing like stars.
"See!" she whispered. "See!"
Half an inch more--an inch, two inches, and he gave his big gray body
a hunch toward her. Now his muzzle traveled slowly upward--over her
foot, to her lap, and at last touched the warm little hand that lay there.
His eyes were still on her face: he saw a queer throbbing in her bare

white throat, and then a trembling of her lips as she looked up at the
man with a wonderful look. He, too, knelt down beside them, and put
his arm about the girl again, and patted the dog on his head. Kazan did
not like the man's touch. He mistrusted it, as nature had taught him to
mistrust the touch of all men's hands, but he permitted it because he
saw that it in some way pleased the girl.
"Kazan, old boy, you wouldn't hurt her, would you?" said his master
softly. "We both love her, don't we, boy? Can't help it, can we? And
she's ours, Kazan, all ours! She belongs to you and to me, and we're
going to take care of her all our lives, and if we ever have to we'll fight
for her like hell--won't we? Eh, Kazan, old boy?"
For a long time after they left him where he was lying on the rug,
Kazan's eyes did not leave the girl. He watched and listened--and all
the time there grew more and more in him the craving to creep up to
them and touch the girl's hand, or her dress, or her foot. After a time his
master said something, and with a little laugh the girl jumped up and
ran to a big, square, shining thing that stood crosswise in a corner, and
which had a row of white teeth longer than his own body. He had
wondered what those teeth were for. The girl's fingers touched them
now, and all the whispering of winds that he had ever heard, all the
music of the waterfalls and the rapids and the trilling of birds in
spring-time, could not equal the sounds they made. It was his first
music. For a moment it startled and frightened him, and then he felt the
fright pass away and a strange tingling in his body. He wanted to sit
back on his haunches and howl, as he had howled at the billion stars in
the skies on cold winter nights. But something kept him from doing
that. It was the girl. Slowly he began slinking toward her. He felt the
eyes of the man upon him, and stopped. Then a little more--inches at a
time, with his throat and jaw straight out along the floor! He was
half-way to her--half-way across the room--when the wonderful sounds
grew very soft and very low.
"Go on!" he heard the man urge in a low quick voice. "Go on! Don't
stop!"
The girl turned her head, saw Kazan cringing there on the floor, and

continued to play. The man was still looking, but his eyes could not
keep Kazan