Red Saunders Pets and Other Critters | Page 4

"'Of course not,' says I. 'Why should it be?'
"This got him going. I saw him figuring away to himself, and then I had
to smile so you could hear it.
"'Well,' says I, better humoured, 'tell us it again--I caught the word
sheep in the hurricane.'
"So he went over it, talking slow. I listened with one ear, for he had a
white bulldog with him; a husky, bandy-legged brute with a black eye,

and he was sniffing, dog fashion, around the door, while I blocked him
out with my legs. Doggy was in a frame of mind, puzzling out
bull-snake trail, and hawk trail, and bob-cat trail. He foresaw much that
was entertaining the other side of the door, and wanted it, powerful.
"'Here,' says I, 'call your dog. I can't pay attention to both of you.'
"'He won't hurt anything, you know,' says the man.
"'Well, we've got a cat in there that'll hurt him,' I says. 'You'd better
whistle him off before old Bob wakes up and scatters him around the
front yard.'
"Gee! That man sat up straight on his horse! Cat hurt that dog?
Nonsense! Of course, he wouldn't let the dog hurt the cat, and as long
as I was afraid----
"I looked into that peaceful cabin. Billy was lying on his back, his fine
manly nose vibrating with melody; Wind-River was cooing in a gentle,
choked-to-death sort of fashion, on the second bunk; Tom was coiled in
the corner, the size of half a barrel; the Judge slept on his perch; Robert
reposed under the cook-stove with just a front paw sticking out. It was
one of them restful scenes our friends the poets sing about. It did
appear wicked to disturb it but----
"'Will you risk your dog?' I asked that man very softly and politely.
"'Certainly!' says he.
"Says I, 'His blood be on your shirtfront,' and I moved my leg.
"Well, sir, Billy landed on the grocery shelf. Wind-River grabbed his
gun and sat up paralysed. It really was a most surprising noise. I've had
hard luck in my life, but all the things that ever happened to me would
seem like a recess to that bulldog. Our domestic difficulties was
forgotten. 'United We Stand,' waved the motto of the lake-bed cabin.
Jerusalem! That dog was snake-bit, and
hawk-scratched-and-bit-and-clawed, and

bobcat-scratched-and-bit-and-clawed, till you could not see a cussed
thing in that cabin but blur. And of all the hissing and squawking and
screeching and yelling and snapping and roaring and growling you or
any other man ever heard, that was the darndest. I took a look at the
visitor. He'd got off his horse and was standing in the doorway with his
hands spread out. His face expressed nothing at all, very forcible.
Meanwhile, things were boilin' for fair; cook-stove, frying-pans, stools,
boxes, saddles, tin cans, bull-snakes, hawks, bob-cats, and bulldogs
simply floated in the air.
"'I wish you'd tell me what has busted loose, Red Saunders!' howls old
Wind-River in an injured tone of voice; 'and whether I shell shoot or
sha'n't I?'
"There come a second's lull. I see Judge Jenkins on the dog's back, his
talents sunk to the hock, whilst he had hold of an ear with his bill,
pullin' manfully. Tommy had swallered the dog's stumpy tail, and Bob
was dragging hair out of the enemy like an Injun dressing hides.
"A bulldog is like an Irishman; he's brave because he don't know any
better, and you can't get any braver than that, but there's a limit, even to
lunk-headedness. It bored through that dog's thick skull that he had
butted into a little bit the darndest hardest streak of petrified luck that
anything on legs could meet with.
"'By-by,' says he to himself. 'Out doors will do for me!' And here he
come! Neither the visitor nor me was expecting him. He blocked the
feet out from under us and sat his master on top. We got up in time to
see a winged bulldog, with a tail ten foot long, bounding merrily over
the turf, searching his soul for sounds to tell how scart he was, whilst a
desperate bob-cat, spitting fire and brimstone, threw dirt fifty foot in
the air trying to lay claws on him."
[Illustration: Searching soul for sounds to tell how scart he was]
"As they disappeared over the first rise I rolls me a cigarette and lights
it slowly.

"'Just by way of curiosity,' says I; 'how much will you take for your
dog?'
"'My Heavens!' says he, recovering the power of speech. 'What kind of
animal was that?'
"'Come in,' says I, 'and take a drink--you need it.'
"So we gathered up the ruins and tidied things some, while the new
man sipped his whiskey.
"'My!' says he, of