The Day of the Dog | Page 8

to court," he explained.
"Oh," she said, thoroughly convinced.
At the end of another hour the two on the beam were looking at each other with troubled eyes. When he glanced at his watch at six o'clock, his face was extremely sober. There was a tired, wistful expression in her eyes.
"Do you think they'll keep us here all night?" she asked plaintively.
"Heaven knows what that scoundrel will do."
"We have the papers signed, at any rate." She sighed, trying to revive the dying spark of humor.
"And we won't be lonesome," he added, glaring at the dog.
"Did you ever dream that a man could be so despicable?"
"Ah, here comes some one at last," he cried, brightening up.
The figure of Robert Austin appeared in the doorway.
"Oho, you're both up there now, are you?" he snapped. "That's why you didn't go to the depot, is it? Well, how has the business progressed?"
"She has signed all the papers, if that's what you want to know," said Crosby tantalizingly.
"That's all the good it will do her. We'll beat you in court, Mr. Crosby, and we won't leave a dollar for you, my dear sister-in-law," snarled Austin, his face white with rage.
"And now that we've settled our business, and missed our train, perhaps you'll call off your confounded dog," said Crosby. Austin's face broke into a wide grin, and he chuckled aloud. Then he leaned against the door-post and held his sides.
"What's the joke?" demanded the irate Crosby. Mrs. Delancy clasped his arm and looked down upon Austin as if he had suddenly gone mad.
"You want to come down, eh?" cackled Austin. "Why don't you come down? I know you'll pardon my laughter, but I have just remembered that you may be a horse thief and that I was not going to let you escape. Mrs. Delancy refuses to speak to me, so I decline to ask her to come down."
"Do you mean to say you'll keep this lady up here for--" began Crosby fiercely. Her hand on his arm prevented him from leaping to the floor.
"She may come down when she desires, and so may you, sir," roared Austin stormily.
"But some one will release us, curse you, and then I'll make you sorry you ever lived," hissed Crosby. "You are a black-hearted cur, a cowardly dog--"
"Don't--don't!" whispered the timid woman beside him.
"You are helping your cause beautifully," sneered Austin. "My men have instructions to stay away from the barn until the marshal comes. I, myself, expect to feed and bed the horses."
Deliberately he went about the task of feeding the horses. The two on the beam looked on in helpless silence. Crosby had murder in his heart. At last the master of the situation started for the door.
"Good-night," he said sarcastically. "Pleasant dreams."
"You brute," cried Crosby, hoarse with anger. A sob came from his tired companion and Crosby turned to her, his heart full of tenderness and-- shame, perhaps. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and her shoulders drooped dejectedly.
"What shall we do?" she moaned. Crosby could frame no answer. He gently took her hand in his and held it tightly. She made no effort to withdraw it.
"I'm awfully sorry," he said softly. "Don't cry, little woman. It will all end right, I know."
Just then Austin reentered the barn. Without a word he strode over and emptied a pan of raw meat on the floor in front of the dog. Then he calmly departed, but Crosby could have sworn he heard him chuckle. The captives looked at each other dumbly for a full minute, one with wet, wide-open, hurt eyes, the other with consternation. Gradually the sober light in their eyes faded away and feeble smiles developed into peals of laughter. The irony of the situation bore down upon them irresistibly and their genuine, healthy young minds saw the picture in all of its ludicrous colorings. Not even the prospect of a night in mid-air could conquer the wild desire to laugh.
"Isn't it too funny for words?" she laughed bravely through her tears.
Then, for some reason, both relapsed into dark, silent contemplation of the dog who was so calmly enjoying his evening repast.
"I am sorry to admit it, Mr. Crosby, but I am growing frightfully hungry," she said wistfully.
"It has just occurred to me that I haven't eaten a bite since seven o'clock this morning," he said.
"You poor man! I wish I could cook something for you."
"You might learn."
"You know what I mean," she explained, reddening a bit. "You must be nearly famished."
"I prefer to think of something more interesting," he said coolly.
"It is horrid!" she sobbed. "See, it is getting dark. Night is coming. Mr. Crosby, what is to become of us?" He was very much distressed by her tears and a desperate resolve took root in his breast. She was so tired and dispirited that she