The Fighting Chance | Page 3

wagon-broken,
steady to shot and wing--” She shrugged her pretty shoulders. “You see
how he’s acting already!”
“Do you mind if I try him?” suggested Siward.
“You mean that you are going to let him run?”
“I think so.”
“And if he bolts?”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Yes, but please consider my chances, Mr. Siward. The dog doesn’t
belong to me.”
“But he ought to run--”
“But suppose he runs away? He’s a horridly expensive creature--if you
care to take the risk.”
“I’ll take the risk,” said Siward, smiling as she drew rein. “Now Flynn,
give me the leash. Quiet! Quiet, puppy! Everything is coming your way;
that’s the beauty of patience; great thing, patience!” He took the leader;
the dog sprang from the rumble. “Now, my friend, look at me! No,
don’t twist and squirm and scramble; look me square in the eye; so! …
Now we know each ether and we respect each other--because you are
going to be a good puppy … and obey … Down charge!”
The dog, trembling with eager comprehension, dropped like a shot,
muzzle laid flat between his paws. Siward unleashed him, looked down
at him for a second, stooped and caressed the silky head, then with a
laugh swung himself into the phaeton beside the driver, who, pretty
head turned, had been looking on intently.
“Your dog is yard-broken,” he said. “Look at him.”
“I see. Do you think he will follow us?”

“I think so.”
The horse started, Miss Landis looking back over her shoulder at the
dog who lay motionless, crouched flat in the road.
Then Siward turned. “Come on, Sagamore!” he said gaily; and the dog
sprang forward, circled about the moving phaeton, splitting the air with
yelps of ecstasy, then tore ahead, mad with the delight of stretching
cramped muscles amid the long rank grass and shrubbery of the
roadside.
The girl watched him doubtfully; when he disappeared far away up the
road she turned the blue inquiry of her eyes on Siward.
“He’ll be back,” said the young fellow, laughing; and presently the dog
reappeared on a tearing gallop, white flag tossing, glorious in his new
liberty, enchanted with the confidence this tall young man had reposed
in him--this adorable young man, this wonderful friend who had
suddenly appeared to release him from an undignified and abominable
situation in a crate.
“A good dog,” said Siward; and the girl looked around at him, partly
because his voice was pleasant, partly because a vague memory was
beginning to stir within her, coupling something unpleasant with the
name of Siward.
She had been conscious of it when he first named himself, but,
absorbed in the overwhelming importance of her telegram, had left the
analysis of the matter for the future.
She thought again of her telegram, theorised a little, came to no
conclusion except to let the matter rest for the present, and mentally
turned to the next and far less important problem--the question of this
rather attractive young man at her side, and why the name of Siward
should be linked in her mind with anything disagreeable.
Tentatively following the elusive mental dews that might awaken
something definite concerning her hazy impression of the man beside

her, she spoke pleasantly, conventionally, touching idly any topic that
might have a bearing; and, under a self-possession so detached as to
give an impression of indifference, eyes, ears, and intelligence admitted
that he was agreeable to look at, pleasant of voice, and difficult to
reconcile with anything unpleasant.
Which gradually aroused her interest--the incongruous usually
interesting girls of her age--for he had wit enough to amuse her,
sufficient inconsequence to please her, and something listless, at times
almost absent-minded, almost inattentive, that might have piqued her
had it not inoculated her, as it always does any woman, with the
nascent germ of curiosity. Besides, there was, in the hint of his
momentary preoccupation, a certain charm.
They discussed shooting and the opening of the season; dogs and the
training of dogs; and why some go gun-shy and why some ace blinkers.
From sport and its justification, they became inconsequential; and she
was beginning to enjoy the freshness of their chance acquaintance, his
nice attitude toward things, his irrelevancy, his gaiety.
Laughter thawed her; for notwithstanding the fearless confidence she
had been taught for men of her own kind, self-possession and reserve,
if not inherent, had also been drilled into her, and she required a great
deal in a man before she paid him the tribute of one of her pretty
laughs.
Apparently they were advancing rather rapidly.
“Don’t you think we ought to call the dog in, Mr. Siward?”
“Yes; he’s had enough!”
She drew rein; he sprang out and whistled; and the Sagamore pup,
dusty and happy came romping back. Siward motioned