Always to hold his ground and never to lose his nerve“Always to hold his ground and never to lose his nerve.”CHAPTER XIVAN BECOMES A HERO
Always to hold his ground and never to lose his nerve“Always to hold his ground and never to lose his nerve.”
“Always to hold his ground and never to lose his nerve.”
“Always to hold his ground and never to lose his nerve.”
VAN by this time knew the Hill-Top from end to end, and for miles and miles on all sides. His four feet and his delicate nose had explored the whole countryside. He hunted with Thatcher, he rode with the expressman, he prowled whole mornings by himself. But, best of all, he loved to chase after Betsy. As the days grew longer, the little maid studied her lessons in the afternoon, and took her walk with Van after dinner. She said to Mary one evening, as she routed Van out of his basket in the kitchen,
“Where’s the whip, Mary? I must take it so Van won’t chase cats.”
“Ah, now, Miss Betsy, he won’t be afther hurtin’ the cats. He just do be havin’ his little fun wit’ ’em.” Mary had no such tender feelings where cats were concerned, and the Boy-Heart, as she called him, should be allowed to follow his pretty little instincts.
“Fox terriers is intinded to chase cats, Miss Betsy, and whin he goes out wit’ me I lets him have his pleasure. He do enj’y himsilf, to be sure!” Mary would not have betrayed him if he had killed half a dozen cats, and she rather unwillingly handed the whip to Betsy, who started off with Van.
They skirted the lawn down by the row of maples, racing through the soft grass, while Van barked at the long shadows, looking himself like a thing of light in the level golden rays of the sinking sun. By the flower garden they turned up, between the two goldfish ponds. Van cared nothing for the ponds—water was only a thing to be avoided, anyway. The biggest one was the very pond into which Thatcher had thrown him when he was a baby. Betsy might stop, if shechose, to watch the darting fish, but Van hurried through a tall hedge beyond. Here there might be some hunting.
But all was still. They crossed back to the walk, and swung around the South Building and into Bow Lane. There was a collie dog in the Lane; he was a friendly old fellow, and Van stopped to pass the time of day with him.
Down Bow Lane they went for a bit, and then turned into the grounds again, this time behind the buildings. An English setter lived there, but he was on a chain and did not count.
Now they came to a row of small buildings, and here, in the days of his apprenticeship at the business, there had been a perfect harvest of cats; cats to be chased through fences, cats to be treed, cats to be caught by their fearful mistresses and hurried away to safety, at the sound of Van’s bark. But now there were left only a few veterans that backed up against walls and stood at bay, with two rows of sharp teeth and twenty claws to bury in him, if he ventured too near. Van respected these old, seasoned cats. Summer and winter they held their own and defied him, and knowing thatBetsy held the whip, he was easily gotten past Cat Row.
Betsy heaved a sigh of relief, however, when the occasional spitting and sputtering, barking and growling, was over, with no really violent encounter, and they turned down past the carpenter shops, and came upon Pig-Pen Alley. Here was the grand game of all the games.
The pigs, in general, took no notice of Van, but in and out of the pens darted rats. At sight of Van they hurtled to cover in every direction. They knew the enemy!
But to-night there was no sport, for Betsy did not encourage him; instead she hurried him past these possible scenes of bloodshed.
Beyond Pig-Pen Alley they came upon Silver Street. Here lived two more collies, who barked at Van and Betsy from behind a high hedge. On from here they went up the grassy road, turned in at the gate, rounded a clump of spruces, and were in sight of Dr. Johns’ home.
Right here Van, with a sense of having been cheated out of the best part of the walk by Betsy’s womanish dislike for battle, decided for himself that the evening’s entertainment was not over—nothis part of it, anyway. He turned suddenly, and went straight back by the way he had come.
When Betsy went up the steps of the honeysuckle porch, there was no Van at her heels. She called, but he was nowhere to be seen, and he made no answer.
Betsy whistled and called to him in vain. She went into the house greatly troubled.
“I don’t know what came over him, Aunt Kate. He seemed to forget something and go back for it.”
“We won’t wait for him, Betsy. He’ll come back before long, as gay as a lark.”
Meantime Van was alone and free to follow his own sweet will. Down Silver Street he went, stopping to bark defiance at the two collies. Then he turned to the left, and went towards Toby Hollow. Many times had he been there in the daylight, but never before at night. It was a delicious place, full of whispering mysteries of leaf and insect. Little night noises and voices of the underworld babbled around him, the trees bent above him, like friendly giants, and the Dark was soft and warm. There were depths to explore that never existed in the daytime. Here a squirrelswished past almost within reach of Van’s nose; now a woodchuck crossed his path, and he tracked it to its hole and waited there, long and vainly, for its reappearance. He would remember that woodchuck, sometime, when Thatcher was there to help him.
The night had long ago pulled down its velvety curtains. Far away a little rooster, who was just learning to crow, and was anxious to get in extra practice, turned up his cracked little voice: “Ruckety, ruckety r-r-r-r-r-r!” It made a stir through all the chicken yards along the road; Van barked a reply. If that meant morning he must hurry on with his night-prowling. Dew-wet but happy he turned back. The game in Toby Hollow was too shy. He would go where he knew his ground better.
Pig-Pen Alley again. Betsy was not here to bother him now. He would make a round by himself. Piff! there went a rat right across the alley in front of him. Like a shot from a cannon went Van through the palings and was hot on its track. Down the alley they skimmed along. If the rat could only hold out to that corner it would be safe. It jumped for a hole, but Vanheaded it off, and it turned into the darkness of the great Cow Barn. There was no chance to turn or double—Van was too near.
All was quiet there, for it was late in the night, and good cows sleep when it is dark. Mr. Rat scuttled along—the breath of the dog was on him;—oh, for a place to hide!
At the far end, beyond the long rows of gently breathing cattle, was an enclosed stall, built of cement, and strewn with clean straw. Just now it was occupied by a mother cow and her baby calf, only a day old. A sack of corn leaned against the stall, and with a leap the rat was behind it. Van tipped the bag over, but at that instant the rat had found a knot-hole in the wooden door, and was on the inside. Van could not go through a knot-hole.
But there were other ways, and he did not intend to give up the chase—not yet! The stall was only four feet high, and there was the sack of corn. On this Van scrambled. With a leap he caught the edge of the stall with his paws; a spring and a wriggle, and he, too, was inside.
He landed on something warm and soft; a something around which the rat ran, escapingagain by the hole where he had entered; a something which gave an astonished “moo!” at the disturbance of her rest; a something which rose out of the pitch darkness like a black mountain. Mother Cow would see what was destroying the slumbers of her baby and herself. Huge and awful she was, for a mother cow with her little one is no child’s toy. Had it been daylight she could easily have made an end of poor Van, with her wicked horns.
As it was she stood there, blinking and grumbling, with a threat in her throat, and a warning also to the wabbly baby, that crowded in behind her great bulk, where it would be safe from danger.
Mother Cow was quite enough for Van, however. She stood there, fearsome and menacing, and Van faced her—the biggest problem he had ever tackled. She looked formidable indeed; he certainly could not get her by the back of the neck and shake her. He decided not to rush the lady, but to fight shy, and for time. He must be brave, look her down, and not flinch.
He made no sound. Somehow the valiant little figure, standing his ground before her, madeBrindle hesitate about attacking in her turn.
She shook her horns threateningly, but took no step toward him. Van stood motionless. The minutes crept slowly by.
At the far end of the big cow-barn appeared the light of a swinging lantern. The night-watchman was going his rounds to see that all was safe. Van gave one long howl. Perhaps he would be rescued. The man hesitated—yes, he was coming!—No, he had decided that some dog outside had made the noise. All seemed peaceful in the cow-barn, and he did not go in, but disappeared down toward Cat Row.
Van whined despairingly, but the man was now out of hearing. Another hour must be lived through before help could come again.
There was not one thing in the stall on which Van could climb and make his way to safety, and four feet were more than he could jump. The walls, bare and smooth, closed him in. There was no light, save that which struggled through a high, cobwebby window, from the far-away stars.
No help anywhere! nothing to do but wait and wait till the night-watchman came back; alwaysto hold his ground, and never to lose his nerve! He squared himself to the task.
The baby calf grew chilly and cried. Mother Cow backed closer to it, almost stepping on it with her great awkward cloven hoofs. It pressed into the corner, and its little body was warmed against hers. It stopped shivering, lay down, and at last slept.
The minutes went on, and the quarter-hours. Van slipped backward slowly, warily, until he could brace himself in the far corner of the stall. Always he kept his eyes on the enemy, his head lowered to point, his stump-tail straight and alert, his forelegs ready for a spring, his hind legs wide and rigid,—ready for the on-rush that might come at any minute. He grew stiff and cold.
The chimes in the clock tower of the Middle Building sounded,—then the great bell struck One! The light appeared again in the doorway. Van whined.
“What’s that?” called the night-watchman.
Van did not answer. So a-tremble was he with eagerness and nervous excitement that he did not think to sound again his alarm-signal.
The night-watchman looked in, but the aisle between the rows of cattle was empty, save for the over-turned bag of corn. He lifted his lantern high, and looked into the stalls nearest him. All quiet everywhere.
“Now he is coming,” thought Van, and he stood silent and quivering, never taking his eyes from the enormous foe who seemed to grow bigger in the dim lantern-light. She faced him as before, and neither made a sound. The watchman turned, and went out into the night.
Van shuddered, and the great mountainous mass lowed ominously, and swayed from side to side. If he stirred a hair out of his place she would be upon him with her horns.
Another slow hour must creep around. Van’s nerves were near the breaking point, but he must hold on. If only he could have done something, it would have been easier. But he could not rush a monster like that. He had no weapons with which to fight dragons. More than one knight in the fairy tales has been chewed up because he attempted the impossible, or lost his guard for an instant. He must simply stand there, with every nerve and muscle in hand. He must notmove, and thus bring on the unequal struggle, in which he would certainly be killed. If the struggle came he would fight, and fight to his finish. Until then he must simply stand at bay. Help might come even yet.
Courage and endurance! Courage and endurance! Could he last another hour?
The chimes struck the half-hour—three-quarters—then the welcome One—Two! Soon the door would grow light again. Yes, there he was—the watchman!
A quavering cry that was almost a sob, broke from Van. “Oh, come to me!” he seemed to say, “I cannot hold out much longer.”
The Mother Cow swayed and grumbled, once—twice. She, too, was tiring. Why not rush him and have it over?
“Hello!” said the night-watchman. “What’s the trouble? That sounds like something in distress.”
This time he came in and went down the long aisle. At the very end he stopped and looked over into the box-stall. There stood the cow in one corner, with her baby lying huddled behind her, her great mother-eyes, fierce with fear, lookingstraight into the brave brown eyes of a wee dog. Even then Van did not stir. He must hold that awful thing back by the force of his will, until the last moment of danger was over.
The night-watchman reached over and lifted Van out by his collar. At his touch the little hero crumpled up with a piteous whine that went straight to the heart of his rescuer. Then he lay still in the man’s arms.
The night-watchman looked him over and whistled. On his collar he read “Vanart VI.” He did not stop to read more.
“It’s the Boss’s dog, sure. Well, of all the pluck! He must have been here two or three hours. I’m sure I heard something at twelve and at one, but I never dreamed it was inside the building. How he held out against that cow I don’t see. All mothers are fierce when their young is in danger. You certainly have got the grit, young fellow. I make my bow to you.”
He picked up his lantern and was off at a swinging stride toward Dr. Johns’ house. Van lay silent until his breath returned, his heart beat steadier, and his nerves lost their terrible tension. Then his self-respect came to him. Hecould not bear to be brought home in a man’s arms. Betsy or Mary might tote him around a little, if he were tired or sleepy,—but any one else,—oh, no, indeed!
With a wriggle and a plunge he slipped from the hold of the astonished night-watchman, who stood with his mouth open, watching him disappear through the dark, like a small goblin, in the direction of home.
The man looked after him, and laughed.
“The little tyke’s a sport all right, all right! I sh’d think I’d seen a ghost if I hadn’t had hold of him.”
Betsy lay in her bed, listening for the clear bark that would sound across the lawn sooner or later.
Instead, at the very door of the house she heard a pitiful wail, and she bounded up to let in a trembling creature, a little Prince, with all the princeliness gone out of him; he looked no better than the meanest mongrel that ever lived.
Not until the next day, when the night-watchman told his story, did she know that her Vanny-Boy was a real hero.