WULLY: THE STORY OF A YALLER DOG.

Otago Witness, Issue 2913, 12 January 1910, Page 87

WULLY: THE STORY OF A YALLER DOG.

Last week I reproduced the story of Raggylug from Thompson Seton's '" Wild Animals I Have Known." This week I wish to introduce my Little Folk to Wully, and tell of his strange and adventurous career. To begin with, let me quote the first paragraph of the chapter which explains the term " yaller ": "Wully was a little yaller dog. A yaller dog, be it understood, is not necessarily the same as a yellow dog. He is not simply a canine whose capillary covering is highly charged with yellow pigment. He is the mongrelest mixture of all mongrels, the least common multiple of all dogs, the breedless union of all breeds, and though of no breed at all, he is yet of older, better breed than any of his aristocratic relations, for he is Nature's attempt to restore the ancestral jackal, the parent stock of all dogs. . . . Once in a while the reversion to ° the jackal type is more complete, and the yaller dog has pricked and pointed ears. Beware of him then. He is cunning and plucky, and can bite like a wolf. There is a strange wild streak in bis nature, too, that under cruelty or long adversity may develop into deadliest treachery in spite of the better traits that are the foundation of man's love for the dog." Wully was born in the Cheviot Hills, and his early life was spent among the sheep. He worked with an experienced collie who trained him well in his duties, and at two vears old, when he was full grown, he had taken, a full course in the art of guarding and controlling sheep. His master, old Robin, put so much faith in Wully that he often stayed all night at the inn, leaving the dog to look after his flock on the hillside. He was a wise little dog, yet he never learned to despise the addle-pated Robin. Robin, in spite of his almost incessant intoxication, was rarely unkind to the dog, and so Wully repaid him with a worship that anyone might have been glad to merit. The time came vhen Robin was sent by his master with the flock of 374 sheer to the Yorkshire moors and markets. Of course Wully was really the most important in the party. They travelled by easy stages through Northumberland. At the River Tyne the sheep were driven on to the ferry and landed safely in South Shields. The factory chimneys were just beginning to belch forth their great clouds of smoke, which hung like a black fog over the streets and darkened the air. The sheep probaoly thought they saw the approach of an unusually heavy Cheviot storm, and stampeded through the town in 374 different directions. Robin stared at the scattered sheep for a moment, and then said, -Wully, fetch them in " Having given his order he sat down, lit his pipe, and began knitting a stocking which he had in process of _ manufacture. Away ran Wully to do the bidding of the only god he knew of. He hounded here, headed them off there, and rounded up the wanderers, and before Robn had finished his stocking the sheep were brought back to tne ferry house. Robin, then began tc count them, but only reached 373. "Wully," he said reproachfully, ohar no V here Thur's anither." Wully, ashamed, bounded off once more for the missing animal It was not long afterward that a boy standing near drew Robin's attention to the fact that all the sheep were there. Robin was in a quandary. He had ore ers to hasten on to Yorkshire, and yet he Wully s Dride would prevent him from, coming back without a sheep of some kind It was a pity to lose the dog, but Wully stole a shnep in a foreign land what would be the consequences? He decided to abandon him and push on without him. This was the last we hear of Robin, and how he fared no ° n poo7' Wully Searched all day through miles and miles of streets, but found no Bbsep; and in the evening, worn out, hungry and down-hearted, he to the ferry, only to find his master had gone and taken the sheep with him. He returned to the town and searched for his wretched idol -11 nwht. and the next day continued his r'irch crossing and reerossing the ferry n ; s n.y times. He watched and smelt everyone that went over the ferry, and also sought his master in all the taverns of the town On the following clay began a systematic ""The ferry makes 50 trips a day, with -n average, of 100 persons a trip, yet never once did Wully fail to be on the gang-plank ZT smell every pair of legs that crossed'S pais. 10.0)3 less that day did Wully examine after' his own fashion And the next day. and the next, and all week he kept his post and seemed indifferent to Sod of any kind. Soon starvation and . orrv began to tell on him, He BT-w thin Incl 111-tempered. No one could touch tarn :"d anv attempt to interfere with his daily Occupation of leg-smelling roused him to d " Daf'after day, week after week poor Wully pursued his thankless twk. At firs, ho scorned the food that w>as offered to him, W starved to it. at last he accepted the its and learned to tolerate the givers He was embittered against the world, but in"> to his -worthless master. l Vor two whole years WuUv kept his post -,t the ferry. Thpre was nothing to prevent hm fron* eoing home to the hills, but he SiSwW-his" master had wished h,m U > stav p.t the ferry, and stav he did. He crossed tho ferry whenever it served his purpose, and as the price for a dog's crossing was one p«mv it was calculated he owed .he company hundreds of pounds. "He never Sfto sent ev.Prv nair of legs that crossed the gang-plank-6.000 000 legs by computet lo " had bpen pronounced upon hv this expert. But all to no nurpose. His unswerving fideliiv never faltered, though his temper enviously souring under the long strain.

One clay at the end of the two years a sturdy drover came striding over the planlr. Wully, subjecting the stranger tc the usual leg teat, suddenly trembled, his mane bristled, and a low growl escarped him. " Hoot, mon, ye maunna hort oor dawg," said one of the ferry hands. " Whae's hortin' 'im, ye fule; he is mair like to hort me." But the dog's manner had changed, and the first time for two years his tail began to wag violently. The explanation was this: The- drover, whose name was Dorley, knew Robin well, and the mittens and comforter he wore had once belonged to Robin. Wully, on recognising traces of his master, announced his intention, of sticking to the owner of the mittens and comforter. Thus he abandoned the search for the failhless Robin, and along with Dorley went into the hills of Derbyshire, where he once more took up the occupation of tending sheep. " Monsaldale is one of the best-known valleys in Derbyshire. The Pig and Whistle is its single but celebrated inn, and Jo Greatorex, the landlord, is » shrewd and sturdy Yorkshireman. Nature meant him for a frontiersman, but circumstances made him .an inn-keeper, and his inborn tastes made him a—well, never mind; there was a great deal of poaching done in that country. " Wully's new home was on the upland east of the valley above Jo's inn. His master, Dorley, farmed in a small way on the lowland, and on the moors had a large number of sheep. These Wully guarded with his old-time sagacity, watching them while they fed, and bringing them to the fold at night. He was reserved and preoccupied for a°dog, and rather too ready to show his teeth to strangers, but he was so unremitting

in his attentions to his flock that Dorley did not lose a lamb that year, although the neighbouring farmers paid the usual tribute to eagles and to foxes." The dales axe poor country for fox-hunt-ing. The rocky ridges, 'high stone walls, and precipices are too numerous to make riding pleasant, and the retreats for the foxes are so plentiful that it is a wonder the country is not overrun with them. But only on© sly old fox was quartered there in the year 1881. He was several times run by the hounds, and escaped by making for the Devil's Hole. Once in this gorge there were cracks in the rocks which extended unknown distances, and be was safe. He continued his career of slaughter until the time came when he merely killed for the love of it. "Thus it was that Digby lost ten lambs in one night. Carroll lost seven the next night. 'Later the vicarage duck-pond was wholly devastated, and scarcely a night passed but someone in the region had to report a carnage of poultry, lamb, or sheep, a.nd finally even calves. The slaughter was, of course, attributed to the fox of the Devil's Hole, and' expeditions were set on foot to get rid of him in any way ■possible. But he was never clearly seea by huntsmen. His reputation for madness sufficed to make the master of hounds avoid the neighbourhood. The people waited for the snow, so that they could follow the old cannibal's tracks, but for long the snow held off. In spite of his supposed madness the fox had method. He never came two nights running to the same farm. He never ate the animals at the place where he killed them, amd he never left a track that betrayed him. Be generally finished off his night's trail-* on the turf or on the public highway. He was seen one night by the light of a lightning flash sitting on his haunches by the roadway and malignantly licking his chops. It was in the proximity of Stead's farm, and next morning the bodies of twenty-three sheep and lambs were found." There was only one man who escaped, and that was Dorley, the owner of Wully. This was the more remarkable because he lived right in the cetntr© of the region raided, and within a mile of the Devil's Hole. Day after day Wully brought his flock in without a single animal missing. The fox might prowl about and eagles be seen hovering near, but Wully was more than a match for them. Thus he came to be entertained with profound respect, though his temper day by day became worse. "He seemed to like Dorley, and Huldah, Dorley's eldest daughter, a shrewd, handsome young woman, who, in the capacity of general manager of the house, was Wully's special guardian. The other members of Dorley's family Wully learned to tolerate, but the rest of the world, men and dogs, he seemed to hate."

The neighbouring farmers were still suffering badly from the inroads of the mad fox when, late in December, saiow fell. A poor

•widow lost her entire flock of twenty sheep. That morning, the morning after the slaughter, all Monsaldale went out with guns and weapons of offence to bring the culprit to book. The trail of a large fox was clear in the snow. They followed it until they came to a stream. Here the. animal had displayed its curaiing, and it was only after long search that the tracks were discovered again a quarter of a mile up the stream. Then they followed the trail laeross the country to the top of a stone wall, where there was no snow to tell tales. But they persevered, and at last found where the animal had crossed from the wall to the high road. They followed to where the trail entered a sheepfold, but here no animals had been touched. The track-maker had then stepped in the footmarks of a countryman, and 1 had got to the moor road, along which he trotted straight to Dorley's farm. " That day the sheep were kept in on account of the snow, and Wully, without his iisual occupation, was lying on some planks in the sun. As the hunters drew near the house, he growled savagely, atnd sneaked round to where the sheep were. Jo Greatorex walked up to where Wully had crossed! the fresh enow, gave a. glance, looked dumbfounded, then, pointing to the • retreating sheepdog, he said with emphasis:

" 'Lads, we're off the track of the fox, but there's the killer of the widder's yowes.' Opinion was divided, and a heated argument arose. Then Dorley came out, and heard the accusation that was made against his dog. It was in vain that the company told of the morning's work. It was merely a conspicary to roh hini of his dog. Dorley

got excited and angry over the abominable attempt to ruin the reputation of Wully, and Jo Gireatorex became equally angry. It seemed that Wully K>m in the habit of sleeping in the kitchen every night, and there was no possible way for him to get out. At last Huldah. DorLey's daughter, solved the difficulty. She would nmke her bed on the kitchen settee, and if the dog was not out and sheep were killed in ihi: neighbourhood that night Wully would be exonerated. "Wully slept beneath the table that night, and Huldah lay en the settee, and pretended to sleep. " As night wore on the dog became restless. Ho turned on his bed, and once or twice got up, stretched, looked at Huldah, and lay down again. About 2 o'clock he seemed no longer able to resist some strange impulse. He arose quietly, looked toward the low window, then at the motionless girl. Huldah lay still, and breathed as though sleeping. Wully slowly came near, and sniffed and breathed his doggy breath in her face.. She made no move. He nudged her gently with his nose. _ Then, with his sharp ears forward and his head on one side, he studied her calm face. Still no sign. He walked quietly to ' the window, mounted the table without noise, placed his nose under the sash-ba.r, and raised the light frame until he could put one paw underneath. Then, changing, he put his nose under the sash and raised it high enough to slip out, easing down the frame finally on his rump and tail with an adroitness that told of long practice. Then he disappeared into the darkness." Huldah had watched all this in amazement. At first she thought to call her father, but decided to wait for further proof. For over an hour she lay listening for the slightest sound outside, and wondering if it could indeed be true that Wully had killed the widow's sheep. Another hour went by, then she heard a slight noise at the window. Soon the sound was followed by the lifting of the sash, and in a short time Wully was back again in the kitchen, and the window was closed behind him.

By the light of the lire the girl could see >a strange, wild gleam in the eyes of the dog, and on his lips and breast there were traces of fresh blood. As she did not move Wully at length Eat down, and began licking the blood from off his lips and! coat, and as hie did so he growled lowly, as though at the remembrance of some recent outrage. It was enough. Huldah was convinced that the dog's accusers were right, and more than that —Wully was the mad fox of Momsal. Rising, she looked straight at the dog, and said: "Wully! WullyJ so it's &' true! Oh, Wully, ye terribel brute!" The voice was reproachful, and it rang through the kitchen. Wully recoiled as though shot. He glanced at the window, but saw there was no chance of escape. Then he cowered and grovelled on the floor

as though begging for mercy. He crawled nearer and nearer to the girl, as though intending to lick her feet, until he was quite close, and then with the -fury of a tiger lie bounded at her throat. She threw up her •arms just in time, and the animal's teeth sank into her flesh and grated on the bone.

"Help! help! Feyther! feyther!" she cried,. She flung the dog off for a moment, but his purpose was plain. It was his life or hers. She screamed as the yellow fury bit and tore at the hands that had so often fed him. The fight was almost at an end when in rushed Dorley. "Straight at him, now in the same horrid silence, sprang Wully, and savagely tore him again atnd again before a deadlj blow from the faggot-hook disabled him, him, gasping and writhing, on the stone floor, desperate and done for, but game and defiant to the last. Another quick blow scattered his brains on the hearthstone, where so long he had been a faithful and honoured retainer; and Wully, bright, fierce, trusty, treacherous Wully, quivered a moment, then straightened out, and lay forever still."