A PERFECT GUARD

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLII, Issue 20, 19 May 1909, Page 44

A PERFECT GUARD

By

R. E. VERNEDE.

Illustrated by

C. J. TAYLOR

g VERYBODY said ve ought to have a powerful watchdog owing to the isolated position of our house. The house is undoubtedly lonely. It stands on a hiU in the middle of farmlaßd, half a mile from a main road: and though that n>eau- a longish walk for a -burglar, and ■ot mu.-h to bugle when he gets there, still it is pleasant to know that any burglar who does turn up would or.lv enter over the bo iy of a faithful and powerful e decided to hare such a dog. and after looking through many advertisements atti ted ■ “To anyone requiring protection.— < r ,-.— -i, ; ■ . mastiff hoarhound. Weighs hundred and forty pounds. Stands 84 inches. A perfect guard. Demon terror to burglars. Given away for three pound*, owing to room being required. Preference to wires. MavTavish. Nigat kennels. Sutherland.” “ A perfect guard,” said my wife. ” is v lit we want. Let us wire Mac lavish."’ We did so, and. 1 suppose, received preferential treatment, Ma--Tav:-h sending a ]*~t -a rd to *ay that on receipt of a cheque the dog would be forwarded per passenger train. It was. he added, too cheap to be sent on approval. ”1 don’t like that.” I said to my wife. “There meriting suspicious about no: Bring us have him on approval.’’ "Oh, 1 don’t know." replied Celia c'neerf illy. " You see. ifa.Tavish frankly says it is because the dog is so cheap." "When S«»t*:nen are frank,” I ret rted. ■ Englishmen need to be canny." " But you never could be. even if you tried.” said Celia, with that love of parading a truism common to her sex. I wrote the cheque in silertee. "Don’t blame me if the creature turns out an aged, toothless hound, blind in one eye." " Even if he i*," said Celia. “ the burglar* would not reali-e it in the nighttime. And his great size would terrify them.”

“If it were as dark as that,” I suggested, ” they might not realise his size.” ’’ Well, they would hear his growl, then,” said Celia. “ Don’t be so logical.” Two days later, as we were sitting at luncheon, the maid came in to say that the dog had arrived on the station cart. She seemed a little excited as she banded me the railway company's charge sheet. " All right.” I said. " tell the man to tie him up in the yard, and we’ll come and inspect him presently. Here’s the ” If you please, sir." said Susan. “ the dog’s in a crate, and the man don’t care to let him out.” ’’ Why notr” asked Celia. "It seems a savage-like sort of dog, ma'am.” said Susan. " Nonsense." I said. “ You would be savage yourself. Susan, if you had been penn up in a crate for twenty-four hours. I suppose I shall have to go and see him myself.” " I’ll come with you." said Celia. We found the railwav carter having a glass of beer in the kitehen. as is the • Istout in our part. He finished it hastily and said to me: " Y'ou ain’t going to let that dog out for a bit. are vou. sir?” ’’ Yes.” I said. " I am.” "Then I’ll get back on my cart,” he said. "He seems a bit too hungry for me." " You don't mean to say you’re afraid of a dog. do you?" I asked. " I’ve no doubt the poor creature is hungry. ?u*an. bring me some bones.” ” Do be careful. John,” said Celia, and she and Susan and the carter all followed me into the yard, where She latter promptly c-limbei into his eart. • You’ll give me a fair start, sir?" he said, and whipped up his horse as I approached the crate. A low. deep growl, which would compare well with any organ I have heard. ..au-ed me to step back a pace and Susa > to drop the plate of bones.

“ He certainly ought to be a terror to burglars," said I, as I regarded the resounding creature’s vast proportions. Exactly which part of him was bull and which mastiff and boar-hound was difficult to tell, but he certainly was a magnificent dog. He was so superbly built, that, seeing Stevens, our gardener, coming back from his dinner, I thought it would be as well to wait for his assistance before opening the crate. "A couple of men can do this sort of thing more easily than one,” I explained to Celia. As Steven* showed no signs of coming nearer, and the dog, disturbed, no doubt, by the sight- of the bones which he could not reach, seemed to be working himself

into a perfect fury, I had to send Susan to fetch Stevens. He eame vaeilatingfy. " The dog has arrived, yon see,” I said, "and we are just going to let him out.’ ” Are -you, silr? said Stevens in a noncommittal tone. " Yes,” I said, and to encourage him, I aided that the dog ought to be a terror to burglars. “ Do you think, sir," said Stevens, “that he’ll be able to tel! burglars from them as is not burglars?" “ What do you mean?” I askel. "He looks a powerful sort of dog,” said Steven* suggestively. " That,” 1 said, “ is why we bought him." “Yessir, *::?” - N .” said I. shortly, "for go -1 and all." "The man we bought him from. Ste-v-its," explained :-;.y w-fe. “said he was too -heap to be *ent op approval.” " He knowed what he was about, mum,” said Stevens. •• Look here." I said, thoroughly irritate’?. " While you are all talkrr g. this unfortunate dog. which ha* been imprisoned for days. j« * imply getting enraged. It i* natural that he should- I propose to let him out to have those bone*.” "Yessir,” sail Stevens, brisking up; “should 1 go on nricking out those cabbages? ” " After you Lave helped me to open the crate,” I replied. I suppose I looked firmer than I felt, for Stevens did not attempt any further prevarication. It was CeLa who, observing that Susan had put

her apron to her eyes, remarked, "Would it not be safer to let the dog gnaw through the wood? ” " He is not a rodent, my dear,” I samL “He seems to have begun, though,” said Celia. "Look!” Stevens and I both went forward to look, and both recoiled The animat had undoubtedly begun to ehaw vigorously at one of the thin wooden bars of the erate, accompanying this performance with a low. unmusical noise that distinctly grated on the nerves. “ Perhaps we had better go and get a hammer,” I said resolutely. Celia and Susan had already vanished through the yard gate into the kitehen.

" Shall I get it for you, Sir. while you stop here?” said Stevens officiously. I did not reply, but walked with dignity through the gate, Stevens following, to the kitchen door. Susan had the hammer ready. " Here it is, sir,” she said. " Thank you, Susan,” I replied. “!■- — think we’B have the ehisel too.” A* I waited for it the sounds of gnawing. whidh had been going on steadily, ceased. There followed a deep pounemg sound and a series of deep-chested roar*. “Ah, he’ve got out,” said Stevens. I went to the yard gate, which is a pretty high one. and looked over. It was a* Steven* had said- The creature had got out. and, after a mighty stretch or two -id flung himself upon the bone*. Decidedly lie was a grand specimen: and the way he crunched the bones almost terrifying. Indeed, while I watebed, they vanished like so much grass, and the dog rose and gave a glances round. I may have bobbed slightly behind the gate, or'l may have not, but I know that the next time I looked he wa* down on his haunches tearing at one of the very fine buff Orpingtons that are kept in the yard. “ This will never do,” I eried to Celis. “He’s got one of your hens.” " Oh, stop him!" she cried. “AH right,” I said. "Shoo! Shoo!. Drop it, tad deg! Drop it!” I might as well have spoken to a tiger, for air the attention I received. In fact he snarled at me exactly like a tiger, “Is he still eatingi" aald my woe. y

•Yes’m." said Stereos, who had also •onte to the gate to look. ‘•.Shall I go out to him?" I said, looking round for support. ‘‘Don’t!" Celia replied instantly. “HeH kill you ” “As soon as look at you,” said Stevens. “I believe he would,” I said, with conviction. and then we all stood and looked at one another in -silence, while the low gucking snarl went on. “What is to be done!" I asked, as presently a dapping of wings and screaming too plainly showed that he had begun on another hen. '’He may finish the lot off ”

, “Meblie I*--’’’ - of i- when '-i-*'s had enough,” said Stevens; and this, in fact, .rv aide Viter. f ’di X>Ull p»aii£tons and the dish of bones seemed to satisfy his cravings: and after that he wandered out of the yard leisurely, as though to seek some comfortable resting place. We lost sight of him a minute later, and my wife expressed the hope that he had run away and would not come back. ‘"We sha’n’t hare any such luck,” I said gloomily. “That dog will know when he has found a good home." "If we only could get him on a chain ‘•lf.” I repealed. "He’s probably in the garden now. By the way. Stevens, you were going to prick out the cabbages, weren't‘you?" “I'd sooner get on with the 'mums, sir." said Stevens. “You see, sir. I can git into the conservatory by way of the ’ouse." "As you please," I said: and my wife ani I retired to the drawing-room, which looks out on the greater part of the garden, including the front gate and the tennis lawn. It was the sight of the' latter which moved my wife to say suddenly: "Good gracious, I'd forgotten! It's this afternoon that people are coming for tennis. And I particularly said, ‘ Come early.' What are we to do, John!" ‘T don't know,” I said. "It isn't fair to let them come with that dreadful creature wandering about loose." ‘•He may not attack them," I said. "After all, it’s only a dog, you know.” “Don't be so inhuman!" "Shall I stand at the gate and warn them to abandon hope as they enter?" I asked, endeavouring to affect a hilarity I did not feel. “You ought to. If anyone were killed It was exactly in the middle of that sentence that we heard the front gate Click; and it was less than a moment after (so that I really had not time to think of a plan of action) that we saw Archibald Hankin, the curate, appear through it, wheeling his bicycle. In what again seemed less than a second the dog, which had been reposing unseen in the middle of one of the flower-beds, rose and growled. He did not move toward Hankin. and Hankin did not move toward him. They ■imply stood facing each other for an appreciable length of time. Then Haa-

kin, who is a lover of animals and a member of the S.P.C.A., said, ‘"Good boy. good dog!" Just that —in a wheedling voice. There is really nothing to object to in liankin’s voice; it has not even the cler'.al quality in it. Or. the contrary, i is a pleasant, brisk, baritone voice. But the dog did not like it. With a roar that wo: . i hare drowned a brass band, he made for Hankin. My wife declared that she shut her eyes, expecting to se him crushed up like the Buff Orpingt -ns. I kept mine open because it seemed more manly. I saw Hankin take one glance at the gate, and one at a small arbor, or shed, with a door to it that lav to the rishi. The

shed was slightly nearer than the gate. He must have seen that in an instant, for almost as the dog began his spring, he dropped his bicycle and dived for it. He got in just so much ahead that the dog's teeth gnashed the closing door. He must have had rather a shock, for quite an interval elapsed before he called out ••Barker!" and his voice was distinctly shaky. “Yes!" I shouted back. “There's a brute of a dog here,” he said, "that came for me. He's outside this shed now. I fancy.” “Yes. I can see him," I said. "He’s a powerful-looking dog." “You might call him off then— ” “No good, my dear fellow.” I responded. ' -Eh?” “He wouldn’t come." I explained the nature of the dog. so far as I knew it. in n few well-chosen shouts, dwelling particularly on the fact that we had only just found him out; and then Hankin inquired from Shis shelter what I expected him to do. "Stay there.” 1 said. “Far how long!" “Wed, I can hardly say,” I replied. “You see how thing- are -” “Yes, I see that,” said Hankin. “But hang it all, man, I've a service at- 7; and you've got other people coming to tennis, haven't you? You're not going to let them come in and be eaten?" “That's it," I said. “I thought if you wouldn't mind stopping there, you're so much nearer the gate than I can get that you could see the people as they come along, and warn them what’s up. Of course, they mustn’t think of coming in and playing.” This appeal to the altruistic side of Hankin, who is a very good-natured fellow, stopped for the time being the querulous note that bad crept into his voice. “Ail right. I will,” he said. “Only remember. I've got a service at 7, won’t you ?” I promised to keep this in mind, if it would give Hankin any satisfaction, and Celia thanked him in a fluty voice that carried well. Then for an hour or more we sat in the drawing-room window, and listened while Hankin explained to people as they came along the road that they had better go back again owing to a wild dog being at large. Poor Hankin! I did not envy him. The arbor is a musty, dusty place, and on that hot afternoon could not but have been very trying. The need, too, of

shouting animatedly through the narrow slit that served a- a window must have pnt a considerable strain on the vocal chorda- especially as our guests wouldn't go away without the fullest explanations. and seemed doubtful then whether the whole thing wasn’t a joke. We could hear them laughing and chatting and Hauk.it earnestly exhorting them, and the dog. which had stretched himself sphinx-like just outside the arbor door, occasionally letting off a cyclonic growl. It was the sound of the' latter which chiefly persuaded people to go away. Dr. Jenkinson. a sceptical man, but keen on tennis, heard it only after he had actually unlatched the gate, after frankly expressing his opinion that the •'hole thing was nonsense. The click of the gate, however, caught the ears of our perfect guard, and as his thunder died away, the pint, plut, of Jenkinson's retiring motor-bicycle sounded quick and sharp. "Why don’t you shoot the brute?" was his parting remark, passed on to us by the- now woolly-voiced Hankin. who added: “I'm almost afraid you'll have to. old man. I’ve got a service at 7. vou know." "Celia and I will talk it over during tea.’ I called back. "I wish we could send you out a cup ” “Not at all,” said Hankin. politely. “Never mind about me.” We did not mind about Hankin nearly so much as we minded about the dog. who was upsetting everything in the most unprecedented manner. Stevens had not stirred from the greenhouse. Susan was absolutely shaky on the legs when she brought in tea. “I'm afraid you will have to shoot him,” said Celia, regretfully, as she poured out my second cup. “You talk. Celia," I said irritably, “as though that were a simple matter. Apart from the fact that it is throwing away three pounds. I have nothing but my revolver in the house , at present, and I am not much mot a shot with a revolver. I shouldn't eare to try at less than fifteen paces. I should only miss ” “Well, why not try at fifteen paces?” “Because if I missed, the dog mightn't ‘•Oh. you mustn't, then,” said Celia. “Of course, later on we might stalk the creature." I said, “or set a bait for him—tie up a Buff Orpington under the

window, don't you know, or get Steven to go out and wave a red handkerc iei but I don't see that at present . Con found Hankin! What's the matter wlta him now?" The comparative peace of the arbor had just been broken by a series of distracted shouts from Hankin. We ran to the window. "The dog can't have go* in!” I sail nervously. "No, no, listen!" -aid Celia. “He’s call mg to somebody.” Go away! Go away! You mu-tn't come in!" These directions, evidently given by Hankin to someone in the road, suddenly changed to a convulsive yell of “Hi, Barker!'* "Yes," we both shouted back. “There's a child coming along—coming in, I think. She doesn't seem to bear." “Has she got golden curls?" Celia asked, irrelevantly as 1 thought. “Yes." said Hankin. “What if she has?" I asked. "It's Kizzte Green." said Celia. "She's —she's deaf!" 1 don t wish to boast, or suggest that I was doing a courageous thing. 1 merely mention that on hearing these words spoken in Celia’s most tragic voice. I turned, ran to the hall table, took out and loaded my revolver. Weights seemed attached to my legs during this process. “What are you going to do, John?" Celia asked, terrified, as I returned. “1 am going to shoot that dog.” I said. “It is my life or Kizzie Green's—probably both, if I miss." “Yours is most valuable." -aid Celia unlieroieally. "I know it is," I said. "But you won't get everyone to think so if that child is killed. Leave me. Celia!" She was clinging to me. saying that she would go. too; but 1 presently found myself stepping into the garden alone. The scene that followed will ever dwell in my memory—and also, I believe, in Celia's and Hankin's—as the most dramatic we have ever witnessed. It is the sort of thing that recurs in dreams. Once again 1 feel myself step out into the garden. I bear the gate click, I see the child enter and the colossal dog prick up its ears and rise. At the time, I am thankful to say, it had its back to me. thus enabling me to advance without being seen. As I did so. I realised that, the door of the arbour was being

•autiou-ly opened, that Hankin wa< coming out —had come out. He held a xythe in his hand?*, also a stone with which to -liarpen it. I do not know if h expected to sharpen the scytheQ»etween ti.< Inuit*, and 1 don’t think he knew either. It was -imply the lust of battle. The dog. which had begun to crawl toward the child, -talking her, had its immense to Hankin a< well as to ip* . It meant to spring. That. I think, va* in the minds of both Hankin anti myself, and exchanging a hasty glance, dosed in upon it. Meanwhile Kizzie Green, a small girl of about- seven, with a basket on her aim. was coming up the path. I have mentioned her curl-. 1 do not care for curls, as a rule, but they certainly added to the pathos of the scene. So did her innocent blue eyes, which suddenly caught sight of the dog and grew large. It was the critical moment. Then—“Oh, your dear dod!" she said, and literally flung herself upon him. Before Hankin ami L -pellbound with horror, could supervene, -he had one arm round his neck, and the stupendous creature was licking her face. A'little later, following the lucid gestures of Hankin ami myself. Kizzie led her slave round to the yard, where he submitted to have the chain affixed to his collar in the most docile possible manner. Since then. Terror, as we have named this admirable mongrel, has led a most peaceful life—-no burglars having turned up. If we have also had fewer other callers, that cannot be considered Terror’s fault. Many people are absurdly timid about large dog-.