CHAPTER XVI THE HIGHLANDER WALKS
Oh! how glad we all were to see Big Chief back again.
The lad was ashamed of himself. It was just as I thought. He had a good heart under all his follies.
"I wanths thomething to eat," cried Big Wig.
"All right, brother," said Big Chief kindly, "I'll get it for you."
"No, boy," said his mother and her eyes glistened as she gazed at him, "I will take them all to the pantry. You and Cassowary go after the hound."
He gave her an affectionate glance, then turned to me. "Mother says you gave the alarm to-night. Now if you know where Drunkard is, take us to him."
Of course I led them to the gates, where Drunkard lay moaning now.
"Leg's broken," said Big Chief, bending over him; "right fore-leg," and gathering the dog up in his arms he came back to the house.
Cassowary ran ahead, and turned on the light in her father's office.
Then putting Drunkard on a table, the two clever young ones set his leg.
"You'll dog no more deer for a time, my boy," said Cassowary.
Drunkard could not talk to them, but he lifted his head and threw me a glance as I stood in the doorway. "I'm going to be lame, Prince Fetlar. This is my punishment for persecuting the deer. Mr. Devering will never have to tie me up again. I shall be able to hop about daytimes—that's one consolation."
"I'm glad Bolshy didn't break your neck," I said. Drunkard was licking the children's hands. How much he loved this dear boy and girl.
"Now a little milk for the patient," said Cassowary, and she flew away to the kitchen.
Big Chief lifted Drunkard to a sofa. "I shall spend the rest of the night beside you in this big chair, old man," he said. "I don't want that bandage disturbed."
Drunkard whined in embarrassed pleasure.
"It's all right," said Big Chief. "I don't mind. You're our dog and we're bound to look after you. Now, Miss Cassowary will stay here while I'm gone," and he turned to me.
Drunkard, in spite of his distress, grinned at me. The boy's grand air amused him.
I thought I'd better start for the stable, so I trotted quickly to my stall.
"Oh! boy," said Big Chief behind me when he saw the door rolled back. "So you can use your teeth as well as your brains. You're as clever as that bally master of yours. I do hope you will continue to do as you please. Perhaps you would like to take my bed and have me stay here?"
I said nothing to this. I don't like to be made fun of.
"When I'm master," this queer boy went on, "I'll not drive with the loose rein Dad does. Too much liberty—too much given away. I'll show 'em what's what," and he waved his hand about the stable, with the air of a master.
Then he stepped to the door and surveyed barnyard and out-buildings.
"I'm fourteen now, soon I'll be twenty-one. Dad's forty-five. Likely he'll live till he's sixty—maybe till seventy. Split the differ and say sixty-five. Then I'll be thirty-four—a long time to wait, but time passes, they say, as one gets older. I'll be married by that time, and have children of my own. Probably I'll build up this place into the best known stock farm in the province—but I shan't have twice the help Dad has. There's too much money spent here," and the young scamp had the audacity to look up at the calm Lady Moon, who stopped smiling as she heard his folly and drew a cloud of displeasure across her face.
Under pretence of nosing him affectionately, I stepped up and rubbed his shoulder. He had on a bath-robe over his pajamas, but it was quite easy for my strong teeth to give him a quiet little nip.
He drew off to hit me, but I wasn't there. Then he stopped and shivered.
I was delighted. A most beautiful thing was taking place. A wave of cool air swept over us, then I saw the old Highlander in his coon skin coat and rabbit cap coming slowly toward us.
He was a cheerful old spirit, and I could tell by his misty face that he loved the boy and wished to help him.
Big Chief started to walk to the house. Three times the Highlander stood in front of him, pale, shadowy, smiling, but quite decided.
Three times the lad shuddered. He was no coward, but something more powerful than himself was making him feel lonely.
Suddenly he stopped short, and turned toward the lake.
A wind had sprung up. One of the sudden summer squalls was coming. The trees were sighing mournfully, and as they sighed the boy's better spirit rose gently within him.
"Dad!" he murmured, "Dad! where are you?—Suppose you never came back—God forgive me—what should I do without my father?" and throwing himself on the grass, he buried his face in his arms.
He got up when the Highlander willed him to, and went sadly toward the house, his head hanging.
"Highlander," I ventured to say, "you've done a good deed to-night."
Good and bad spirits never speak to human beings. They just hover over them, but they can speak to animals.
"Pony," said the good old man, "the boy is God's child. He will soon be God's man. You must respect him for you, too, are God's little animal—not as high as the boy, but still having rights."
I listened quietly, and feeling very much happier watched the old man's cloud with its misty fur points melt into the gloom of the log cabin.
Then I went toward the barn cellar. I, too, had a little missionary work to do that night.
It was just as I expected. The pigs were snoring like thunderstorms and the two dogs were lying on the threshold as sound as tops.
They never stirred till my shoes struck the sill, then they were close to me, one on each side like wolves closing on a deer.
"Well! dogs," I said sarcastically, "I hope you are having pleasant dreams."
"Quite, thank you," said Guardie. "May I ask why you are at this hour of the night waking our charges from well-deserved slumbers?"
"Certainly," I said, listening to old Sir Vet who was snorting disagreeably as he raised his head from his fresh straw bed and Lady Annabella who was ejaculating, "Unk! Unk!—What's the row?"
"I merely called to tell you that we have had a night prowler who knocked poor Drunkard silly. Why weren't you on the alert? I've been keeping dog watch."
Guardie yawned. "Awfully sorry, old boy, but we've trained ourselves not to budge unless we hear someone approaching our pigs."
"Pretty selfish policy that," I said. "If you'd been more generous you might have saved Drunkard a broken leg."
"Is that so!" both dogs exclaimed, "too bad!" and then I had to tell them about Bolshy.
While we were talking, old Sir Vet got up from his bed and pegged along toward us.
When I finished he turned his small but intelligent eyes on Guardie. "Do I understand Prince Fetlar to say that you are an insufficient protection for us at night?"
"No, I'm not—I'm a good guard," snarled the collie.
"But you said you only woke up when someone came near the barn cellar," pursued the boar. "Suppose there was a fire outside. We might be burned up."
"If there was a fire, I'd smell it, and bunch you all up and run you out pretty quick," said Guardie.
"You're too much taken up with yourself," said Sir Vet testily. "You think we can't live without you. I'd advise you to have eyes for something else beside us. Make yourself familiar with our environment. That Russian might have stood back from the doorway and shot me."
Girlie began to snicker at this, and Guardie looked so furious that I said, "Permit me, gentlemen—Sir Vet is right and Guardie is right. Each one must attend to his own business in this world, but it is right and it is also wise to have a thought for your neighbour. For pigs to prosper, all the animals on the farm must prosper. For pigs to sleep well, all the animals must sleep well. Therefore all dogs must be interested in all animals."
"If you expect me to run this farm," said Guardie sulkily, "you're mistaken. I have enough to do to take care of these ungrateful creatures here," and he nodded toward the other pigs who were waking up and grunting irritably.
"You're not expected to run the farm, Guardie, dear," said Girlie. "You're merely expected to sleep with one ear open. You needn't do it if you don't want to. I will. I fear we have been selfish."
"You are never selfish, madam," said Sir Vet respectfully, "but your dog of a husband is."
"Now I'm going to bite you for that," said Guardie.
"Oh! no, you're not," I said putting myself between them, "and if you don't go lie down, Guardie, and sleep off your ill-humour, you'll wish you had been born an armadillo."
"So you can kick, can you," sneered Guardie. "You! gentle creature."
I just gave him a little curved one to stop his nonsense, and he drew back panting.
"Go to bed, handsome Prince Fetlar," said Girlie coaxingly. "Guardie isn't well. There was too much fat in his soup to-night. He has a delicate stomach."
"His stomach's all right," I said. "So are his legs. It's his temper that's sick," and I kept a wary eye on the hysterical collie, who was making a mad leap in the air at me.
Of course he didn't get me, but fell fair on Sir Vet's back. The old boar started to give him a dressing-down, and Lady Annabella came to help him. Girlie pitched in to assist her mate, and we were having a fine mix-up, when a cold shadow stepped in between us.
The good old Highlander was walking again, and had sent his pet wolf cub to recall us to ourselves, and to remind us that fighting is not the chief end of life.
I stopped, just as I was about to give Guardie's hind leg a sly nip. An icy muzzle was touching my own. I shrank back from the wolf cub, and saw the Highlander standing in the moonlight by the doorway and smiling at us.
We had all been naughty—dogs, pigs and pony—and the human being was rebuking us. We all slunk slowly away to bed, our tails between our legs.
The wolf cub followed his master. He was a noble looking animal now.
"Can it be that beyond this life even wolves are made over?" I heard Girlie whisper as I left.
As I paced slowly to my stall I heard a great horned owl cry solemnly from the ridge-pole of the carriage house, "Whoo, hoo, hoo, the old man walks often lately. A good heart never dies. A kind body cannot lie still, hoo—hoo,—Lady Moon, I love you.
"'I see the moon
The moon sees me,
God bless the moon,
God bless thee!'"