XXX. HOW THE DOG'S TONGUE BECAME LONG
It was hot. Little Luke sat on the doorstep in the shade. Over in the pasture Old Boze the Hound gave tongue. He was at his favorite sport of trailing rabbits all by himself. He really didn't have any spite against the rabbits, but when he struck a fresh trail, he felt that he just must follow it. And when he had puzzled out a balk or break in the trait, he couldn't for the life of him keep still.
But it was really too hot for trailing, especially when there was nothing in it but fun. The old hound would have stuck to it longer if Sam the hired man had been around somewhere, hiding behind the bushes with his thundering fire-stick. Old Boze wasn't afraid of the fire-stick. He liked to hear it roar, and see the poor rabbits fall before its deadly breath.
Well, after a while he gave it up and came back to the house. Going around to the doorstep, he lay down on the cool porch with his head close to the little boy's shoulder. He was tired, and his dripping tongue hung far out from his open mouth. The little boy looked at it.
"Old Boze," said he, "what a long tongue you have. Why is it that dogs have such long tongues?"
Old Boze shifted his eves uneasily and looked the other way, but said nothing.
"Come, now," said the little boy, "I am sure there is a story about that long, red tongue of yours."
"To be sure there is," said a voice that came from just behind the boy's ear. He looked around and there was Old Klaws the House Cat.
"What do you know about it?" asked the little boy.
"Oh, I know all about it," answered the old cat. "But ask Old Boze," he went on with a grin, "perhaps he'll tell you."
Old Boze got up slowly and with dignity. "I am too tired to tell stories," said he, "but I'm not too tired to shake the foolishness out of a cat."
"Here now," said the little boy, "no quarreling and fighting. I won't have it. And Klaws shall tell me that story about your long, red tongue, if he will."
"To be sure I will," said Old Klaws, delighted to be able to tease Old Boze safely. Of course there was another time coming when little Luke might not be at hand, but then the old cat trusted to speed and sharp claws to put himself up a tree and out of the reach of the old hound.
"All right," said Old Boze, "if you're fond of the company of a sneaking, mouse-eating, old tabby. I'm not. I'll take myself off. But my memory is good," he added, glancing at Old Klaws with a snarl that showed all his sharp, white teeth.
"Well, now for the story," said the little boy, when Old Boze was out of sight around the corner.
"Long, long ago," began Old Klaws, "when all the animal kindreds could talk the man-talk, the dogs were the greatest telltales in the world. They told everything they knew, and sometimes a great deal more. Their masters often flogged them for tattling, but it did little or no good.
"In those days there was a great hunter whose name was Man-e-do. He wanted a dog to help him hunt, but he did not want a tattletale. So he took a fine, young pup, and tried to bring him up to be a good hunter and to keep his tongue. He took good care of him. He often told him how foolish it was to tell everything he knew. The pup would promise not to tattle, but he was only a dog, and blood will tell after all.
"When the pup was big enough, his master took him with him when he went hunting for small game. The dog was a good trailer by this time, and together they killed many rabbits and other small animals.
"But when they went home, the dog couldn't hold his tongue. He would brag to the other dogs, and tell them what a great hunter he was, and how at such and such a place he had caught the biggest rabbits that ever were seen. Then the other dogs would lead their masters to those places and clear them of game. Whenever Man-e-do went to a place a second time, he found no game there.
"Besides, if they were hunting near the village and made a kill, the dog would pretend to go off after more game. But when he was out of sight of his master, he would run home and tell some of his chums about his kill. Then the other dogs and their masters would come out and kill or scare away all the game there was in that place. Many times Man-e-do caught the dog tattling, and scolded and beat him for it, but it did no good. He just couldn't keep anything to himself.
"One time Man-e-do went off on a long hunt. He took three horses and traveled several days before making his camp. He thought he would get so far away that the dog could not go back to the village and tattle.
"While hunting in the mountains near his camp, he found a valley which was full of game. There he made many kills, and soon had all the meat his three horses could possibly carry.
"'To-morrow,' said he to his dog, 'we will start for home. When we get there, you must keep your tongue in your mouth. You must not tell where we have been. If the other hunters do not find our valley, we can come back at any time and get all the meat we want.'
"'All right,' said the dog, 'I'll keep the secret.'
"'See that you do,' added his master; 'for if you don't, I'll make you sorry for it.'
"The next morning they started for home. That night they camped beside a brook. At daybreak Man-e-do arose and made ready to start, but the dog was nowhere to be seen.
"'Where can he be?' said he to himself. 'Surely he has not gone home to the village.' You see, he thought that at last he had broken the dog of his tattling. Why then should he go on ahead?
"So he turned about and went back to his camp near the valley. The dog was not there. 'Perhaps,' thought he, 'a bear or a panther has killed him.'
"So he turned about and went home to his wigwam alone. There he found the dog as well as ever. He had been home a long time, and told all he knew about the valley of game and more too. According to his stories, he and his master had killed more game than had ever been seen before, and there was plenty more in the valley yet. All the hunters in the village were getting ready to go there to hunt.
"Man-e-do was very angry. He caught the dog, and gave him the worst whipping any dog ever had. 'I'll stop your tattling,' said he. And he caught the dog by the tongue and pulled it nearly out of his mouth. Then he shoved a round stick back into his mouth and tied his mouth shut over it.
"He left the stick there for a long time. When he took it out, the dog's mouth was larger, and his tongue longer than any dog's mouth and tongue had ever been before.
"Since that time, all dogs have had big mouths and long tongues.
"But," added Old Klaws, "they don't tattle as much as they did before."
While Old Klaws had been telling this story, Old Boze had been lying in the shade and resting. After a while, he thought to himself, "I'll give that old mouser a scare and I'll do it before little Luke can hinder me."
So he got up and walked silently around to the corner of the porch. With one foot raised, he stopped scarcely three feet from Old Klaws, who was sitting on the end of the top step.
Just as the old cat finished his story, Old Boze sprang toward him with a loud, "Bow-wow-wow." The old cat bounded as if he were made of India-rubber of the best quality. Such a cat-jump the little boy had never seen before. The first leap carried Old Klaws far out on the garden walk, and in the twinkling of an eye he was among the topmost branches of the old pear tree. When he felt himself safe, he turned round and began to spit and snarl and say bad words at Old Boze, who was looking at him with his long tongue hanging out of his mouth, and his face all wrinkled up into a broad grin.
Little Luke had jumped almost as lively as Old Klaws, but when he saw who it was and took in the old cat's language, and the old dog's funny looking face, he lay down on the porch and laughed till the tears came.
