Arthur, who hadn’t soul enough in him to like either a dog or a horse, couldn’t see the use of such a pack of mongrels, some of which looked savage enough to tear him in pieces, and he did not hesitate to say so.
“There’s not a single mongrel in the whole lot,” said Bob, who was not accustomed to hearing his favorites spoken of so slightingly. “These two,” he added, putting his arms around a brace of glossy-coated setters, which sprang up, one on each side, and placed their paws on his shoulders, “are the best bird-dogs I ever saw, and cannot be beaten as land and water retrievers. That fellow is a Scotch deer-hound, and he and his mates can overtake and pull down a prong-horn in a fair race. In fact, there’s nothing in this country they can’t catch, except the mule-rabbit—sometimes called the jack-rabbit—although it is no more a rabbit than I am, for it doesn’t burrow.”
“What gives it its name?” asked George.
“Its ears, which are the biggest part of the animal. I tell you they are fleet. One writer says they can run so fast that the whizzing sound they make in passing through the air can’t keep up with them. The savage ones in the pack are wolf-dogs. We have about fifty of them altogether, and we couldn’t get along without them. They keep the gray wolves—which are much more abundant in the mountains than we wish they were—from killing off the sheep.”
While Bob was describing the characteristics of the different members of the pack, and relating some interesting hunting stories, of which they were the heroes, he and his companions were walking slowly along the bank of the river, which was as smooth as a mirror and as black as ink; but its color was owing to the nature of the soil through which it flowed, for, when Bob dipped some of it up in his drinking-cup, they found that it was as clear as crystal.
Boy-like, they amused themselves by skipping stones over its glassy surface, and finally, Arthur threw in a stick and tried to induce one of the retrievers to go in and bring it out; but the dog only dropped his head and tail, and moved further away from the bank.
“You can’t make them go into the water this side of the lake,” said Bob, with a laugh. “You can’t even make them wet their forefeet, unless you take hold of them and push them in.”
“Why not?” inquired Arthur.
“Because they have been whipped for it too many times. I tell you some of them cost a lot of money, and they are too valuable to be lost. You may not think so, but if the best swimmer in the pack should venture as far out into the water as you threw that stick, he would never come ashore again.”
“Where would he go?”