When we came out here, she was taken over to our house to be a playmate for me, but she used to run away and howl about this place till at last master asked Mr. Bonstone to keep her. When she isn’t sleeping, she is paddling about after Gringo, and looking just about as graceful as he does.
She sleeps in a box-stall in one of the stables, with the Frenchmen. Mr. Bonstone likes to have plenty of dogs about his horses, for they are such good guardians. No stranger can get near the horses when the dogs are at their post, and some of them are always in or near the stables.
Gringo, of course, always sleeps in his master’s dressing-room. He saved Mr. Bonstone’s life once, out west, when a bad man who was his enemy crawled in a window at night, and was just about to shoot at that head on the pillow so dear to Gringo.
“How did you stop him?” I often ask Gringo, for he loves to tell the story.
“Just took a playful leap at his throat,” the old dog always says.
“And what did your master do?”
“Heard the rumpus, got up, and took the man’s gun away.”
“And what did the man do?”
“Broke down, and wanted to shake hands with the boss.”
“And what did your master do?”