Imagine my feelings—I am a dog of spirit, and I raced out of that orchard pretty quick. Gringo and I had never had words before, and I was so broken-hearted that I yelped with pain as I ran home.
Now, being so taken up with myself, and listening to the animated barks behind me, for every dog was remonstrating with Gringo for his severity toward me, I did not notice properly the way I was going.
Usually, I am what is called an alert dog. I observe what is before, and behind, and all round me, and ever since the dog-show, I had been more than ever on the watch, for I remembered the evil looks of the two youths who had stared at me.
This afternoon I forgot them. I had told a lie and lost a friend, and this melancholy happening chased everything else out of my mind. So I ran blindly, and evil fell upon me.
I was on what we called the rock walk, a long lane between our property and the Bonstones’. Thick-growing alders were each side of it, and I leaped from stone to stone, and ran occasionally along grassy places, till I was near the Osage orange hedge that surrounded our rose-garden.
If I had been on my guard, I would have sensed the presence of strangers, and would have noticed a rustling in the bushes. As it was, I pulled up too late.
Something had just said to me, “Danger ahead, Boy: stop short, and go back.”
I whirled in my tracks, but it was too late. A stranger had stepped out of the bushes, a rope had curled through the air—I was lassoed for the first time in my life.
Half-choking, I was hurled to the ground. Something gave me a whack on the head, and I was stunned. Only partly, for I have been stolen several times, and I pretended to be more unconscious than I was.
I knew better than to cry out. I just saw that the two men bending over me were not the ones who had been at the dog-show. They were too clever to come here themselves. These were older men. I knew I was being carried to a motor car, that I was put in a box and run under the seat, and that we sped toward New York.