"Yes, and that is just the way it really is, after all! Father, mother; yes, and grandpap, too, and grandmam, and others whose names I ought to know, but do not. All are here—none missing. No, not all, either; I do not see dear old Pow-wow. And I must see him. He will make me laugh, and I must laugh, or I may die yet. I thought I heard him bark but now."
CHAPTER XXII.
Pow-wow.
Pow-wow had not barked within hearing of the fort since the evening he had found his little master down there at the foot of the precipice. He had gone and come, hastening back when he went, lingering when he came—a silent, sad and thoughtful dog. By some inscrutable operation of instinct he had soon discovered that the errands which led Ben and Bertha daily abroad had a reference in some way to the wants of his unfortunate little friend, and that, therefore, it was his bounden duty to lend a helping hand. Accordingly he had divided his time about equally between the two young people; helping the one about the wild herds of the forest, the other about the tame herds of the field. In the morning he would follow the young hunter to the distant lick, and, having acquitted himself in the chase, with his wonted address, he would hasten back to the fort, leaving his companion to follow at that plodding pace peculiar to two-footed animals, and so irksome to dogs, to accommodate themselves to which they must needs trot out, on a magnified scale, the ground plan of a straggling worm fence, with wide digression to right and left; now to sniff at a stump, then to bark down a sinkhole. In the afternoon he would accompany Bertha to the bluegrass glades, where he would take her charge so completely upon himself as to leave her nothing to do but clamber up the hill for a fresh culling of flowers, then follow him, as homeward he drove the cows.
When not occupied thus, he would station himself on the porch at the door of the sick room, looking up wistfully into every face that passed him, in the poor, dumb, asking way, which so endears a dog to us when the shadow of death is on our home. He had never ventured to intrude himself into the house, but now that he was called, the grateful look and humble alertness with which he answered the summons testified how earnestly he had wished to do all along. Setting his feet as carefully on the floor as were he shod with heavy shoes, that, too, without a warning whisper in the ear from Ben's mother, he slowly walked up to the bedside and softly ran his huge head under the little hand, so white and wan, extended to greet and caress him. Pow-wow licked the hand in the dear old way, and the familiar sensation helped, not a little, to reassure the boy of his own identity and make him more present to the state of things around him. And it was strange how much more natural his voice and manner became the moment he began speaking to his old play-fellow; though what he spoke was hardly less fantastic or more coherent than the greater part of what he had spoken already.
"Pow-wow, is it really you, old pard, and no mistake? And are we all alive and here at grandpap's house, and no dreaming about it? (Pausing to pat the old dog's head.) Pow-wow, did Nick of the Woods ever give you a pair of red moccasins? No, he never did, because he knew you weren't a fool. (Here closing his eyes and seeming for a moment to forget the dog.) Pow-wow, were you ever chased by the Manitous? No, you never were, for you never sneaked away from home with a lie in your mouth, like a spit-thief dog. (Again closing his eyes for a few moments, to open them again and add:) The Manitous chase nobody but bad people, and chase them only to make them good. (Pausing to play with the old dog's ear.) And so they have chased your old Sprigg, Pow-wow; chased him out of the world! You shall never see your old friend Sprigg again! Never! Never! Never!" (Now giving the old dog's ragged ear a certain pluck which had always been well understood between them.)
At each repetition of his name the only part of his little master's speech which had any sound of English to his ear, Pow-wow would fall to wagging his tail in a hearty, emphatic manner, as were he, Chinaman-like, shaking hands with himself over the glad event of the day. But on receiving the pluck of the ear, in the dear old way, the dear old fellow, quick to take the hint, gave vent to a sort of double yelp, peculiar to him when in a waggish humor—a smothered nasal "boo-woo," so irresistibly ludicrous that it had always made Sprigg laugh, as now it did, right heartily. This is but the prelude to what needs must follow. Up he rears himself on his hind legs, snaps at the imaginary bone thrown up by an imaginary hand, catches it in his mouth, drops with it to the floor, and, stretching himself out at full length, pretends to gnaw what he pretends to hold between his paws. But this was Pow-wow's only accomplishment—fancy accomplishment, I mean—for he was a finished hunter and a finishing fighter, and we have seen for ourselves that he knew exactly what to do with cows when he went with a nice little girl to the pasture to help her drive them home. Therefore, finding himself at the end of his programme sooner than the occasion seemed to demand, he raised himself to his haunches and looked around him with a deprecating air, as if he would fain apologize for his deficiencies.