The advent of the motor machinery was mourned by no one more than Pete. He was unable to lead the machinery because it traveled so much faster than the horses. Several narrow escapes have taught him to remain on one side of the street. On two occasions the fire truck has felt the tear of the emergency brakes to keep from running down the dog, for he is as dear to the firemen as though he was their own. Age is telling on the animal, and he generally returns from an alarm riding on the machine. He remains at the department until the machinery is cleaned up and ready for another alarm, and then he makes his way painfully to his home.
Some years ago the fire bell began ringing at seven a. m. and seven p. m. Pete was fooled a few times, but he soon got wise. The same is true of the curfew bell. To prove the almost human intelligence of the animal, an alarm was sounded one night at nine o’clock. Pete never moved from his favorite chair in the hotel until the bell had tapped more than nine strokes. Then he was off like a flash. On this particular occasion pedestrians who have learned to make a clear path when Pete comes along thought he was on his way to the fire. Pete sent one young man sprawling on the ground by diving between his legs and he frightened a woman half to death by a leap over her baby carriage which barred his path.
A hitch in the ringing of the bell may send the human fire fiends scurrying in the wrong direction. Not so with Pete. He seems to have a sixth sense, and he gets to the scene by the shortest way possible, many times taking an altogether different course from that of the firemen.[Pg 65]
On one particular occasion the firemen were called to Sharpsville, four miles away. No alarm was sounded, and Chief Davis was not aroused, because he is a volunteer and the fire happened at midnight. But Pete sensed that something was wrong. He began barking, and finally jerked the covers from his owner’s bed. Davis was at a loss to account for the excitement. Pete kept getting more boisterous and refused to be quieted. Davis pulled on his clothes to let the animal outside. Opening a door, he met a policeman who spoke of the fire. Davis went to the scene in his automobile, and Pete was soon left behind. But the dog wasn’t lost. He arrived at the fire as the firemen were prepared to return home. The faithful animal was so weak from his run that he had to be lifted to the truck to be carried home.
Sharon firemen answer an average of seventy-five alarms of fire a year, therefore Chief Davis and all the firemen agree that Pete is entitled to credit for his record. Council has taken recognition of the animal, and he is possibly the only dog in the United States who is exonerated from wearing a license tag.
Motor Trucks Used on Mail Routes.
Motor trucks are fast taking the place of wagon stages on the inland mail lines in the sparsely settled districts of the Northwest where there are villages still distant fifty, seventy-five, and even one hundred miles from the railroad. The drivers of the trucks in making their trips over the lonely prairies—miles from towns—have a variety of experiences, as does also Uncle Sam’s mail.
Sixteen pouches of mail, including several sacks of women’s hats, lay out on the prairie during the night following the burning of the truck that carries the mail between Williston, N. D., and Watford, a distance of forty-five miles.
It was past midnight, the car was ten miles out of Watford, and the mail ten hours overdue, when, in cranking up, the engine fired back and the car caught fire. The mail was barely saved.
The driver walked in ten miles, carrying the locked pouch of registered mail and leaving the rest on the prairie for the night.