On coming to the Cantonment I had endeavored, from the first, to find Jot; but not a thing could I learn about him. To find any one in this big city was, as Sam said, “like looking for a collar button in a pasture.” It was more difficult to find a person in this great city of barracks perhaps, than in an ordinary city, because of the uniformity of its buildings and the sameness of its uniforms.
One day I had left Muddy in charge of the mess sergeant and had gone to the Y. M. C. A. to write to Uncle Jim and Aunt Joe, when the door opened, and Muddy, like a whirlwind of hair and tail, came yelping and jumping upon me.
I looked up to scold him, for dogs were not allowed there, when “Jot” stood smiling down upon me. He threw his arms around me with a big hug, and slap on the back, which I returned with interest, notwithstanding my cool New England habit of reserve.
During all this time, Muddy had been yelping and wagging both body and tail with doggish delight and approval, at having brought his friends together, until the superintendent reminded us of the rules.
Then I inquired of Jot, “How did you find me?”
“I didn’t find you,” he replied, “it was Muddy.”
“Yes; but how did you find my barracks and company?”
“It was Muddy, I tell you;” he said. “I was on my way to the quartermaster’s office, when I heard a yelping and he flew like a mad dog out of one of the barracks; and yelped and whined and dragging me by my trouser leg as much as to say, ‘Come this way!’ And I understood enough of his dog talk to know that you were somewhere around here. So I followed him.”
It was not until we were on the way to the quartermaster’s that I noticed, that he wore the chevrons of a “Top Sergeant” (first sergeant) and learned that his quarters were only a short distance from mine.
How it was that Muddy knew that Jot was in the street is one of the mysteries of the dog intellect—or instinct;—for the incident is true.