bruce-第21节
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feminine fashion。
He had just finished this feat of dexterity when he chanced to
look up from his work at sound of fast…pattering feet。 Not thirty
feet away； charging head on at him； rushed the great brown…and…
white collie he supposed had been shot。
With a jump of abject terror； Herr Stolz sprang up。 Mingled with
his normal fear of the dog was a tinge of superstitious dread。 He
had been so certain the beast was shot！ The doctor had given the
order for his killing。 The doctor was a commissioned officer。
Stolz's German mind could not grasp the possibility of a soldier
disobeying an officer's imperative command。
The collie was upon him by the time the spy gained his feet。
Stolz reached frantically under his dress…folds for the deadly
little pistol that he always kept there。 But he was still a
novice in the mysteries of feminine apparel。 And； before his
fingers could close on the weapon； Bruce's bared fangs were
gleaming at his throat。
Stolz ceased to search for the weapon。 And； as before； he threw
up both frantic hands to ward off the furious jaws。
He was barely in time。 Bruce's white teeth drove deep into the
spy's forearm； and Bruce's eighty pounds of furry muscular bulk
smote Stolz full in the chest。 Down went the spy； under the
terrific impact； sprawling wildly on his back； and fighting with
both bleeding hands to push back the dog。
Bruce； collie…fashion； did not stick to one grip； but bit and
slashed a dozen times in three seconds； tearing and rending his
way toward the throat…hold he craved； driving through flesh of
hands and of forearms toward his goal。
Like many another German； Stolz was far more adept at causing
pain than at enduring it。 Also； from birth； he had had an
unconquerable fear of dogs。 His nerves； too； were not yet
recovered from Bruce's attack earlier in the day。 All this； and
the spectral suddenness of the onslaught； robbed him of every
atom of his usual stony self…control。
Sergeant Mahan was a good soldier。 Yet a minute earlier he had
almost ruined his reputation as such。 He had been hard put to it
to refrain from leaving the ranks of his drilling company； a
furlong from the rocks； and running at record speed toward the
boulders。 For he had seen the supposed nurse pass that way。 And
almost directly afterward he had seen Bruce follow her thither。
And he could guess what would happen。
Luckily for the sake of discipline； the order of 〃Break ranks！〃
was given before Mahan could disgrace himself by such unmartial
behavior。 And； on the instant； the Sergeant broke into a run in
the direction of the rocks。
Wondering at his eccentric action； several of the soldiers
followed。 The company captain； at sight of a knot of his men
dashing at breakneck speed toward the boulders； started at a more
leisurely pace in the same direction。
Mahan had reached the edge of the rocks when his ears were
greeted by a yell of mortal fear。 The captain and the rest；
catching the sound； went faster。 Screech after screech rang from
the rocky enclosure。
Mahan rounded the big boulder at the crest of the ridge and flung
himself upon the two combatants； as they thrashed about in a
tumultuous dual mass on the ground。 And just then Bruce at last
found his grip on Stolz's throat。
A stoical German signal…corps officer； on a hilltop some miles to
eastward； laid aside his fieldglass and calmly remarked to a
man at his side
〃We have lost a good spy！〃
Such was the sole epitaph and eulogy of Herr Heinrich Stolz； from
his army。
Meantime； Sergeant Mahan was prying loose the collie's ferocious
jaws from their prey and was tugging with all his might to drag
the dog off the shrieking spy。 The throat…hold； he noted； was a
bare inch from the jugular。
The rest of the soldiers； rushing up pell…mell； helped him pull
the infuriated Bruce from his victim。 The spectacle of their
admired dog…hero； so murderously mauling a woman of the Red
Cross； dazed them with horror。
〃Take him AWAY！〃 bellowed Stolz； delirious with pain and fear。
〃He's KILLED meder gottverdammte Teufelhund！〃
And now the crazed victim's unconscious use of German was not
needed to tell every one within hearing just who and what he was。
For the quavering tones were no longer a rich contralto。 They
were a throaty baritone。 And the accent was Teutonic。
〃Bruce！〃 observed Top…Sergeant Mahan next morning； 〃I've always
said a man who kicks a dog is more of a cur than the dog is。 But
you'll never know how near I came to kicking you yesterday； when
I caught you mangling that filthy spy。 And Brucie； if I had
kicked you； wellI'd be praying at this minute that the good
Lord would grow a third leg on me； so that I could kick myself
all the way from here to Berlin！〃
CHAPTER VI。 The Werewolf
When Bruce left the quiet peace of The Place for the hell of the
Western Front； it had been stipulated by the Mistress and the
Master that if ever he were disabled； he should be shipped back
to The Place； at their expense。
It was a stipulation made rather to soothe the Mistress's sorrow
at parting from her loved pet than in any hope that it could be
fulfilled； for the average life of a courierdog on the battle…
front was tragically short。 And his fate was more than ordinarily
certain。 If the boche bullets and shrapnel happened to miss him；
there were countless diseasesbred of trench and of hardship and
of abominable foodto kill him。
The Red Cross appeal raised countless millions of dollars and
brought rescue to innumerable human warriors。 But in caring for
humans； the generosity of most givers reached its limit； and the
Blue Cross〃for the relief of dogs and horses injured in the
service of the Allies〃was forced to take what it could get。 Yet
many a man； and many a body of men； owed life and safety to the
heroism of some war…dog； a dog which surely merited special care
when its own certain hour of agony struck。
Bruce's warmest overseas friends were to be found in the ranks of
the mixed Franco…American regiment； nicknamed the
〃Here…We…Comes。〃 Right gallantly； in more than one tight place；
had Bruce been of use to the 〃Here…We…Comes。〃 On his official
visits to the regiment； he was always received with a joyous
welcome that would have turned any head less steady than a
thoroughbred collie's。
Bruce enjoyed this treatment。 He enjoyed； too； the food…dainties
wherewith the 〃Here…We…Comes〃 plied him。 But to no man in the
army would he give the adoring personal loyalty he had left at
The Place with the Mistress and the Master。 Those two were still
his only gods。 And he missed them and his sweet life at The Place
most bitterly。 Yet he was too good a soldier to mope。
* * * * * * * * * * *
For months the 〃Here…We…Comes〃 had been quartered in a
〃quiet〃or only occasionally tumultuoussector； near
Chateau…Thierry。 Then the comparative quiet all at once turned to
pandemonium。
A lanky and degenerate youth （who before the war had been
unlovingly known throughout Europe as the 〃White Rabbit〃 and who
now was mentioned in dispatches as the 〃Crown Prince〃） had
succeeded in leading some half…million fellow…Germans into a
〃pocket〃 that had lately been merely a salient。
From the three lower sides of the pocket； the Allies ecstatically
flung themselves upon their trapped foes in a laudable effort to
crush the half…million boches and their rabbit…faced princeling
into surrender before the latter could get out of the snare； and
to the shelter of the high ground and the reenforcements that lay
behind it。 The Germans objected most strenuously to this crushing
process。 And the three beleaguered edges of the pocket became a
triple…section of hell。
It was a period when no one's nerves were in any degree normal
least of all the nerves of the eternally hammered Germans。 Even
the fiercely advancing Franco…Americans； the 〃Here…We…Comes；〃 had
lost the grimly humorous composure that had been theirs； and
waxed sullen and ferocious in their eagerness。
Thus it was that Bruce missed his wontedly uproarious welcome as
he cantered； at sunset one July day； into a smashed farmstead
where his friends； the 〃Here…We…Comes；〃 were bivouacked for the
night。 By instinct； the big dog seemed to know where to find the
temporary regimental headquarters。
He trotted past a sentry； into an unroofed cattle…shed where the
colonel was busily scribbling a detailed report of the work done
by the 〃Here…We…Comes〃 during that day's drive。
Coming to a halt by the colonel's side； Bruce stood expectantly
wagging his plumy tail and waiting for the folded message from
division headquarters to be taken off his collar。
Usually； on such visits； the colonel made much of the dog。 To…day
he merely glanced up abstractedly from his writing； at sight of
Bruce's silken head at his side。 He unfastened
