XIX
ESKEW ARP
As the Judge continued his walk down Main Street, he wished profoundly
that the butterfly (which exhibited no annoyance) had been of greater
bulk and more approachable; and it was the evil fortune of Joe's
mongrel to encounter him in the sinister humor of such a wish unfulfilled.
Respectability dwelt at Beaver Beach under the care of Mr. Sheehan
until his master should return; and Sheehan was kind; but the small
dog found the world lonely and time long without Joe. He had grown
more and more restless, and at last, this hot morning, having managed
to evade the eye of all concerned in his keeping, made off unobtrusively,
partly by swimming, and reaching the road, cantered into town, his
ears erect with anxiety. Bent upon reaching the familiar office,
he passed the grocery from the doorway of which the pimply cheeked
clerk had thrown a bad potato at him a month before. The same clerk
had just laid down the Tocsin as Respectability went by, and, inspired
to great deeds in behalf of justice and his native city, he rushed
to the door, lavishly seized, this time, a perfectly good potato,
and hurled it with a result which ecstasized him, for it took the
mongrel fairly aside the head, which it matched in size.
The luckless Respectability's purpose to reach Joe's stairway had
been entirely definite, but upon this violence he forgot it momentarily.
It is not easy to keep things in mind when one is violently smitten
on mouth, nose, cheek, eye, and ear by a missile large enough to
strike them simultaneously. Yelping and half blinded, he deflected
to cross Main Street. Judge Pike had elected to cross in the opposite
direction, and the two met in the middle of the street.
The encounter was miraculously fitted to the Judge's need: here
was no butterfly, but a solid body, light withal, a wet, muddy,
and dusty yellow dog, eminently kickable. The man was heavily built
about the legs, and the vigor of what he did may have been additionally
inspired by his recognition of the mongrel as Joe Louden's. The
impact of his toe upon the little runner's side was momentous, and
the latter rose into the air. The Judge hopped, as one hops who,
unshod in the night, discovers an unexpected chair. Let us be reconciled
to his pain and not reproach the gods with it,--for two of his unintending
adversary's ribs were cracked.
The dog, thus again deflected, retraced his tracks, shrieking distractedly,
and, by one of those ironical twists which Karma reserves for the
tails of the fated, dived for blind safety into the store commanded
by the ecstatic and inimical clerk. There were shouts; the sleepy
Square beginning to wake up: the boy who had mocked the planing-mill
got to his feet, calling upon his fellows; the bench loafers strolled
to the street; the aged men stirred and rose from their chairs;
faces appeared in the open windows of offices; sales ladies and
gentlemen came to the doorways of the trading-places; so that when
Respectability emerged from the grocery he had a notable audience
for the scene he enacted with a brass dinner-bell tied to his tail.
Another potato, flung by the pimpled, uproarious, prodigal clerk,
added to the impetus of his flight. A shower of pebbles from the
hands of exhilarated boys dented the soft asphalt about him; the
hideous clamor of the pursuing bell increased as he turned the next
corner, running distractedly. The dead town had come to life, and
its inhabitants gladly risked the dangerous heat in the interests
of sport, whereby it was a merry chase the little dog led around
the block, For thus some destructive instinct drove him; he could
not stop with the unappeasable Terror clanging at his heels and
the increasing crowd yelling in pursuit; but he turned to the left
at each corner, and thus came back to pass Joe's stairway again,
unable to pause there or anywhere, unable to do anything except
to continue his hapless flight, poor meteor.
Round the block he went once more, and still no chance at that empty
stairway where, perhaps, he thought, there might be succor and safety.
Blood was upon his side where Martin Pike's boot had crashed, foam
and blood hung upon his jaws and lolling tongue. He ran desperately,
keeping to the middle of the street, and, not howling, set himself
despairingly to outstrip the Terror. The mob, disdaining the sun
superbly, pursued as closely as it could, throwing bricks and rocks
at him, striking at him with clubs and sticks. Happy Fear, playing
"tic-tac-toe," right hand against left, in his cell, heard
the uproar, made out something of what was happening, and, though
unaware that it was a friend whose life was sought, discovered a
similarity to his own case, and prayed to his dim gods that the
quarry might get away.
"MAD DOG!" they yelled. "MAD DOG!" And there
were some who cried, "JOE LOUDEN'S DOG!" that being equally
as exciting and explanatory.
Three times round, and still the little fugitive maintained a lead.
A gray-helmeted policeman, a big fellow, had joined the pursuit.
He had children at home who might be playing in the street, and
the thought of what might happen to them if the mad dog should head
that way resolved him to be cool and steady. He was falling behind,
so he stopped on the corner, trusting that Respectability would
come round again. He was right, and the flying brownish thing streaked
along Main Street, passing the beloved stairway for the fourth time.
The policeman lifted his revolver, fired twice, missed once, but
caught him with the second shot in a forepaw, clipping off a fifth
toe, one of the small claws that grow above the foot and are always
in trouble. This did not stop him; but the policeman, afraid to
risk another shot because of the crowd, waited for him to come again;
and many others, seeing the hopeless circuit the mongrel followed,
did likewise, armed with bricks and clubs. Among them was the pimply
clerk, who had been inspired to commandeer a pitchfork from a hardware
store.
When the fifth round came, Respectability's race was run. He turned
into Main Street at a broken speed, limping, parched, voiceless,
flecked with blood and foam, snapping feebly at the showering rocks,
but still indomitably a little ahead of the hunt. There was no yelp
left in him--he was too thoroughly winded for that,--but in his
brilliant and despairing eyes shone the agony of a cry louder than
the tongue of a dog could utter: "O master! O all the god I
know! Where are you in my mortal need?"
Now indeed he had a gauntlet to run; for the street was lined with
those who awaited him, while the pursuit grew closer behind. A number
of the hardiest stood squarely in his path, and he hesitated for
a second, which gave the opportunity for a surer aim, and many missiles
struck him. "Let him have it now, officer," said Eugene
Bantry, standing with Judge Pike at the policeman's elbow. "There's
your chance."
But before the revolver could be discharged, Respectability had
begun to run again, hobbling on three legs and dodging feebly. A
heavy stone struck him on the shoulder and he turned across the
street, making for the "National House" corner, where
the joyful clerk brandished his pitchfork. Going slowly, he almost
touched the pimply one as he passed, and the clerk, already rehearsing
in his mind the honors which should follow the brave stroke, raised
the tines above the little dog's head for the coup de grace. They
did not descend, and the daring youth failed of fame as the laurel
almost embraced his brows. A hickory walking- stick was thrust between
his legs; and he, expecting to strike, received a blow upon the
temple sufficient for his present undoing and bedazzlement. He went
over backwards, and the pitchfork (not the thing to hold poised
on high when one is knocked down) fell with the force he had intended
for Respectability upon his own shin.
A train had pulled into the station, and a tired, travel-worn young
man, descending from a sleeper, walked rapidly up the street to
learn the occasion of what appeared to be a riot. When he was close
enough to understand its nature, he dropped his bag and came on
at top speed, shouting loudly to the battered mongrel, who tried
with his remaining strength to leap toward him through a cordon
of kicking legs, while Eugene Bantry again called to the policeman
to fire.
"If he does, damn you, I'll kill him!" Joe saw the revolver
raised; and then, Eugene being in his way, he ran full-tilt into
his stepbrother with all his force, sending him to earth, and went
on literally over him as he lay prone upon the asphalt, that being
the shortest way to Respectability. The next instant the mongrel
was in his master's arms and weakly licking his hands.
But it was Eskew Arp who had saved the little dog; for it was his
stick which had tripped the clerk, and his hand which had struck
him down. All his bodily strength had departed in that effort, but
he staggered out into the street toward Joe.
"Joe Louden!" called the veteran, in a loud voice. "Joe
Louden!" and suddenly reeled. The Colonel and Squire Buckalew
were making their way toward him, but Joe, holding the dog to his
breast with one arm, threw the other about Eskew.
"It's a town--it's a town"--the old fellow flung himself
free from the supporting arm--"it's a town you couldn't even
trust a yellow dog to!"
He sank back upon Joe's shoulder, speechless. An open carriage had
driven through the crowd, the colored driver urged by two ladies
upon the back seat, and Martin Pike saw it stop by the group in
the middle of the street where Joe stood, the wounded dog held to
his breast by one arm, the old man, white and half fainting, supported
by the other. Martin Pike saw this and more; he saw Ariel Tabor
and his own daughter leaning from the carriage, the arms of both
pityingly extended to Joe Louden and his two burdens, while the
stunned and silly crowd stood round them staring, clouds of dust
settling down upon them through the hot air.