



Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.










THE DAY OF THE DOG

by

GEORGE BARR MCCUTCHEON
Author of "Grauslark"
"The Sherrods etc"

With Illustrations by
Harrison Fisher
and decorations by
Margaret & Helen Maitland Armstrong

New York
1904




ILLUSTRATIONS


  SWALLOW (in color) Frontispiece
  CROSBY DRIVES TO THE STATION
  THE HANDS HAD GONE TO THEIR DINNER
  THE BIG RED BARN
  THE TWO BOYS
  MRS. DELANCY AND MRS. AUSTIN
  MR. AUSTIN
  MRS. DELANCY PLEADS WITH SWALLOW
  THEY EXAMINE THE DOCUMENTS
  "SHE DELIBERATELY SPREAD OUT THE PAPERS ON THE BEAM" (in color)
  SWALLOW
  SHE WATCHES HIM DESCEND INTO DANGER
  MR. CROSBY SHOWS SWALLOW A NEW TRICK
  "SWALLOW'S CHUBBY BODY SHOT SQUARELY THROUGH THE OPENING" (in color)
  THE MAN WITH THE LANTERN
  MR. HIGGINS
  "HE WAS SPLASHING THROUGH THE SHALLOW BROOK" (in color)
  HE CARRIES HER OVER THE BROOK
  MRS. HIGGINS
  THEY ENJOY MRS. HIGGINS'S GOOD SUPPER
  LONESOMEVILLE
  THE DEPUTY SHERIFF
  CROSBY AND THE DEPUTY
  MRS. DELANCY FALLS ASLEEP
  THEY GO TO THE THEATRE
  "'GOOD  HEAVENS!' 'WHAT IS IT?' HE  CRIED. 'YOU ARE NOT MARRIED,
      ARE YOU?'"
  (in color)
  "CROSBY WON BOTH SUITS"




THE DAY OF THE DOG

PART I


"I'll catch the first train back this evening, Graves. Wouldn't go down
there if it were not absolutely necessary; but I have just heard that
Mrs. Delancy is to leave for New York to-night, and if I don't see her
to-day there will be a pack of troublesome complications. Tell Mrs.
Graves she can count me in on the box party to-night."

"We'll need you, Crosby. Don't miss the train."

[Illustration: Crosby Drives to the Station]

"I'll be at the station an hour before the train leaves. Confound it,
it's a mean trip down there--three hours through the rankest kind of
scenery and three hours back. She's visiting in the country, too, but I
can drive out and back in an hour."

"On your life, old man, don't fail me."

"Don't worry, Graves; all Christendom couldn't keep me in Dexter after
four o'clock this afternoon. Good-by." And Crosby climbed into the
hansom and was driven away at breakneck speed toward the station.

Crosby was the junior member of the law firm of Rolfe & Crosby, and his
trip to the country was on business connected with the settlement of a
big estate. Mrs. Delancy, widow of a son of the decedent, was one of the
legatees, and she was visiting her sister-in-law, Mrs. Robert Austin, in
central Illinois. Mr. Austin owned extensive farming interests near
Dexter, and his handsome home was less than two miles from the heart of
the town. Crosby anticipated no trouble in driving to the house and back
in time to catch the afternoon train for Chicago. It was necessary for
Mrs. Delancy to sign certain papers, and he was confident the
transaction could not occupy more than half an hour's time.

At 11:30 Crosby stepped from the coach to the station platform in
Dexter, looked inquiringly about, and then asked a perspiring man with a
star on his suspender-strap where he could hire a horse and buggy. The
officer directed him to a "feed-yard and stable," but observed that
there was a "funeral in town an' he'd be lucky if he got a rig, as all
of Smith's horses were out." Application at the stable brought the first
frown to Crosby's brow. He could not rent a "rig" until after the
funeral, and that would make it too late for him to catch the four
o'clock train for Chicago. To make the story short, twelve o'clock saw
him trudging along the dusty road covering the two miles between town
and Austin's place, and he was walking with the rapidity of one who has
no love for the beautiful.

The early spring air was invigorating, and it did not take him long to
reduce the distance. Austin's house stood on a hill, far back from the
highway, and overlooking the entire country-side.

The big red barn stood in from the road a hundred yards or more, and he
saw that the same driveway led to the house on the hill. There was no
time for speculation, so he hastily made his way up the lane. Crosby had
never seen his client, their business having been conducted by mail or
through Mr. Rolfe. There was not a person in sight, and he slowed his
progress considerably as he drew nearer the big house. At the barn-yard
gate he came to a full stop and debated within himself the wisdom of
inquiring at the stables for Mr. Austin.

He flung open the gate and strode quickly to the door. This he opened
boldly and stepped inside, finding himself in a lofty carriage room.
Several handsome vehicles stood at the far end, but the wide space near
the door was clear. The floor was as "clean as a pin," except along the
west side. No one was in sight, and the only sound was that produced by
the horses as they munched their hay and stamped their hoofs in
impatient remonstrance with the flies.

"Where the deuce are the people?" he muttered as he crossed to the
mangers. "Devilish queer," glancing about in considerable doubt. "The
hands must be at dinner or taking a nap." He passed by a row of mangers
and was calmly inspected by brown-eyed horses. At the end of the long
row of stalls he found a little gate opening into another section of the
barn. He was on the point of opening this gate to pass in among the
horses when a low growl attracted his attention. In some alarm he took a
precautionary look ahead. On the opposite side of the gate stood a huge
and vicious looking bulldog, unchained and waiting for him with an eager
ferocity that could not be mistaken. Mr. Crosby did not open the gate.
Instead he inspected it to see that it was securely fastened, and then
drew his hand across his brow.

"What an escape!" he gasped, after a long breath. "Lucky for me you
growled, old boy. My name is Crosby, my dear sir, and I'm not here to
steal anything. I'm only a lawyer. Anybody else at home but you?"

An ominous growl was the answer, and there was lurid disappointment in
the face of the squat figure beyond the gate.

"Come, now, old chap, don't be nasty. I won't hurt you. There was
nothing farther from my mind than a desire to disturb you. And say,
please do something besides growl. Bark, and oblige me. You may attract
the attention of some one."

By this time the ugly brute was trying to get at the man, growling, and
snarling savagely. Crosby complacently looked on from his place of
safety for a moment, and was on the point of turning away when his
attention was caught by a new move on the part of the dog. The animal
ceased his violent efforts to get through the gate, turned about
deliberately, and raced from view behind the horse stalls. Crosby
brought himself up with a jerk.

"Thunder," he ejaculated; "the brute knows a way to get at me, and he
won't be long about it, either. What the dickens shall I--by George,
this looks serious! He'll head me off at the door if I try to get out
and--Ah, the fire-escape! We'll fool you, you brute! What a cursed idiot
I was not to go to the house instead of coming--" He was shinning up a
ladder with little regard for grace as he mumbled this self-condemnatory
remark. There was little dignity in his manner of flight, and there was
certainly no glory in the position in which he found himself a moment
later. But there was a vast amount of satisfaction.

The ladder rested against a beam that crossed the carriage shed near the
middle. The beam was a large one, hewn from a monster tree, and was free
on all sides. The ladder had evidently been left there by men who had
used it recently and had neglected to return it to the hooks on which it
properly hung.

When the dog rushed violently through the door and into the carriage
room, he found a vast and inexplicable solitude. He was, to all
appearances, alone with the vehicles under which he was permitted to
trot when his master felt inclined to grant the privilege.

Crosby, seated on the beam, fifteen feet above the floor, grinned
securely but somewhat dubiously as he watched the mystified dog below.
At last he laughed aloud. He could not help it. The enemy glanced upward
and blinked his red eyes in surprise; then he stared in deep chagrin,
then glared with rage. For a few minutes Crosby watched his frantic
efforts to leap through fifteen feet of altitudinal space, confidently
hoping that some one would come to drive the brute away and liberate
him. Finally he began to lose the good humor his strategy in fooling the
dog had inspired, and a hurt, indignant stare was directed toward the
open door through which he had entered.

"What's the matter with the idiots?" he growled impatiently. "Are they
going to let this poor dog snarl his lungs out? He's a faithful chap,
too, and a willing worker. Gad, I never saw anything more earnest than
the way he tries to climb up that ladder." Adjusting himself in a
comfortable position, his elbows on his knees, his hands to his chin, he
allowed his feet to swing lazily, tantalizingly, below the beam. "I'm
putting a good deal of faith in this beam," he went on resignedly. The
timber was at least fifteen inches square.

"Ah, by George! That was a bully jump--the best you've made. You didn't
miss me more than ten feet that time. I don't like to be disrespectful,
you know, but you are an exceedingly rough looking dog. Don't get huffy
about it, old fellow, but you have the ugliest mouth I ever saw. Yes,
you miserable cur, politeness at last ceases to be a virtue with me. If
I had you up here I'd punch your face for you, too. Why don't you come
up, you coward? You're bow-legged, too, and you haven't any more figure
than a crab. Anybody that would take an insult like that is beneath me
(thank heaven!) and would steal sheep. Great Scott! Where are all these
people? Shut up, you brute, you! I'm getting a headache. But it doesn't
do any good to reason with you, I can see that plainly. The thing I
ought to do is to go down there and punish you severely. But I'll--
Hello! Hey, boy! Call off this--confounded dog."

Two small Lord Fauntleroy boys were