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Page 57
"Brucie hadn't a one of those things. He didn't know what he was
here for--and why he'd been pitched out of his nice home, into
all this. He didn't have a chance to say Yes or No. He didn't
have any spellbinders to tell him he was making the world safe
for d'mocracy. He was MADE to come.
"How would any of us humans have acted, if a deal like that had
been handed to us? We'd 'a' grouched and slacked and maybe
deserted. That's because we're lords of creation and have souls
and brains and such. What did Bruce do? He jumped into this game,
with bells on. He risked his life a hundred times; and he was
just as ready to risk it again the next day.
"Yes, and he knew he was risking it, too. There's blame little he
didn't know. He saw war-dogs, all around him, choking to death
from gas, or screaming their lives out, in No Man's Land, when a
bit of shell had disemboweled 'em or a bullet had cracked their
backbones. He saw 'em starve to death. He saw 'em one bloody mass
of scars and sores. He saw 'em die of pneumonia and mange and
every rotten trench disease. And he knew it might be his turn,
any time at all, to die as they were dying; and he knew the
humans was too busy nursing other humans, to have time to spare
on caring for tortured dogs. (Though those same dogs were dying
for the humans, if it comes to that.)
"Yes, Bruce knew what the end was bound to be. He knew it. And he
kept on, as gay and as brave as if he was on a day's romp. He
never flinched. Not even that time the K.O. sent him up the hill
for reenforcements at Rache, when every sharpshooter in the boche
trenches was laying for him, and when the machine guns were
trained on him, too. Bruce knew he was running into death--, then
and a dozen other times. And he went at it like a white man.
"I'm--I'm getting longwinded. And I'll stop. But--maybe if you
boys will remember the Big Dog--and what he did for us,--when you
get back home,--if you'll remember him and what he did and what
thousands of other war-dogs have done,--then maybe you'll be men
enough to punch the jaw of any guy who gets to saying that dogs
are nuisances and that vivisection's a good thing, and all that.
If you'll just do that much, then--well, then Bruce hasn't lived
and died for nothing!
"Brucie, old boy," bending to lift the tawny body and lower it
into the grave, "it's good-by. It's good-by to the cleanest,
whitest pal that a poor dub of a doughboy ever had. I--"
Mahan glowered across at the clump of silent men.
"If anybody thinks I'm crying," he continued thickly, "he's a
liar. I got a cold, and--"
"Sacre bon Dieu!" yelled old Vivier, insanely. "Regarde-donc! Nom
d'une pipe!"
He knelt quickly beside the body, in an ecstasy of excitement.
The others craned their necks to see. Then from a hundred throats
went up a gasp of amazement.
Bruce, slowly and dazedly, was lifting his magnificent head!
"Chase off for the surgeon!" bellowed Mahan, plumping down on his
knees beside Vivier and examining the wound in the dog's scalp.
"The bullet only creased his skull! It didn't go through! It's
just put him out for a few hours, like I've seen it do to men.
Get the surgeon! If that bullet in his body didn't hit something
vital, we'll pull him around, yet! GLORY BE!"
* * * * * * * * * * *
It was late summer again at The Place, late opulent summer, with
the peace of green earth and blue sky, the heavy droning of bees
and the promise of harvest. The long shadows of late afternoon
stretched lovingly across the lawn, from the great lakeside
trees. Over everything brooded a dreamy amber light. The war
seemed a million miles away.
The Mistress and the Master came down from the vine-shaded
veranda for their sunset walk through the grounds. At sound of
their steps on the gravel, a huge dark-brown-and-white collie
emerged from his resting-place under the wistaria-arbor.
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