The Dogs of Boytown

With Rover and Mac added to the party, it began to look like a pretty big affair, as indeed it was. Alfred and Horace entered into the spirit of the thing with zest and arranged for the tents and general equipment. They had both been camping in the Adirondacks, and they knew just what was needed. So they drew up a list of the things each boy must provide for himself – warm blankets, a bag to be stuffed with sweet fern for a pillow, mosquito netting, and an aluminum plate, bowl, and cup for each boy, a dish for his dog, knives, forks, spoons, etc., besides the requisite clothing and toilet articles. It was all done very systematically.

There was one thing that bothered Alfred and Horace, and that was the cooking. They ordered a store of supplies, the boys having all contributed to a fund for that purpose, but that did not solve the problem of three meals a day. The boys had been inclined to pass over this detail somewhat lightly, but Alfred and Horace knew from experience that feeding a dozen hungry boys was no joke, and they didn't intend to have their vacation spoiled by the necessity of turning to themselves and doing all the work.

One day Mr. Morton stopped Alfred Hammond on the street and asked him how the plans for the camp were progressing.

"Everything is going finely," said Alfred, "except for two things. We shall have to postpone our start for a day or two because the tents haven't come yet. Then there's the question of the cooking. I'm blessed if I know how that gang of youngsters is going to be fed."

Mr. Morton stood and thought a moment.

"Maybe I can help you out," he said at length. "I'm just starting off on a little vacation myself, and I've been wondering what I'd do with Moses." (Moses was Mr. Morton's colored man-about-the-place.) "I haven't enough to keep him busy during my absence and it wouldn't do for him to fall into habits of idleness. How would you like to take Moses along with you, and guarantee to keep him out of mischief? He was once an assistant chef or something in a summer hotel, and I believe he's a first-rate cook. His services would cost you nothing, because I have to keep up his wages anyway. I'd be mighty glad to know that he was being kept busy."

"Say, that's mighty white of you, Mr. Morton," said Alfred. "Moses for ours. He's just what we need."

So that matter was settled. Mr. Morton explained to Moses just what was required of him, and Moses became a not unwilling member of the party.

The tents, which had been ordered from New York, came at last. There were two of them, good-sized ones, each capable of accommodating seven of the younger boys and one of the older ones. Horace Ames had a small tent of his own which would serve for Moses. On the appointed day the boys congregated at the Whipples' stable, each bringing his personal equipment strapped up in his blanket. The camp site that had been chosen was at Mallard Lake, about nine miles from Boytown, and two wagons with drivers had been engaged to convey the outfit.

Presently one of these wagons appeared, containing Moses, Alfred, Horace, the tents, a stack of old lumber, a box of cooking utensils, and a second-hand kitchen range, besides a number of boxes containing provisions. When the boys had heaved their personal belongings aboard it made a big load. Then the human part of the expedition loaded itself into the second wagon, with much laughter and skylarking, and the party was ready to start. The dogs were allowed to run alongside, and a lively pack they were. Mrs. Whipple, with a look of anxiety still on her face, came to the gate to wave good-by.

They arrived at Mallard Lake about noon, and after unloading and sending back the wagons, they sat down to partake of the picnic lunch that each had brought with him. Then came the task of pitching camp. It was no small thing to accomplish before dark, but there were many hands to engage in it and efficient leadership.

The camp was located in some pine woods that ran down close to the shore of the lake. On the other side of a little cape was a sandy beach that looked like a good swimming place. Across the lake there were two or three farmhouses, where the leaders had arranged for supplies of milk, eggs, butter, bread, and baked beans. All the available floating craft on the lake had been hired, and three rowboats and a canoe lay drawn up on the bank. A little way back in the woods was a spring of clear, pure, cold water for drinking purposes, and a pool where the milk and butter could be kept fresh.

The leaders told the boys, however, that they would have to wait another day before indulging in an exploration of the surroundings of the camp. There was much to be done before night, and all must get to work. The two tents were pitched on a little rise of ground back from the water, and each boy was set to work gathering balsam boughs for his bed. These were strewn a foot thick on the ground inside the tents and the blankets were spread upon them, each boy being assigned his place. They also stuffed their pillows with balsam, waiting till another day to gather the fragrant sweet ferns in a near-by pasture. Each boy also cut stakes and drove them into the ground about his bed to hold his mosquito netting. Ropes were strung overhead to hold clothing, and there were two lanterns for each tent.

Moses, meantime, had pitched his own tent and made his own bed, and now they all turned to to help him knock together a rough shack to serve as cook house and pantry. Then a long dining table and benches were built and a frame erected over them on which was spread an old awning. The range was set up in the cook house, the provisions were stored away, firewood was cut, and Moses started preparations for supper. Soon a fragrant smoke was issuing from the stovepipe, which before long was mingled with the smell of frying bacon and other things cooking that made every boy acutely aware of his appetite. Still Alfred and Horace kept them at work, cleaning up around camp, laying a stone foundation for a campfire, and erecting a lean-to shelter for the dogs in stormy weather, for it was voted not to allow the dogs to come into the tents.

Moses made good his reputation as a cook, and a prodigious amount of provender disappeared at supper that night. The boys were in high spirits and so were the dogs. The latter, not yet accustomed to their new surroundings, and not realizing that they were to stay there, were restless and excitable and gave some trouble, but they were at last persuaded to quiet down. It was decided to tie them to the lean-to for a few nights until they should learn the rules and regulations.

After supper, while the boys were gathering brushwood for a campfire, Jimmie Rogers hoisted the camp ensign, which created a roar of laughter. I must explain about this ensign and the name of the camp.

Some time before they had discussed the subject of naming the camp, but could agree on nothing. Mrs. Hammond had suggested Camp B. H. S., the letters being the initials of the Boytown Humane Society. This did not fully please the popular fancy, and yet they did not like to discard Mrs. Hammond's suggestion. They began trying to find a word or words in some way made up of B. H. S. Alfred Hammond suggested Camp Beeches. That sounded something like B. H. S., he said, and they would very likely find beech trees about the camp. They adopted this name for want of a better one, until Jimmie, in a moment of inspiration, changed it to Camp Breeches. This name really had no very deep meaning, but somehow it tickled the boys and it stuck, being still further revised in process of use to Camp Britches. The ensign which Jimmie tied to a sapling in front of the camp was an old pair of boy's trousers.

It would require a whole book to tell of all the episodes that went to make up the life of Camp Britches during the next week, of the fishing and swimming, the exploring expeditions and berrying parties, of how the boys built a landing wharf for the boats and a diving raft, and how they divided up the routine duties of the camp. Some of these episodes were glorious fun; some were not so pleasant; taken all together they made up a memorable experience. Moses proved to be a master at making griddle cakes and other good things, and once or twice a boy ate not wisely but too well, and required the attention of the camp physician, Horace Ames. But for the most part they were healthy and happy, and incidentally they learned many things about looking out for themselves.

One night a thunderstorm broke, a veritable cloudburst, and the boys had to put on their bathing trunks and go out and dig deeper trenches around the tents to keep the water from running in and soaking everything. On another occasion a high wind blew one of the tents down on its sleeping inmates, causing more fright than damage.

Perhaps the best part of it all was the evening campfire. By that time the boys were physically sufficiently weary to enjoy resting, and, the pangs of hunger being well satisfied through the ministrations of Moses, they would light their pile of brushwood and lie about it, wrapped in blankets on the cool nights, and watch the flames and fondle their dogs, and gossip drowsily. Sometimes there was story telling, at which Albert Hammond was an artist. And one afternoon Sam Bumpus came by special invitation, walking all the way from his shack, and that evening they had stirring tales of moose and deer hunting in Maine.

Then, of course, there were always the dogs. Sometimes it seemed as though there were too many of them, and it was necessary to make each boy strictly accountable for the actions of his own. Mr. O'Brien was a constant source of trouble and unrest, and there were times when it almost seemed as though they would have to send him home. Still, everybody liked Mr. O'Brien, after all. Wicked as he was, he was as smart as a whip and he had a way of worming into your affections in spite of you. Romulus and Remus had to be watched because of a tendency to go roaming off together on hunting expeditions of their own. Rags was, as ever, a general favorite and heaps of fun, and Rover, the Old English sheepdog, proved to be almost as playful and humorous. He was wonderfully active for a dog who appeared to be so clumsy. He could hold his own in a scrap, too, as Mr. O'Brien learned to his sorrow. In aquatic sports, Rover shone.

Speaking of the dogs, there came a night when one of them nearly upset the entire camp. It was the handsome collie, MacTavish. He strayed away from camp in the evening and managed to get into trouble with a little animal that is sometimes found in the woods whose method of defense is peculiar. It was a black and white skunk. MacTavish returned, very unhappy, just as the boys were getting to sleep. Seeking help and consolation in his distress, he entered the tent where his master lay. In less time than it takes to tell it every inmate of that tent was out in the open air. Moses and Horace took the collie down to the lake, washed him as thoroughly as they could with strong tar soap, and then tied him out in the woods where the poor unfortunate's howls disturbed the camp's rest all night. They could not send him home, and it was two or three days before he was entirely fit for human companionship again.

CHAPTER XIII

THE PASSING OF RAGS

Camp Britches was pitched on a Wednesday, and the first week flew by on winged feet. On the second Saturday an event occurred which the boys had been looking forward to with anticipation. Mr. Hartshorn came in his car to spend Sunday at the camp. He brought none of his dogs with him, which was a source of regret, but he was a most welcome visitor, nevertheless.

The boys feared that the appointments of their camp might not be quite elegant enough for a man like Mr. Hartshorn, but he fitted in as though he had been brought up to just that sort of thing and said it was all bully. Frank Stoddard moved out and crowded into the other tent, and a special bed was laid for the visitor. Moses outdid himself in planning his Sunday menu.

Mr. Hartshorn arrived too late to be shown about the lake that day, but supper was a jolly meal and a new interest was added to the campfire hour that night.

Mr. Hartshorn had shown considerable interest in MacTavish and Rover, both of whom he pronounced to be fine dogs, and this led to a general discussion of sheepdogs and their kin.

"I wish you'd tell us something about bob-tails, Mr. Hartshorn," said Elliot Garfield. "I really don't know a thing about them, and I ought to, now I've got one."

"Please do," echoed Ernest Whipple. "You promised you'd tell us about the shepherd breeds sometime."

"Well," said Mr. Hartshorn, laughing, "it's pretty near bedtime, anyway, so if I put you to sleep it won't much matter. For my own part, though, I'd rather listen to another of Alfred's stories."

The night was chilly, so he went to his car and got his auto robe, wrapped himself up in it, lighted a cigar, and settled himself comfortably beside the campfire.

"You may have noticed," he began, "that some breeds of dogs seem to possess more individual character than others. Foxhounds, for example, seem to me a good deal alike. That is because they live and work mostly in packs. It is the constant association of a single dog with his master that develops the traits of personality in him. No dogs have had this personality more highly developed than the shepherd breeds, for they have been the shepherds' personal companions, often their only companions, for generations. They are, therefore, most interesting dogs to know and to talk about.

"Of these shepherd breeds the best known is the collie. It is, in fact, one of the most popular and numerous of all the breeds. The modern collie, of which Mac here is a good example, has been developed for beauty, as a show dog and companion rather than a working dog, but he is a direct descendant of the old working collie of the Scottish Highlands, which has been a distinct breed and has been used as a shepherd's dog for centuries. The old working collie or shepherd dog, which is still numerous in Scotland, is a splendid utility animal of great intelligence and initiative, brave as a lion, and trained to guard sheep.

"Though a straight development without much crossing with other breeds, the modern collie is almost a different variety, with a narrower head and muzzle, better pointed ears, and a fuller and finer coat. From the fancier's point of view he is a great improvement on the working dog, and he certainly is handsomer, but in my own humble opinion the fanciers are well-nigh ruining the splendid character of one of the best breeds of dogs ever given to man. For one thing, they have made the head so narrow and snipey, imitating that of the Russian wolfhound, that they have left insufficient room in the skull for all the brains the old collie used to possess. And with this fineness of breeding has come some uncertainty of disposition. The modern collie isn't usually given a chance to learn the things his forefathers knew, so how can we expect the same mental development? Mac, I am glad to say, is not of the extreme type. He would doubtless be beaten in the shows, but he is a better dog, for all that. The older type used to be more common here, but has gradually been driven out by the show type which began to be taken up about 1880.

"The Scotch are great people for dog stories, and a good many of their tales are about collies. Bob, Son of Battle, was an old-fashioned collie. Many of the anecdotes that are told as true stories deal with the breed's wonderful sagacity in caring for sheep. There was the Ettrick Shepherd's famous collie Sirrah, for example. He could undoubtedly do amazing things with sheep. One night something scared the lambs, and they started off for the hills, dividing into three groups. The shepherd called his dog and his assistant and started out in the hope of rounding up at least one of the groups before morning. But the night was dark and the hills a wilderness, and the two men were at last forced to give up the attempt until daylight. At dawn, when they started out again, what was their astonishment to see Sirrah coming in with the lost lambs – not one group only, but the whole flock. How he managed to get one group after the other, no one could ever say, but between midnight and dawn he rounded them all up alone, and not one was missing.

"This herding instinct is very strong in the collie. I once met a modern collie in Des Moines, Iowa, who, because he had no sheep to attend to, busied himself with the chickens, and he would never consider his day's work finished until he had carefully herded all the Rhode Island Reds into one corner of the poultry yard, and all the Plymouth Rocks into another.

"Cases are on record of collies that were taught to steal for their masters, by systematically driving off sheep from neighboring flocks. Many stories deal with the collie's intelligence in fetching help to a man or animal in danger. One collie brought in a flock of half-frozen hens, one by one, that had strayed away from the barnyard and got caught in a blizzard. He carried them tenderly in his mouth, depositing them in a row before the open fire. Another collie brought home a strayed horse by the bridle.

"Shepherd collies are wonderful with the sheep, but the so-called house collie is often more generally wise and adaptable. Hector, a son of Sirrah, was such a dog, and his master, a Mr. Hogg of Ettrick, has told many amusing stories about him. He was always getting into mischief, and Mr. Hogg's mother vowed he should never go visiting with her, for, as she put it, 'he was always fighting with other dogs, singing music, or breeding some uproar or other.' But with all that, he was so intelligent, and seemed to understand so many things in advance, that she used to say, 'I think the beast is no canny.'

"His master's father was one of the church elders of the place, and at one time accepted the post of precentor. He knew only one tune well – 'St. Paul's' – and this he used to give out twice each Sunday. To save the congregation from too great a dose of 'St. Paul's,' the son agreed to relieve him of his duties. But here Hector, accustomed to his master's company on Sundays, objected. He would follow him to church, and when he heard his master's voice inside, he would raise his in the churchyard, much to the amusement of the shepherds and the country lassies. 'Sometimes,' said Mr. Hogg, 'there would be only the two of us joining in the hymn.' The result was that he was forced to resign, and the church was obliged to carry on as best it could with the old precentor and 'St. Paul's.'

"Hector exhibited strange motives and peculiar logic sometimes. He was jealous of the house cat and hated her, but he never touched her or threatened to do her any harm. He merely kept a suspicious eye on her, pointing her as a setter points a bird. He used to join in family prayers, and just before the final 'Amen,' he would leap to his feet and dash madly about, barking loudly. It was easy to understand how he knew when the 'Amen' was approaching, but why the excitement that followed? 'I found out by accident,' wrote Mr. Hogg. 'As we were kneeling there, he thought we were all pointing Pussy, and he wanted to be among the first at the death.'

"Next we come to Rover's breed. Old English sheepdog is its official name, but I think it might better be called the bob-tailed sheepdog to distinguish it from the original smooth sheepdog of England. In many respects it is quite unlike any other breed that comes from England. He was formerly used by English drovers as a cattle dog, but we know little of his history. The bob-tail is the hairiest of the large dogs and one of the most striking of all breeds in appearance. Some of the puppies are born tailless, while others have their tails removed within a few days after birth. The bob-tail is an active, swift, intelligent dog and, as you know if you have watched Rover, very playful and very expressive with his paws. Having no tail to wag, he wags his whole hind quarters to let you know he is pleased or friendly.

"The German shepherd dog has had a remarkable boom since its introduction here in 1912. It is an old breed in Germany and its appearance strongly suggests wolf blood in its ancestry. Originally a shepherd's dog, and still used as such, this breed has shown itself remarkably adaptable to police dog work and has been used in the war more than any other breed. The German shepherd dog is not as gently affectionate as some breeds, but is intelligent, active, alert, brave, and loyal.

"I think I should also speak of the Belgian sheepdog, partly because we are all interested in Belgium these days, and partly because we have begun to get a few of these dogs over here. They are said to be even cleverer police dogs than the Germans. A few have been successfully used over here by police departments of New York and vicinity, and a few fanciers have become interested in the Groenendaele variety and have exhibited specimens in the Westminster show."

"What do police dogs do?" inquired Herbie Pierson.

"I have never seen them at work on the other side," said Mr. Hartshorn, "but I understand they are a recognized part of the police service in many cities of France, Austria, Belgium, Holland, and Germany. They are said to do wonderful things, such as rounding up gangs of thieves, trailing criminals, and saving drowning persons, including would-be suicides. In this country their usefulness has been rather the prevention of crime. I have visited the dog squad, in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn. There they are muzzled and are not expected to attack people. They are taken out at night with the patrolmen and scout around in back yards and anywhere that a burglar or hold-up man might be lurking. The criminals don't like that idea, and they have kept away from that section pretty consistently. I believe these dogs have also found persons freezing in the snow. Airedales have been tried out as well as Belgian and German shepherd dogs. For trailing criminals and finding lost persons, the bloodhound is most commonly used in this country, but I believe some rather remarkable feats of trailing have been accomplished by Belgian sheepdogs at Englewood and Ridgewood, New Jersey."

"They are used mostly as ambulance dogs in the war, aren't they?" asked Harry Barton.

"Yes," said Mr. Hartshorn. "You have probably seen pictures of them bringing in a wounded man's helmet, to guide the stretcher bearers to where he lies. They are also used as messengers and for sentry duty in the listening posts, where they are much quicker than the men to detect the approach of a raiding party or an enemy patrol. I could tell you some interesting and thrilling stories that I've heard about these war dogs, but I for one am getting sleepy and I'd like to try out that balsam bed and see if I like it."

There was a little less skylarking that night out of respect to the honored visitor, and so everyone got a good rest and was up betimes in the morning. After breakfast Mr. Hartshorn asked to be shown about the country near the camp, and everybody joined in the expedition, including the dogs.

"I suppose these dogs are all pretty well acquainted with one another now," said Mr. Hartshorn, "but I must say it is wonderful how well they get along together. It all shows the power of human companionship. Kennel dogs like mine couldn't stand this sort of thing for an hour. It must be that Rags and Rover keep them all good-natured."

Sunday passed quietly and pleasantly and then came another evening campfire. Some of the boys begged Mr. Hartshorn to tell them about more breeds of dogs, but he laughingly refused.

"Sometime I'll tell you about the hound and greyhound families, but not now. You've had enough," said he. "Besides, I came here to loaf, not to teach a class. Let's have one of Alfred's stories."

"I'm afraid I've told them all," said Alfred. "I've tried to think of more, but I guess there aren't any."

"We've all told our stock of stories," said Horace. "You're the only one with a fresh supply. I guess it's up to you, Mr. Hartshorn."

"The trouble is," said he, "I'm no story teller, but I'll read you something, if you'd like to hear it. I have quite a library of dog literature, both fact and fiction, and I've tried to collect every good thing that has been written about dogs. I selected two stories that are fairly short and brought them along, thinking there might develop a need for entertainment of that kind. Would you like to hear them?"

A shout of unanimous approval went up. Two of the boys ran to Mr. Hartshorn's car for the books, and another brought a lighted lantern and placed it on a box at his elbow. Then they grouped themselves about the fire again and listened with absorbed attention while he read them two of the best short dog stories in his collection – "The Bar Sinister," by Richard Harding Davis, and "Stikeen" by John Muir.