Lady, for once overawed by speed, leaped to one side of the road.
Not far, but leaving ample space for the driver to miss her by at least a yard. He had honked loudly, at sight of her. But, he had abated not an atom of his fifty-mile-an-hour pace.
Whether the man was rattled by the collie's antics,--whether he acted in sudden rage at her for startling him, whether he belonged to the filthy breed of motorist who recites chucklingly the record of his kills,--he did not hold his midroad course.
Instead,--still without checking speed,--he veered his machine slightly to the right; aiming the flying juggernaut directly at the mischievously-poised little collie who danced in imagined safety at the road-edge.
The rest was horror.
Merciful in its mercilessness, the hard-driven right front wheel smote the silky golden head with a force that left no terrible instant of fear or of agony. More lucky by far than the myriad innocent and friendly dogs that are left daily to scream out their lives writhingly in the wake of speeding motor-cars, Lady was killed at a single stroke.
The fluffy golden body was hurled far in front of its slayer; and the wheels struck it a second time. The force of the impact caused the runabout to skid, perilously; and the youthful driver brought it to a jarring and belated halt. Springing to the ground, he rolled the dead collie's impeding body into the shallow wayside ditch, clear of his wheels. Then, scrambling aboard again, he jammed down the accelerator.
Lad had made a flying leap over the door of the Master's car. He struck ground with a force which crumpled his healing right shoulder under him. Heedless of the pain, he hurled himself forward, on three legs, at an incredible speed; straight for the runabout. His great head low, his formidable teeth agleam beneath drawn-back lips, his soft eyes a-smolder with red flame, Lad charged.
But, for all his burst of speed, he was too late to avenge; even as he had been too late to save. By the time he could reach the spot where Lady lay crumpled and moveless in the ditch, the runabout had gathered full speed and was disappearing down the bend of the highway.
After it flew Lad, silent, terrible,--not stopping to realize that the fleetest dog,--even with all four of his legs in commission,--cannot hope to overhaul a motor-car driven at fifty miles an hour.
But, at the end of a furious quarter-mile, his wise brain took charge once more of his vengeance-craving heart. He halted, snarled hideously after the vanished car, and limped miserably back to the scene of the tragedy.
There, he found the Mistress sitting in the roadside dust, Lady's head in her lap. She was smoothing lovingly the soft rumpled fur;and was trying hard not to cry over the inert warm mass of gold-and-white fluffiness which, two minutes earlier, had been a beautiful thoroughbred collie, vibrant with life and fun and lovableness.
The Master had risen from his brief inspection of his pet's fatal injuries. Scowling down the road, he yearned to kick himself for his stupidity in failing to note the Juggernaut's number.
Head and tail a-droop, Lad toiled back to where Lady was lying. Aqueer low sound, strangely like a human sob, pulsed in his shaggy throat, as he bent down and touched his dead mate's muzzle with his own. Then, huddling close beside her, he reverted all at once to a trait of his ancestors, a thousand generations back.
Sitting on his haunches and lifting his pointed nose to the summer sky, he gave vent to a series of long-drawn wolf howls;horrible to hear. There was no hint of a housebred twentieth century dog in his lament. It was the death-howl of the primitive wolf;--a sound that sent an involuntary shiver through the two humans who listened aghast to their chum's awesome mourning for his lost mate.
The Master made as though to say something,--in comfort or in correction. The Mistress, wiser, motioned to him not to speak.
In a few seconds, Lad rose wearily to his feet; the spasm of primal grief having spent itself. Once more he was himself;sedate, wise, calm.
Limping over to where the car had halted so briefly, he cast about the ground, after the manner of a bloodhound.
Presently, he came to an abrupt halt. He had found what he sought. As motionless as a bird-dog at point, he stood there;nose to earth, sniffing.
"What in blazes--?" began the Master, perplexed.
The Mistress was keener of eye and of perception. She understood.
She saw the Lad's inhalingly seeking muzzle was steady above a faint mark in the road-dust;--the mark of a buckskin shoe's print. Long and carefully the dog sniffed. Then, with heavy deliberation he moved on to the next footprint and the next. The runabout's driver had taken less than a half dozen steps in all;during his short descent to the ground. But Lad did not stop until he had found and identified each and every step.
"He knows!" marveled the Mistress. "He saw the brute jump down from his car. And he has found his footsteps. He'll remember them, too.""Little good it will do the poor chap!" commented the Master. "He can't track him, that way. Get aboard, won't you?" he went on.
"I'll make Lad go back into the tonneau again, too. Drive down to the house; and take Lad indoors with you. Better telephone to the vet to come over and have another look at his shoulder. He's wrenched it badly, in all that run. Anyway, please keep him indoors till--"He finished his sentence by a glance at Lady. At the Master's order, Lad with sore reluctance left the body of his mate;whither he had returned after his useless finding of the footmarks. He had just curled up, in the ditch, pressing close to her side; and again that unnatural sobbing sound was in his throat. On the Master's bidding, Lad crossed to the car and suffered himself to be lifted aboard. The Mistress started down the drive. As they went, Lad ever looked back, with suffering despair in his dark eyes, at that huddle of golden fur at the wayside.
