THE Henderson car was a very large one, so there was just room enough between the seats for Silversheene.
He lay by Richard's feet and occasionally looked up into his face with his wondering brown eyes which seemed to be saying, "I don't understand at all where we are going. I suppose it is all right because my mistress gave you my leash and told me to go with you, but I don't understand."
Whenever they stopped and got out of the machine Silversheene would look sharply about as though he was looking for the girl, as indeed he was. Twice he tried to give his new master the slip and run home to her, but Richard had expected this and was on the lookout for him, so he did not escape. For the first hour or two young Henderson talked to him, and told him in his pleasant sympathetic voice that it was all right and that it was a good company into which he had fallen.
Henderson senior was also a dog lover and he admired Silversheene greatly, but when he was told of the sheep-killing episode he shook his head.
"I don't know, Dick, I am afraid," he said. "You didn't forget that we have ten thousand sheep more or less, did you?"
"No, father, I did not forget, but I am sure that it can be educated out of him. Perhaps I can make a sheep dog of him. You know I did of one killer we had."
"Yes, but that was a civilized dog, while this chap is the son of a wolf, if I am any judge. But he certainly is good to look upon."
As the day wore on Silversheene and Richard Henderson became better and better acquainted, and by the time they had reached the top of the world as they called it and were crossing the backbone of the continent, they were the best of pals. But as Hilda had said, "he was a man's dog." Even so it took a good dog handler and a dominant spirit always to control him and keep him in bounds.
A harsh word or a threatened blow made him see red. His eyes would change in a second from a mild wondering kindly brown, to two flaming coals. He would be transformed by some hostile incident from a gentle loving animal to a bristling quivering fury, only one degree removed from the wolf.
Twice in the middle west Richard had to literally throw himself upon Silversheene to keep him from killing some foolish dog who had attacked him. And once he had to get up in the night and rescue a venturesome hostler who had attempted to whip Silversheene for barking, when he was tied in the barn. The dog had suddenly sprung at the man, pulling out the staple which held his chain, and treed the unsuspecting hostler on a hay mow. He might have stayed there all night had not his cries for help brought aid.
One twilight night three weeks after the Henderson party had taken on Silversheene they found themselves marooned in the Cascade mountains in Oregon just at dusk. An important part of the automobile had broken and the chauffeur could not fix it. It was finally decided that Richard should go on foot to a small town ten miles down the mountain to get the part needed. A foot of snow had fallen and he did not expect to get back that night. The car had come to a standstill in as lonely and out-of-the-way spot as could well be imagined. White snowcapped peaks towered all about them. Between the peaks valleys stretched, deep, precipitate and silent as the tomb. Many of these deep cuts and gorges afforded a straight drop of several hundred feet.
The larger timber had disappeared as they climbed and only scrub pines survived at this altitude. It seemed to the marooned party as they prepared to make themselves comfortable for the night that they were the only people in all the world at the very heart of this silent, ghastly, ghostly world.
Richard said that he would take Silversheene with him, for while he was eating lunch something happened that made him fearful of his walk down the mountain side.
The party were chatting and laughing over their lunch and trying to make the best of their rather sorry plight when from the outer world there came a sound which they first mistook for the shrieking of the wind. All but Silversheene, he was not fooled. For his hackles went up and he got quickly to his feet and began growling softly.
"What is it, old scout?" asked Dick, laying his hand on the dog's head.
All listened intently and in a minute or two the sound was repeated. This time it was much nearer. At the sound Silversheene whined to be let out of the car and Dick opened the door and let him out.
"What was it, Father?" asked Richard in surprise.
"A wolf," said Mr. Henderson simply. "It is the hunting cry of the gray wolf. Let's watch and see what your son of a wolf will do. He evidently knows his kind."
Silversheene stood like a statue beside the ear listening, his ears were erect, his tail was curled a little tighter than usual if possible. His head was up, his eyes were blazing and his whole manner was tense with waiting.
Again the wild weird cry floated down to the listening humans. They could now hear it plainer and it certainly was a weird sound. It began down low with a hoarse roar, but gradually ascended, becoming more vital with sound and wild and unearthly as it ascended. Finally it ended in a weird wail which was a mere thread of sound, blood curdling and rather terrible.
For several seconds after the last cry Silversheene stood like a statue listening, then to the astonishment of every one he lifted his muzzle to heaven and answered the cry in as perfect a wolf howl as that which had come out of the gathering gloom.
"There," said Mr. Henderson, "I told you so. He is a veritable son of a wolf. I presume he will desert us here and go back to the wild."
"Not on your life," said Dick. "He thinks too much of me already. I believe he would fight a whole pack of wolves for me."
"Richard," said Mrs. Henderson, "you aren't going a single step to-night. If the wolves don't get you this terrible dog will. I shall not rest a minute while you are gone."
"Oh, I don't think anything of that sort will happen," said Mr. Henderson, "buf it is a rather nasty night. I wish we had not been marooned here."
"The wolves would be as afraid of me as you are of them, Mother. Of course I will go. I will take my revolver and Silversheene and they won't molest me. A wolf will run as fast from a man as he can."
"That is so," said Henderson senior, "unless he is hungry and I don't think these wolves would be at this time of the year. I presume there is but one. They are not very plenty."
Richard was all eagerness to be off, for he scented an adventure. He had spent one winter in the mountains with his father's shepherds and their stories of wolves and attacks on the sheep in the olden days thrilled him. He was young, courageous, and this threatened danger only added zest to the trip. His father took his part, so finally he set out. The moon was bright—and he had his revolver and Silversheene, so he felt perfectly secure. His mother heard him go whistling into the distance occasionally calling to the dog as he went.
"I do wish Richard was not so venturesome," she said to Mr. Henderson. "I am afraid something will happen to him sometime."
"He is a fine spirited boy," said her husband. "He has the making of a fine man. I am proud of him. He will be all right."
For three hours all went well and the young man and the dog trudged steadily down the mountain side. It was rather bad walking as the track had not been broken. This was especially so in places where it had drifted badly. Some of the way the road was entirely bare, but in other places the drifts were two and three feet deep. It was not very cold, but the wind was keen and it had a biting edge. Had it not been for the plight of his family Richard Henderson would rather have enjoyed this night tramp.
But when they had covered five miles of the distance to the village the unexpected happened, as it is always liable to. The road here was very steep, with a precipitous drop of several hundred feet on one side, and a dark woods on the other. Richard was just congratulating himself on how well they were getting along when he came to an icy place in the road.
The ice was covered with a coating of an inch of snow and this made it even more treacherous. Suddenly his feet shot out from under him, and as he fell his right ankle twisted and he went down heavily. With a groan of pain he sat up and rubbed his ankle. It was probably nothing. He had often had as bad a hurt as that in football and gone back into the game. But as he felt of the injured member he uttered a cry of pain. It certainly was no slight sprain.
He took off his shoe and began slowly massaging the ankle, and then he noted that it was swelling rapidly. He put snow upon it but that did little to stop the swelling. Soon it was so badly swollen that he could not replace the shoe.
Then the full force of his predicament came home to him. He could not even put on his shoe, much less step upon his foot. There was little chance that an automobile would pass as the track showed that none had passed since the storm.
It was cold but he did not think he would freeze, though it was anything but pleasant to think of lying there in the snow all night. But he would make himself as comfortable as possible, so he crawled to one side of the road, and brushed snow off from a flat boulder and sat upon it. For an hour he sat in silence, occasionally speaking to Silversheene who stuck close to his side. The wise dog seemed to divine that something was the matter. At first he had started several times down the road and then stopped to look back, thus seeking to get his master started. But he finally seemed to understand that they could not go, so he settled himself by Richard's side to wait his pleasure.
Finally the young man became impatient and bethought himself of shouting for help. This he did until his throat ached, but got only echoes in response. Then he remembered his revolver. Three shots in quick succession was the signal of distress the world over, so he slipped it out and set the echoes ringing with three quick shots. They waited for a long time, but there were no answering shots or shouts, but they did hear a sound. It was so faint that Richard first thought it was the wind but not so Silversheene, for his hackles and mane went up and his eyes became filled with fire. Soon the sound was repeated and Dick himself recognized it to be the hunting cry of the gray pack.
"Ye gods, Silversheene," he cried. "I have just fooled away three of my six shots. What a fool I was not to take some extra eartridges."
For a quarter of an hour both dog and man listened, but heard only the moaning of the wind and the hooting of an owl, weird sounds Richard thought them. Then the wolf howl came clearly to them. It was a score of rods up the road. With a shudder Dick recognized the fact that they were trailing him. He was in trouble and no mistake.
He called the dog to him and talked to him in a low voice, petting him on the head as he talked.
"I am in a tight place, old pal, and you must stick by me. The folks think you will desert me, but I know better. We must stand by each other if it comes to a fight at close range."
Five minutes later one of the wolves appeared in the road a dozen rods away, but the young man knew that he must not take any chance shots. All his cartridges must count, so he waited. Then another gray shape appeared and then another. There were three of them and God only knew how many more. Silversheene saw them also and he stood waiting with his mane still bristling and his eyes like blazing coals. An hour passed and the three gray shapes had gradually drawn in toward them within fifty feet. They skulked behind boulders and trees, and did not long stay in the open.
The man shouted at them, but it had no deterrent effect for they kept right on narrowing down the distance between them and their quarry.
Then one of the gray marauders disappeared and Richard thought perhaps he had given up, but a quarter of an hour later he was dismayed beyond words to discover the wolf watching him from behind a tree trunk, not two rods away. The reason?
Silversheene was the first to discover the nearness of their foe, and wanted to attack, but Richard held him by the collar and took a careful aim at the wolf's head.
The light was not as good as it would have been in the daytime and he thought he missed, but he did not see the eyes again for an hour. Then they appeared behind another tree still nearer. Silversheene by this time was all eagerness to get at them, but Dick still restrained him. He wanted to save the noble dog for the fight at close range if they came to grips. He was afraid that two or three wolves might overpower him in the dark woods. Finally the eyes like living coals drew so close that they were barely fifteen feet away and Richard who was inexperienced hazarded another shot.
This time he was successful, for the wolf sprang into the air and fell kicking in the snow not a dozen feet away.
"That's one of them, old pal," he said to Silversheene, who was fairly raging to get into the fight. "If I could get another I'd let you go."
Then the second wolf again appeared behind still another tree. He was not over twenty feet away and Richard was getting rattled by their boldness, so took deliberate aim and fired. It was a lucky shot as the second had been. And the second wolf crawled away to die.
"I guess we have done for him," said Dick. "If I knew there were only three I would let you go."
But the matter was taken from his hands by the dog himself, for with a frantic bound he broke away and with two springs disappeared into the woods. A few seconds later Richard heard the rapid motions of a desperate struggle. They did not snarl or bark as dogs do, but fought silently. Then to Richard's dismay Silversheene gave ground and the wolf slowly drove him into the open. This had been a ruse on Silversheene's part, but Dick did not know it.
They came into a small open place at the edge of the forest and Richard saw the desperate battle to the very end, the fight that the brave dog was waging for him.
They did not clinch, but springing, slashed and then sprang again. They were so quick in their movements that the man could hardly tell the dog from the wolf. Silversheene was punishing the wolf, and he himself was also being punished.
It made Dick wince as he heard the savage blow of the wolf's jaws upon the face of his dog friend as they fought. But Silversheene's long coat stood him in good stead that night, especially about the throat. Once the wolf almost got the death grip. For several minutes the battle swayed first this way and then that. Sometimes Dick thought Silversheene would be killed, but all the time he cheered him on with shouts and words of encouragement. Finally the wolf became overconfident and pressed the dog too hard and in an unguarded moment the powerful jaws of the arctic fighter reached his throat. Once they had gotten their hold, they did not let go, although the Eskimo dog usually fights like a wolf. Over and over they rolled in the snow, the wolf fighting to free himself and Silversheene holding on. Richard fairly held his breath as the desperate struggle went on. But finally the efforts of the wolf grew feebler and feebler until at last he lay still. Silversheene had won! Then he got up and sniffed his vanquished enemy's nose and limped painfully to his master.
Dick received him with joy and hugged and praised him. He had won the fight yet he was badly gashed about the face, and his silver coat was dyed red in many places. But he sat down philosophically in the snow and began licking his wounds.
This last struggle seemed to have discouraged the wolves, if there had been others, for although the man and dog listened feverishly for an hour, yet they saw no more of them. Nor did the mournful wolf hunting cry disturb them again.
Finally just at daybreak, to his great joy, Richard discovered an automobile coming slowly up the mountain. Fifteen minutes later the machine stopped beside the helpless man and the brave dog.
After brief explanations they headed back to the village and got the wanted parts for the Henderson machine and by noon Richard and Silversheene were back on the mountain top telling of the great adventure.