Wrenching himself free from the friendly hand on his collar, he sprang in pursuit of his departing deity,--the loved Master who was leaving him alone and desolate among all these strange scenes and noises. The Master, plodding, sullen and heavy-hearted, toward the gangway, was aware of a cold nose thrust into his dejected hand.
Looking down he beheld Bruce staring up at him with a world of stark appeal in his troubled gaze. The Master swallowed hard;then laid his hand on the beautiful head pressed so confidingly against his knee. Turning, he led the dog back to the quarters assigned to him.
"Stay here, old friend!" he commanded, huskily. "It's all right.
You'll make good. I know that. And there's a chance in a billion that you'll come back to us. I'm--I'm not deserting you. And Iguess there's precious little danger that any one on The Place will ever forget you. It's--it's all right. Millions of humans are doing it. I'd give everything I've got, if I could go, too.
IT'S ALL RIGHT!"
Then Bruce understood at last that he was to stay in this place of abominations, far from everything he loved; and that he must do so because the Master ordained it. He made no further effort to break away and to follow his god ashore. But he shivered convulsively from head to foot; and his desolate gaze continued to trace the Master's receding figure out of sight. Then, with a long sigh, he lay down, heavily, his head between his white forepaws, and resigned himself to whatever of future misery his deities might have ordained for him.
Ensued a fortnight of mental and bodily anguish, as the inland-reared dog tasted the horrors of a voyage in a rolling ship, through heaving seas. Afterward, came the landing at a British port and the train ride to the camp which was to be his home for the next three months.
Bruce's sense of smell told him the camp contained more dogs than ever he had beheld in all his brief life put together. But his hearing would have led him to believe there were not a dozen other dogs within a mile of him.
From the encampment arose none of the rackety barking which betokens the presence of many canines, and which deafens visitors to a dog-show.
One of the camp's first and most stringent rules forbade barking, except under special order. These dogs--or the pick of them--were destined for work at the front. The bark of a dog has a carrying quality greater than the combined shouting of ten men. It is the last sound to follow a balloonist, after he has risen above the reach of all other earth-noises.
Hence, a chance bark, rising through the night to where some enemy airman soared with engines turned off, might well lead to the bombing of hitherto unlocated trenches or detachment-camps.
For this and divers other reasons, the first lesson taught to arriving wardogs was to abstain from barking.
The dogs were divided, roughly, by breeds, as regarded the line of training assigned to them. The collies were taught courier-work. The Airedales, too,--hideous, cruel, snake-headed,--were used as couriers, as well as to bear Red Cross supplies and to hunt for the wounded. The gaunt and wolflike police dogs were pressed into the two latter tasks, and were taught listening-post duty. And so on through all available breeds,--including the stolidly wise Old English sheepdogs who were to prove invaluable in finding and succoring and reporting the wounded,--down to the humble terriers and mongrels who were taught to rid trenches of vermin.
Everywhere was quiet efficiency and tirelessly patient and skillful work on the part of the trainers. For Britain's best dog men had been recruited for service here. On the perfection of their charges' training might depend the fate of many thousand gallant soldiers. Wherefore, the training was perfect.
Hundreds of dogs proved stupid or unreliable or gun-shy or too easily confused in moments of stress. These were weeded out, continually, and shipped back to the masters who had proffered them.
Others developed with amazing speed and cleverness, grasping their profession as could few human soldiers. And Bruce, lonely and heartsore, yet throwing himself into his labors with all the zest of the best thoroughbred type,--was one of this group.
His early teachings now stood him in good stead. What once had been a jolly game, for his own amusement and that of the Mistress and the Master, was now his life-work. Steadily his trainer wrought over him, bringing out latent abilities that would have dumfounded his earliest teachers, steadying and directing the gayly dashing intelligence; upbuilding and rounding out all his native gifts.
A dog of Bruce's rare type made up to the trainers for the dullness of their average pupils. He learned with bewildering ease. He never forgot a lesson once taught.
No, the Mistress need not have interceded to save him from beating. As soon would an impresario think of thrashing Caruso or Paderewski as would Bruce's glum Scottish trainer have laid whip to this best pupil of his. Life was bare and strict for Bruce.
But life was never unkind to him, in these first months of exile from The Place. And, bit by bit, he began to take a joy in his work.
Not for a day,--perhaps not for an hour, did the big collie forget the home of his babyhood or those he had delighted to worship, there. And the look of sadness in his dark eyes became a settled aspect. Yet, here, there was much to interest and to excite him. And he grew to look forward with pleasure to his daily lessons.
At the end of three months, he was shipped to France. There his seemingly aimless studies at the training camp were put to active use.
At the foot of the long Flanders hill-slope the "Here-We-Come"Regiment, of mixed American and French infantry, held a caterpillar-shaped line of trenches.
