American fiction -- 19th century; California -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories; Western stories
Yet almost insensibly it began to yield to Peggy's faith and kindness.
Gradually it seemed to single her out as the one being in this vast
white-faced and fully clothed community that it could trust. It
presently allowed her to half drag, half lead it to and fro from school,
although on the approach of a stranger it would bite through the rope
or frantically endeavor to efface itself in Peggy's petticoats. It was
trying, even to the child's sweet gravity, to face the ridicule excited
by its appearance on the road; and its habit of carrying its tail
between its legs--at such an inflexible curve that, on the authority
of Sam Bedell, a misstep caused it to “turn a back somersault”--was
painfully disconcerting. But Peggy endured this, as she did the greater
dangers of the High Street in the settlement, where she had often, at
her own risk, absolutely to drag the dazed and bewildered creature from
under the wheels of carts and the heels of horses. But this shyness
wore off--or rather was eventually lost in the dog's complete and utter
absorption in Peggy. His limited intelligence and imperfect perceptions
were excited for her alone. His singularly keen scent detected her
wherever or how remote she might be. Her passage along a “blind trail,”
her deviations from the school path, her more distant excursions,
were all mysteriously known to him. It seemed as if his senses were
concentrated in this one faculty. No matter how unexpected or unfamiliar
the itinerary, “Lo, the poor Indian”--as the men had nicknamed him (in
possible allusion to his “untutored mind”)--always arrived promptly and
silently.
It was to this singular faculty that Peggy owed one of her strangest
experiences. One Saturday afternoon she was returning from an errand to
the village when she was startled by the appearance of Lo in her path.
For the reason already given, she no longer took him with her to these
active haunts of civilization, but had taught him on such occasions to
remain as a guard outside the stockade which contained her treasures.
After reading him a severe lecture on this flagrant abandonment of his
trust, enforced with great seriousness and an admonitory forefinger,
she was concerned to see that the animal appeared less agitated by her
reproof than by some other disturbance. He ran ahead of her, instead
of at her heels, as was his usual custom, and barked--a thing he rarely
did. Presently she thought she discovered the cause of this in the
appearance from the wood of a dozen men armed with guns. They seemed to
be strangers, but among them she recognized the deputy sheriff of the
settlement. The leader noticed her, and, after a word or two with the
others, the deputy approached her.
“You and Lo had better be scooting home by the highroad, outer this--or
ye might get hurt,” he said, half playfully, half seriously.
Peggy looked fearlessly at the men and their guns.
“Look ez ef you was huntin'?” she said curiously.
“We are!” said the leader.
“Wot you huntin'?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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