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Page 13 text:
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T HE SENIOR (M A G N E T LITERARY ---------------------4 Chap Vance Green It was one of those cold, bleak days of February in Seattle and the early darkness was gathering, Dick Bennett was shuffling along one of the main streets, hands in his pockets and cap pulled over his eyes. Luck seemed against him as he was penniless and had had no supper nor would he have any prospect of a warm and dry bed. As he would get no supper, and as the shops were closing, he thought he would look for a packing box behind one of the department stores, which might have a little excelsior left in it. Turning up an alley, he saw a stack of boxes, one of which was half-boarded over and feeling inside discovered quite a quantity of straw also an occupant. Dick struck a match and found what appeared to be a cur, which was crouched back in the farther corner and which snarled, apparently trying to protect his bed from an intruder. “Why! hello old chap!” exclaimed Dick, reaching forward his hand to pet the dog. “1 won’t steal your bed, but I'll ask for a share of it.” The dog being good natured and seeing that no harm was meant, gave in to the petting of this friend. So they spent the night together protected from the bitter weather and awoke refreshed but as hungry as two bears emerging from their winter quarters. Since they were both in the same fix and neither had any breakfast to look forward to, Dick set out to hunt a job as he had been doing for the past two days. “ This case of ours is hopeless, my boy!” cried Dick after being turned down two different places where he had inquired for work. “By the way, if we are to chum together, what am I to call you?” and Dick looked more closely at the appearance of his companion. The pup was a cross between a collie and Belgium police dog, as near as Dick could tell, not knowing a whole lot about dogs. “What did I call you at first?” he went on to say to the jumping ball of curly fur about his feet. “Was it not ‘Chap?’ Why that ought to do,” and calling this name over and over the pup understood that it meant him and always responded to it. Two years later we find Dick and Chap comfortably fixed in a small apartment where there are no such signs as “No Dogs Allowed.” Dick had procured a job as a collector and, proving that he was no loafer but an industrious worker, now got a fat envelope on pay day. Sometimes Chap would accompany him on his rounds or woulu wander off seeking amusement in chasing some of the citified cats. Now Chap was no longer a scroggley cur but a wide-chested, well-balanced, bright-eyed dog with pointed features of a police dog and the furry coat of a collie. He was strong, quick and a fast runner. One day when Dick returned home, he wondered why Chap did not meet him at the steps and, then thinking that the janitor had left him in, went on up to his room, but here there was no Chap to be seen. Neither did he turn up after
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Page 14 text:
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8 THE SENIOR [MAGNET a week had passed. Dick had hardly noticed how large a place the friendship of the clog held in his heart until after the disappearance of Chap. So it continued for a year until the gold strike of Boron was made and the great rush of ’92 started. In the meantime what had happened to Chap, lie had not been killed by an auto nor struck down by a street car. Not him, he was too quick to be caught napping after living all his life in this bustling city. No, he had been coaxed by a tempting morsel of meat just far enough inside a door which was quickly slammed shut upon him, holding him in a small room. His two captors overpowered him after quite a struggle and he was thrown into a dirty crate where he was cramped for room. These two men were Pete Sanders and Joe Cowan, who were preparing for a prospecting trip into the north, and as their means were limited they were catching what few good dogs they could and would ship these north on a boat. This was carried out ana Chap experienced no gentle handling or care, but was kicked about and cuffed at the slightest resistance on his part. When they arrived north, the first news of the Boron strike was going out to the world and these two counted themselves lucky. They hitched their mixed team to a heavy sled loaded to the utmost with supplies. The day after their starting, a thawing spell broke the long cold month and melted the snow enough to cause it to stick to the runners and make the pulling hard. But the men did not take this inti consideration and, crazy to reach and stake out their claims, lashed their spent dogs until they whined. Did Chap whine? No, he never thought of that, he only growled the more fiercely each time the lash fell on the quivering back. This continued all the way to the camp in spite of the advice given by Bill Menton who happened to be following the two prospectors to the same camp. When they arrived, there was only Chap and one other dog left as the rest had weakened and been left strewed along the trail to die. This made it that the two men had to lay hold of the harness themselves and help to pull the sled. They laid down their whips and Pete went to unfasten the one dog while Joe went to release Chap, who haci been lying on the snow resting as it seemed. But this was not so. He was watching Joe, who laid down the whip which had stung him so many times that day, and now was crouching for Joe. Joe was within three feet of Chap when he sprung straight at Joe’s unprotected neck. But Chap had not counted on the harness fastened to him and the heavy load. This shortened his reach and he only tore the flesh on the side of the neck. Pete, hearing Joe yell and fall dripping with blo(xl from his wound, grabbed a whip and lashed the struggling dog back from his victim. The few men near ran towards the disturbance and helped to carry the wounded man into an adjoining shack where he was attended. After looking to the comfort of his partner, he returned to the dog and commenced lashing him. Just then Bill Menton came up and struck the whip from his hands. “What’s the idea of beating that tired dog?” questioned Bill, who had a soft spot in his heart for dogs. “Why, he came near killing my pard-ner just now when he went to unharness the cur,” and he struck the dog again with the whip he had picked up. “And another thing, you mind your own business.” Bill pulled his gun and made Pete hand over the dog, now hardly able to stand on his bleeding feet. “I guess I’ll take care of it until you are in a better mood and your pardner well,” he told Pete, while petting the dog. Chap well remembered how he used to be patted by his last friend.
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