A. J. Dawson - Jan

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"The fact is," said a Minnesota farmer to the present writer, "it don't
matter a cent what sort of a pull a man has, how many guns he carries,
or how many dollars are behind him; if he breaks the law up there in the
North-west, he knows he's just got to be jailed for it, sure as he's
alive. It may take a day, or it may take a year. It may cost the
authorities a dollar, or it may cost 'em a million, and a life or two
thrown in. But that tough is just going to be jailed, and he durned well
knows it. That's what the R.N.W.M.P. means to the North-west; and you
take it from me, it's a pretty big thing to mean."

It is a big thing. And what makes it possible for that handful of
redcoats is not money, or guns, or numbers, but a solid, four-square
foundation of irreproachable prestige; an unspotted tradition of
incorruptible honesty, tirelessness, braveness, fairness, and real
_decency_. This is the reason why no failures are allowed in the
R.N.W.M.P.; this is the reason why eighteen months of service in that
corps, of a sort that earns promotion, means so much for the man who
accomplishes it. It demands a great deal of him. It gives him an
indisputable title to complete manhood.

* * * * *

Though the point was often discussed, it never was made quite clear who
first suggested that Jan should accompany Dick Vaughan when, after three
short weeks at home, he set out again for the West. The Master privately
believed the first suggestion came from him. Dick was sure he had begun
by begging for the privilege. Betty cherished the idea that her gift was
unsought and quite spontaneous. At all events, once the thing was
decided, nobody concerned doubted for a moment the fitness of it.
Betty's own arrangements may have had something to do with it. For the
Master and the Mistress had set their hearts upon Betty having a season
in London and a month or two on the Continent, in part with her Nuthill
friends, and, for a portion of the time, with another relative. This
made the prospect of parting for a time with Jan a good deal easier.

Then, again, Dick Vaughan had certainly "said a word" to Betty now. He
had, indeed, said a good deal to her. And there was one little
affirmative word she had given him which he held more preciously
significant than all the rest of the world's oratory put together. It
was Dick Vaughan's own suggestion that he should serve a further
probationary term. It was his own idea that he should earn the Master's
blessing by winning sergeant's rank in the R.N.W.M.P.; and that not till
then should he allow his father to set him up in England. His decision
in this delighted Dr. Vaughan and confirmed the Master in his faith. It
meant a further term of absence, but Betty Murdoch was sensible enough
to be proud of the pride behind Dick's plan; and thus all were agreed.

Jan's opinion in the matter could hardly be ascertained; but no one who
had ever seen Dick and Betty on the Downs with Jan and Finn, and noted
the wonderful responsiveness of the young hound to Dick's control, would
have entertained any doubt about this. Dick's mastery of animals had
always been remarkable; his hold upon their affections had been one of
the most striking characteristics of his life. And in this, as in other
matters, his experiences in the West had taught him a good deal.

At home in Sussex, and even as a youngster, it had been recognized that
Dick Vaughan could get rather more out of an average horse than any one
else in the district. On the prairies he had so far developed this gift
of his that his charger would lie down on the ground at a word from him,
and remain lying, as though dead, without ever injuring or displacing
his saddle, until given the word to rise; and this even though his neck
were used as a gun-rest, and Dick's rifle fired from it.

Dick's horses in Canada--and he trained many--required no tethering.
They would remain, all day if need be, upon the exact spot at which he
bade them stand. They would push and nuzzle a man along a road, and
never upset him. They would gallop, unridden, in any given direction, at
the word of command, and halt as if shot at the sound of Dick's voice.
He actually taught a mare to leave her foal and come to him at the word
of command. Not the wildest and most vicious of broncos could resist him
when he set his mind to their subjugation, yet he wore drilled sixpences
in place of rowels in his spurs, and rarely carried a whip; though on
certain occasions he might borrow one for a specific use.

During his walks on the Downs with Betty and the two hounds he taught
Jan to lie down, stand to attention, gallop in any direction, wheel and
return without hesitation; and all this upon the instant of the word of
command, or in obedience to a wave of the hand. He arranged for Betty to
take Jan away with her for, say, a quarter of a mile, and then, short of
holding him, to use every persuasion she could to keep him beside her.
Then Dick would give a long call, and then another. It was almost
uncanny to see, from the expression on his face, the struggle going on
in Jan's mind. But the end was always the same. The second call took him
away at the gallop, even from Betty. Then Jan was taught to remain on
guard over any object, such as a stick, a glove, or a cap, while Dick
and Betty, and Finn, too, went right away out of sight for, it might be,
half an hour.

Jan learned these things readily, and with apparent ease. Yet his only
rewards were an occasional caress and words of praise. And, apparently,
there were no punishments in Dick's educational system. At least he
never struck Jan. He really seemed so to influence the young hound that
the withholding of praise became a sharp rebuke. Jan himself had no
notion why he allowed Dick to school him, or why he yielded this man a
measure of obedience and instant devotion that he had given to no one
else. The basis of Dick's power was the exceptional gift of magnetism he
had--the special kind of magnetism which makes for the subjugation of
their wills and personalities, be they human or animal.

But, over and above this gift, Dick had faultless patience with animals.
He never gave an order without making perfectly certain that it was
understood. And he never betrayed the smallest hint of indecision or
lack of assured confidence.

"Stay--right--there--Jan," he would say. "Guard--that." His voice was
low, his speech slow, emphatic, distinct. It was a compelling form of
speech, and yet, withal, hardly ever harsh or even peremptory. And when,
in the earlier stages, he had occasion to say: "No, no; that's no good.
That won't do at all, Jan"; or, "You've got to do a heap better than
that, Jan," the words or their tone seemed to cut the dog as it might
have been with a whip-lash. You could see Jan flinch; not cowed or
disheartened, as the dogs trained by public performers often are, but
touched to the very quick of his pride, and hungrily eager to do better
next time and win the low-voiced: "Good dog! That's fine! Good dog,
Jan!" with, it may be, a caressing pat on the head or a gentle rubbing
of both ears.

Jan did not know why he learned, why he loved the lessons and the
teacher, why he obeyed so swiftly, or why praise filled him to the
throat with glad, swelling pride, while the withholding of it, or an
expression of disapproval, sent his flag down between his hocks, and his
spirits with it, to zero. Jan did not know, but he was merely
exemplifying a law as old as the hills. The Israelites found out that
righteousness was happiness, and that no joy existed outside of it.
Righteousness--do ye right--is another word for discipline. The proudest
and the happiest people in the world are the best disciplined people.
Perfect discipline is righteousness for righteousness' sake. According
to his lights, obedience to Dick was righteousness for Jan. Hence his
joyous pride in the progress of his education. No form of
self-indulgence could yield Jan (or any one else) a tithe of the
satisfaction he derived from this subordination of himself.

His greatest trial, and, by that token, once he really understood it,
his greatest source of pride, came in the severe lesson of being sent
home in the early stages of a morning's walk. First it was from the
garden gate; then from the orchard gate in the lane; and later from the
open Down, perhaps half a mile or more away. He would be gamboling to
and fro with Finn, exulting in the joy of out of doors, and swift and
unanswerable would come the order to return home and wait. Finn was to
go on and enjoy the ramble. Jan, for no fault, was to go home alone to
wait. And in the end he did it with no pause for protest or hesitation,
and at length with no regret, all that being swallowed up by his immense
pride in his own understanding and perfect subordination.

He might have to wait ten minutes or an hour or more on the door-step at
Nuthill; but it was notable that he never went unrewarded for this
particular performance of duty. He was always specially commended and
caressed for this; and he never altogether lost a ramble by it, for Dick
would make a point of taking him out again, either at once or at some
time during the same day. It was a stiff lesson to learn, this; and that
was why, once learned, the practice of it was highly stimulating to
Jan's self-respect and dignity of bearing.

Upon the whole, in the course of those three crowded weeks of holiday
happiness and courting Dick Vaughan managed to pass on to Jan a quite
appreciable simulacrum of all the benefits which had made so markedly
for his own development during the preceding eighteen months. And most
notably was Jan developed in the process.

"We gave Jan a good physique, didn't we, Betty?" said the Master,
admiringly; "but in three weeks this wizard has made a North-west
Mounted Policeman of him, absolutely fully equipped, bar speech and a
uniform!"

"Oh, well," replied Dick, with a laugh, "we don't reckon to be very much
as speakers out West, you know; and for uniform, Jan's black and
iron-gray coat is good tough wear, and will outlast the best of tunics,
and turn snow or hail or rain a deal better. Won't it, Jan?"

XX

SUSSEX TO SASKATCHEWAN

In the absence of that three weeks' schooling, there is no doubt the
journey to Regina would have been a pretty dismal business for Jan. It
occupied close upon a fortnight, and there was very little liberty for
Jan during that time.

Unlike his great sire, Jan had never been stolen, and had learned
nothing of the dire possibilities connected with confinement behind iron
bars. He tasted some tolerably close confinement during this journey;
but he thought each day would bring an end to it; and, meantime, nobody
ill-treated him, and, what was more to the point, he had some converse
with Dick each day.

As the habit of his kind is, he had, of course, parted with Finn and the
Nuthill folk without the slightest premonition regarding the duration of
their separation. In the confinement of the cupboard beside the
butcher's shop which he occupied while crossing the Atlantic, Jan
thought a good deal of Finn, of Betty, and of Nuthill; yet not with
melancholy. While at sea he had several visits each day from Dick
Vaughan, and during the preceding few weeks Dick had become very
securely established as Jan's hero and sovereign lord.

Jan would never cease to love Betty Murdoch; but in the nature of things
it was impossible for gentle, merry Betty to give this big hound quite
all that masterful Dick Vaughan could give him. His heart had often
swelled in answer to a caress from Betty; but his whole being thrilled
again to the touch of Dick's strong hand or to a word of command or
praise or deprecation from him. Jan was a grown hound now, and newly
initiated to the joys of disciplined service.

The train was worse, far worse, than the ship; but it came after the
major part of a day at large with Dick in the picturesque streets of
Quebec. And even on the train, with its demoniacal noises, and groaning,
jarring, jolting lack of ease, each day brought its glimpses of Dick,
and its blessed respites of ten minutes or so at a time on station
platforms. Jan had traveled before in an English train; but that had
been as a passenger, and with passengers, in an ordinary compartment. In
the dark, cramped, and incredibly noisy hole of a dog-box on "No. 93"
(as this particular west-bound train was called) Jan realized that
railway traveling could be a very unpleasant business for a hound. A
month earlier the experience would have exhausted him, because he would
have frittered away his energies in futile fretting and fuming, and in
equally futile efforts to force his way out through steel walls. Now his
cramped quarters were made tolerable by the fact that quiet submission
to them represented obedience to a personal order from his sovereign.
What had otherwise been wretchedness and misery was now willingly
accepted discipline, the earning of a substantial reward: his
sovereign's approval and his own pride of subordination--a totally
different matter from mere painful imprisonment.

Captain Will Arnutt had heard all about Jan by letter from Nuthill. One
would not altogether say that so important a person as the captain went
to Regina station expressly to meet Dick and Jan; but it certainly did
happen that he was admiring the flower-beds in the station's garden when
No. 93 hove in sight from the eastward; and being there, he decided to
stroll on to the platform and watch the train's arrival, along with
every one else who happened to be in sight at the time.

It might, perhaps, lead to awkward consequences if every
non-commissioned man of the R.N.W.M.P. took to keeping animals in
barracks. Both Dick and Captain Arnutt had thought of this, and,
accordingly, Jan, the son of Finn and Desdemona, was welcomed upon his
first appearance in the capital of Saskatchewan as Captain Arnutt's
hound, brought from England by Dick Vaughan, and to be looked after for
Captain Arnutt by the same man. Jan would have been tickled could he
have perceived this harmless piece of human deception; but it was just
as well he did not understand, since he would never have lent himself to
it very convincingly.

By reason of his breeding Jan was, as a matter of fact, unique among
hounds. Apart from this, no hound of his size or splendid development
had ever before been seen upon Regina station platform. The people of
the West are a forthright, plain-spoken, and enterprising folk, and
before he left the station Captain Arnutt was offered fifty dollars for
Jan. Nothing damped by the captain's smiling refusal of his offer, the
sporting stranger said:

"Well, an' I don't blame ye, Colonel, neither. But, say, it's a pity to
miss a good deal. I like the looks o' that dog, and"--drawing out a fat
wallet from his hip-pocket--"we'll make it a hundred dollars, an' the
deal's done."

As Dick subsequently explained to Captain Arnutt, two thousand dollars
had been offered, and refused, for Jan's mother. "And I'm dead sure
twenty thousand wouldn't buy his sire."

But these figures were for private consumption, of course. Dick had no
wish to invite the attention of the predatory; and, in any case, buyers
and sellers of dogs do not talk in thousands of dollars on the prairie.

At the entrance to the R.N.W.M.P. barracks the unsuspecting Jan was
violently attacked by a fox-terrier, the pet of one of the senior
officers of the corps. This pugnacious little chap wasted no time over
preliminaries, and apparently had no desire whatever to examine the
new-comer. He just flew straight at Jan's throat, snarling furiously.
Captain Arnutt was distressed, for he made sure the terrier would be
killed, and that Jan would thereby make an enemy of one of the senior
officers. But his fears were groundless, thanks to Jan's few weeks of
discipline and training before leaving Nuthill.

"Come in here--in--here--Jan, boy. Don't touch him. Come--in--here!"

Jan stood for one moment, listening, his hackles bristling resentment of
the terrier's insolence. And then he walked obediently to Dick's side,
the snarling, yapping terrier literally pendent from his neck.

"That was stupid of you, little chap," said Dick, when he had detached
the terrier and was holding him firmly in both his hands, still snarling
angrily. "If you were mine, you'd probably get a hiding, my son. As it
is, you'll stop that snarling. You--hear--me? Stop it!"

And reluctantly the terrier did cease his snarling. One could see the
little beast slowly calming down in Dick's strong hands, like an excited
patient under the spell of some mild anesthetic. And then, having calmed
him, Dick very carefully showed the terrier to Jan.

"Look at him, Jan, boy. He's privileged--not to be hurt. Never touch
him, lad. He belongs to us, you see. Never hurt him."

Then, rather ostentatiously stroking the terrier in full view of Jan,
Dick put the little beast down and bade it run away.

"No more snarling at Jan, mind. He belongs to us, you see."

And whether or not the terrier understood, he did, at all events, walk
off toward the veranda of his master's quarters without further
demonstrations of belligerency. Captain Arnutt joined enthusiastically
with Dick in bestowing praises upon Jan for his forbearance and
docility.

"I made sure the little fellow's number was up," said the captain. "One
good bite from this chap would have about settled his business. And,
mind you, he bit hard, too. There's blood on Jan's coat--look. A fine
welcome we've given you, old chap."

Dick had noticed the fleck of blood on the gray of Jan's dewlap, which
showed that the terrier had been very much in earnest. Jan's dense coat
was thinner just there than in most spots; but even there a good deal of
energy was required to yield flesh-hold to a terrier's jaws. But the
wound was trifling, and Dick, knowing his hound, wasted no sentiment
over a scratch of this sort.

"It's just as well, sir," said he to Captain Arnutt. "There are some
pretty tough huskies hanging about our quarters, and this little start
will warn Jan to keep a sharp lookout. He has to get used to more
warlike conditions than he knew in Sussex, and the sooner he
understands, the better for him--and for the others. I fancy he can take
care of himself."

"He's certainly got the first essential--discipline. I never saw a more
obedient dog."

Dick looked his pleasure at this, and ventured upon the hope that
Captain Arnutt would pass on this testimonial among his brother
officers; for well Dick knew the value to a dog like Jan of a good
reputation, more particularly in so well-ordered a little world as that
of the R.N.W.M.P. barracks.

This opening incident ended, Dick was free to take Jan down to the
stables and introduce him to his own horse and the other chargers in
that division, as well as to their riders. Dick devoted considerable
time and care to this introductory process, because he realized its
importance. He had obtained permission to quarter Jan with his horse;
and an hour's work provided a rough bench for Jan at one end of Paddy's
manger--Paddy being Dick's charger. Dick had another day and a half
before having to report himself for duty, and had made up his mind so to
instruct Jan during that period as to make it unnecessary that the hound
should ever be called upon to suffer the indignity of being tethered,
even during his, Dick's, absence.

The task proved an easy one, and Dick was given every kind of assistance
by his comrades, most of whom were at once attracted by Jan, and
inclined to regard him as an acquisition to be proud of. Before the day
was out Jan had successfully passed through a number of tolerably severe
tests of trustworthiness, and Dick was satisfied that he might safely be
spared the indignity of the chain.

For example, being left on his rough bench with an old dandy-brush to
guard, Jan was approached in turn by half a dozen of Dick's comrades,
who exhausted their ingenuity in trying to entice, frighten, or persuade
him from his post. Jan eyed them all quite good-humoredly, wagging his
tail in response to enticements, and growling a little, very quietly,
when they tried harsher tactics, but remaining throughout immovably in
charge of his post.

Then Dick went well out into the barrack-yard, and called quietly to
Jan. Instantly the long, silky ears lifted. Snatching up his dandy-brush
and gripping it firmly between his jaws, Jan rushed out into the yard,
there to be rewarded with the assurance of Dick's affectionate approval
and the enthusiastic plaudits of the other troopers.

"You've put the Indian sign on him, all right," said French, the
Devonshire man. "It must have taken some doing to lick him into that
shape."

"There's no Indian sign about it, old man," said Dick. "It isn't any
lambasting Jan's afraid of. You watch his face now, when I lift this
stick."

The men all watched, and noted that Jan did not move so much as an
eyelid in response to the lifting of a stick.

"Well, that's queer," said old Cartier, the French-Canadian dealer, who
was visiting a friend in the barracks. "Don't seem as though that dog
ever was licked."

"And so far as I know," said Dick, "he never has been. But, mind you,
that's not to say he never will be. I'd never hesitate to thrash a dog
if he deserved it, and thrash him good and hard, too. But so far Master
Jan has never asked for lickings. Have you Jan? That's why he's not
afraid of a stick; for I'd never hit a dog or a horse unless really to
punish him, so that he'd know it was a thrashing--not just a bit of bad
luck for him, or temper in me."

"H'm! I believe you could get two hundred an' feefty dollar for that
dog, up north," said Cartier, musingly; "maybe three hundred, if you
broke him to harness."

Dick smiled quietly, and nodded.

"No, no," said O'Malley, the man of Cork; "he's going to stay right here
an' be our mascot. Aren't ye, Jan?" And Jan affably signified his
agreement.

"That's all right," said French, knocking his pipe out against the heel
of his boot. "But what's going to happen to-morrow when Sergeant Moore
gets back with his Sourdough? You'll see some fun then, I fancy. Old
Sourdough's been boss dog around here a goodish while now, you know. He
won't stand for having this chap put his nose out of joint. And, mind
you, there's no dog in Regina can cock his tail at Sourdough. I saw him
knock the stuffing out of that big sheep-dog of MacDougall's last year,
and I tell you he'd have buried the sheep-dog before he left him, if
Sergeant Moore hadn't managed to get a halter through his collar and
pretty near choked him. It was a close thing; an' they reckoned the
sheep-dog had never met his master till then."

"Yep, that's a fact," said another man. "There'll be trouble with
Sourdough if you're not careful, Vaughan. He's a demon of a dog, an', by
gee! he's sourer than his boss, an' that's saying something."

"Well, yes, I'd thought about Sourdough," said Dick; "and I'm glad his
quarters are the other side of the yard."

"The other side!" said French. "Why, man, he owns the whole place. You
see how the other dogs kow-tow to him. He's sour, all right, and a
fighter from way back; but the way he's built he somehow doesn't seem to
make trouble with any dog that kow-tows to him. But God help the husky
that don't kow-tow. Sourdough will have his salute as boss, or he'll
have blood. That's the sort of a duck Sourdough is."

"Ah! Well, he'll get civility from us, won't he, Jan? and if that's all
he wants, there'll be no trouble. But I'll tell you what, you fellows:
if Jan's in the stable there with Paddy any time when I'm not about,
don't you let Sourdough come into our quarters at all."

"It'd take a hefty chap to keep Sourdough out, if he meant coming in,"
said O'Malley. "But I guess we'll do our best--eh, boys? I reckon our
Jan's a better mascot than the sergeant's tyke."

"But there mustn't be any fighting," added Dick; "and there won't be if
we're careful; for there's nothing sour about Jan here, and you've seen
he's obedient."

XXI

INTRODUCING SOURDOUGH

In some respect Jan's life at the R.N.W.M.P. headquarters might have
been simpler if he had been less lovable and less popular. As a matter
of fact, while pretty nearly every one in the barracks took a fancy to
the big hound and felt a certain pride in his unique appearance as a
R.N.W.M.P. dog, the members of Dick's own division adored Jan to a man.
His docility, his affectionate nature, and his uniform courtesy bound
them to him, even apart from their pride in him and the influence of
Dick Vaughan as champion heavy-weight boxer and crack horseman of the
force.

There were eight or ten other dogs in the barracks, all of whom
(including the bellicose fox-terrier who first welcomed Jan at the
gates) took kindly to the big hound from Sussex as soon as they knew him
and had tested his frank and kindly nature. They were none of them
really big dogs, and that fact alone, apart from Dick's teaching, made
Jan specially indulgent in his attitude toward them. After certain curt
warnings, the two or three dogs among them whose natures inclined them
to fighting seemed to realize contentedly enough that Jan was somewhat
outside their class, and in any case not a good person to quarrel with.

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