# A Gentleman From France/Chapter 10

If Marie was glad to see Pierre again, Pierre was also glad to see Marie, although she had once been his enemy. His state of mind was much that of a small boy who has run away with the circus.
The glitter and the glamour of the world had called to him and he had answered. But his adventure in the wide, wide world had been full of sorrows. His friends, especially the great lady who adored him, and even Marie, were all preferable to the wide world.
He had had his fill of adventure and henceforth, or for a while at least, he would be content with the lot of a home dog.
​This was the way Pierre thought in his dim, dog way, when he thought at all; but he was so wide-awake and so filled with the passing show that external things claimed most of his attention.
Marie, on the other hand, was highly pleased with the turn of events. She was not to go home without Madame's dear dog. She would be restored to the great lady's favor, and that meant a great deal to her.
It was an honor to be the maid of the greatest actress in the world, and Marie appreciated the fact. So both she and Pierre were very happy upon that return voyage to dear old France. But France was still war-torn and grief-stricken, and Madame was still playing daily, and often twice a day, to gain gold for the land she loved.
​Pierre's conduct on the boat was so much better than anything that Marie had ever known before that she was quite in love with him herself before the ship made Havre.
It was a proud moment for Marie when she walked into Madame's dressing-room with Pierre, who looked just as jaunty and cock-sure of himself as he had the morning he ran away, although the world had done much to subdue his spirits.
Madame fell upon him as though he had been a long-lost child and caught him up just as though he had not been forty pounds of bone and muscle, while Pierre showered her face with kisses and jumped about and barked so loudly that the manager came in to see what was the matter. The great actress was so overjoyed and taken up with her long-lost darling that ​the manager finally had to remind her that her cue would soon be called.
So it was into the same old touch-and-go world that Pierre had returned. If the soldiers could fight by day and by night upon the reeking soil of France, Madame could also fight for her country upon the stage. So it was a tired, hard-worked woman who again took Pierre to her heart and talked to him in the small hours of the morning after the theatre lights had gone out and the last curtain had fallen.
But just a week to a day after Pierre set foot in France the colors again called him and Madame could not refuse her country.
General Gerundo, an old friend, was calling on her at the theatre. There was an hour before the curtain went up, and ​they were chatting together over some wine and cakes.
Madame had just finished telling the general of Pierre, of his War Cross and his latest escapade in America, when Pierre himself trotted in from the stage where he had been romping with the stage hands.
The general looked at the Airedale admiringly as he came and stood upon his hind legs and laid his head in Madame's lap, ready for his usual complement of caresses.
"Yes," said the great man after a silence, during which he watched the actress curiously. "He is a fine dog. The handsomest Airedale I ever saw. But it is a pity that so good a soldier is not again fighting. We have great need of such dogs in the Argonne on the ammunition-carts. Much of the country is too rough ​for machines or horses. I think he could again do valiant service for France."
At the words Madame uttered a half-suppressed cry, of which she was ashamed. But she was very tired and heartsick. The tragedy of the war was heavy upon her. The return of Pierre had given her a respite from this haunting specter of war. In his love and playfulness she had found surcease from her own heartache, and here the general was suggesting that she again give him up to his country.
She looked up at the gray—bearded little man with the blue uniform. The man who slept either in his automobile, or even on horseback, anywhere but in bed. The man who had given so much for France. She noted the tired look in his eyes and was ashamed of her own weakness.
"Forgive me, General," she said. ​"You see I have not had Pierre for months and he is such a comfort to me. Your proposal took me unawares. I was off my guard. I am tired to-night, General."
"We are all tired," said the general, "but better days are ahead if we endure, and we must. But what do you say about the dog?"
Madame looked straight into the bright, dancing eyes of Pierre and gently caressed his soft ears. Life danced and sparkled in his eyes. It radiated from his splendid body. He tingled and glowed with it. He was sentient, vital, and there was no fear in his splendid eyes.
Should she again let him go into the inferno of war? She knew he was not afraid. She doubted very much if he would quail, even if he knew that death ​awaited him out on the battle-fields of France. Should she let him go? But it was for France. They all must make sacrifices. Finally she looked up at the general and her eyes were filled with tears. "You may have him," she said; "we all follow the flag."
When the head dog-musher saw Pierre he shook his head.
"He is much too light," he said. "We want heavier dogs, dogs that can pull heavy loads."
The dog-musher was a tall, muscular young Scotchman, who had come over to France from Alaska to help in training the dogs which the French government had purchased for drawing the ammunition-carts in the rough country. The Scotchman had brought with him a hundred of the finest dogs that he could find in ​Alaska, most of them winners in the great Alaskan sweepstake races, so he knew good dogs when he saw them.
Even though he had condemned Pierre as too light, still he kept on looking at him. In some strange way the Airedale fascinated the man. His eyes were so bright, his ears so erect, his expression so intelligent. The Scotchman was even obliged to admit to himself that he had never seen so much dog in so small compass.
"But I hate to let him go," he said at length, during which time he had been studying Pierre with his all-seeing gray eyes.
"We do need brains in several of our teams. I would like just such a dog if he was twenty pounds heavier."
"Why not let him lead and pull as much as he can?" inquired the lieutenant. ​"As you say, Captain, we do need brains in our lead-dogs. We also need dogs that are not afraid, and this terrier looks as though he would not be afraid of the devil himself."
"That's so," said the captain. "We will keep him."
So Pierre again entered the service of the French government and was at once put to work. That very day the lieutenant taught him "Gee" and "Haw" and to "mush."
The lieutenant was used to clever dogs, but Pierre surprised him. "Why, this Airedale fairly takes the words out of your mouth. He will make a fine lead-dog," he reported to the captain.
Pierre thought it great fun to trot up and down helping pull the queer cart. To his eager mind and willing muscles it was ​just another fine play, something that men wanted him to do. The men were also to his liking, for they were the soldier-men. Men that a dog could worship. Men like Jean and the Colonel. Men whose will was law. Men whose will gripped you like a great force that must be obeyed. This was the sort of life Pierre liked, for he was masterly himself. He could even give up his pampered taste and take the fare as he found it, as the soldiers did.
He had not troubled his good friends, the author and his wife in America, because he was really bad. He was just so full of energy that he had to work it off in some way or blow up. There was no such danger in this new life, for they worked him from dawn to dark.
Finally, after three or four weeks Pierre was perfected and put at the head of a ​team of six dogs. It was a very proud morning for him when he was harnessed and put at the lead position. He was to go ahead. He was to lead off. All the rest would follow him. Yes, that was fine. The soldier-men depended on him. He was to work for them.
Well, he would work until he dropped and then he would get up and go on again. But it was a great responsibility. He had to listen very carefully and notice whether the man with the long whip said "Gee" or "Haw." If he made a mistake, it would take the whole team in the wrong way. Then he must obey "Mush," and if his teammates did not pull he would growl at them.
True, he was the smallest dog in the team. Any one of the tall, lean huskies behind him could have eaten him up. But ​Pierre did not know this, so he was safe in his ignorance.
The cart was dragged for miles and miles on the broad, hard road.
Finally they came to some woods. Beyond the woods the sky was cloudy and the clouds were filled with bright lightning, which continually played against the dark background. It brought back strange memories to Pierre. All the other dogs thought it just a hard thunderstorm, but Pierre remembered that fearful day when he had seen just such a storm gather beyond the great river. He had seen such lightning and heard just such thunder on that day when he had gone to look for the Colonel amid the terrors of the mighty storm. He could even smell the same acidy fumes he had smelled that day. What a strange day it had been with the ​men all sleeping on the ground in every thicket and by the roadside! Some of them had been having bad dreams, for they groaned and sighed, while the ground was covered with blood.
Yes, this thing that they were travelling towards with the heavy cart was just such another storm as that.
Occasionally as they advanced and the thunder grew heavier, Pierre would look back over his shoulder at the captain who was driving the team. Then the soldier would shout at him, "All right, little soldier, mush." Some of his teammates whimpered and wanted to go back but Pierre always kept his nose towards the mighty storm while the captain urged the fearful ones on with both whip and voice. But Pierre himself was not afraid. He was just bewildered.
​He would mush, mush, and mush, if the captain said so until they were at the very heart of the storm and the mighty peals of thunder were rolling continually and the terrible bolts of lightning were ripping up the trees and the rocks all about them.
As they journeyed farther into the woods and farther towards the great storm, the going became more difficult. They floundered down into deep gulches where the pines and the poplars were green and cool. Sometimes there was a little brook at the bottom of the gulch and if there was time the captain would let the dogs stop to drink.
Then they would climb laboriously over a rough hill and here they were sometimes spied by the sharpshooters and they had to hurry, for the bullets would soon be spitting all about them. But this was the ​general character of the country, deep gulch and then a hill. And as they journeyed towards the storm, they often came to trees that had their tops broken off and lying across the rough roadway, or perhaps a whole tree was in the way. Then the men would cut it away with their axes, or lift the cart over it after they had partly unloaded it. But the men made all possible haste. If they were delayed in this way, they fussed and fumed so that Pierre knew that some one wanted them to come quick. So as soon as they were free he would tug and strain at his harness and whine to the other dogs to come on, even before the man had given the word.
"Willing little chap," remarked the lieutenant to the captain. "We certainly made no mistake when we took him on. He is worth any two huskies we have got. ​He's going to distinguish himself before we get out of this hell, or my name ain't McDougal."
"Perhaps he will," said the captain. "I only hope he won't extinguish himself. He is almost too willing. I never saw a dog before so utterly devoid of fear."
On the last hilltop before they reached the great storm, the enemy got Juneau Pete, the husky next to Pierre. He was shot through the lungs and blew blood from his nostrils in bright jets. The captain saw that he was done for and shot him with his revolver.
The men lost no time in closing up the gap in the team and rushing the cart into the next gulch, for the bullets were spitting all about them. Even in the gulch they were almost as much beleaguered, for the enemy began throwing shrapnel and shells ​into the depression. They had noted that it was a cart carrying ammunition to a much-harassed portion of the army, so determined to cut it off if possible.
Shrapnel fell like hailstones in among the trees. Leaves and twigs came down in showers, and often a large limb was lopped off. But the worst execution came when a great shell landed fairly in the gulch sending treetops and turf and dust and stones in every direction. It fell so near that the two men were knocked down by the concussion. But the captain was soon on his feet, quieting the dogs.
He seemed to know that Pierre was the dominant spirit of the team, so he told him not to get scared and they would soon be out of danger.
Pierre listened very carefully, for he wanted to do just what the man wanted ​him to do, because he was the lead-dog. All the other dogs followed him.
Finally they untangled the cart and drew it out into more open country and then they came to their own men, who greeted them with three cheers. The ammunition they had brought would hold the important position another day, so they were very glad to see the two men and Pierre and his dog team.
They unloaded the cart at once. After supper when it was as dark as it would be that night they started back to headquarters for more ammunition. Going back they had only the darkness to contend with, but that was bad enough.
Sometimes they would lose the rough road in the deep gulches and flounder about for half an hour before they found it again. Or, perhaps a large tree would ​be across the road; then they would lift the cart over it, and that also took time. Both men and dogs were glad when daylight came and they were well out of range of even the large guns.
But there was no rest for them, for they were no sooner out of range of the enemy than they came upon several truck-loads of ammunition which had been brought up during the night. So it was to be their task just to carry ammunition through the deep gulches and over the high hills where the bullets and the shrapnel whined and whistled with never an hour to stop and rest. The trucks could bring it to within range, but the dog teams must do the rest. The terrible, nerve-racking, heart-breaking work must be left to the dogs and the two men. But these were not all who were to carry ammunition through this inferno, ​for several other dog teams soon came up, and presently they were going back and forth like faithful shuttles between the beleaguered army and its source of ammunition.
But the personnel of the teams was constantly changing. Hardly a trip was made but that some poor dog was left behind dead.
For if they were too badly wounded to stay in the team they were shot. This was the best way in such a dreadful place.
Nor were the dogs the only part of the outfit to suffer. The drivers were also often wounded or killed. If they were wounded, Pierre would see two men carrying them out through the dark tangle of the woods on a stretcher. Often Pierre was terribly thirsty and there was no water to be had. The little streams where ​they had first slaked their thirst had become choked with mud and dirt. Rocks and trees were piled in their beds.
Often the poor dogs eagerly lapped water that was thick with mud, while their drivers patted out little places in the mud and let the water settle in it before they could drink. Even so, the water was often red with blood. As the days wore on, the heat became intense and this made the thirst doubly hard to bear. One of the huskies in Pierre's team went mad in the harness and snapped at the dogs nearest him. The captain sprang to the rescue of the rest of the team and shot the afflicted dog.
"I don't blame him, Captain," said the lieutenant. "I am almost ready to go mad myself."
The din of the battle was now continu​ous. But the dogs had become used to it so they did not mind the noise. The stench of decaying bodies, of dead men and horses and dogs filled the air.
Sometimes they did not have time to bury the dead and often they could not find them in the tangle of trees and débris of rocks and sod, so it was altogether a hell on earth in which Pierre and his dog team labored.
But the going over the hills and through the deep gulches as time passed became more difficult, and they lost more dogs and men each day than they had the day before.
Finally, one terrible day when the heat had been even more unbearable than usual and they had been bombarded continually with shrapnel and shell so that they had barely reached the army, the enemy laid ​down a continuous barrage between the army and its supply of ammunition.
"Looks to me as though we were prisoners," said the captain to his lieutenant.
"Yes," said the general, who happened to be standing near. "We shall all be prisoners unless we can get word back to headquarters, and they send up a relief column. We can't hold out another day. We must be relieved at once."
The captain looked at him sharply. He had not imagined that he had spoken so truly. But the general's face was very grave. "Is it so bad as that?" the captain asked.
"Yes," replied the general. "It is much worse than you can imagine. Why, in the woods yonder are men who are going delirious for want of water and food ​and our ammunition will barely hold out to-morrow."
"Where are your carrier pigeons?"
"Most of them are dead. They were shot while flying back to headquarters. What we have left are too nearly dead of thirst to lift a wing. I tell you our plight is desperate. You know the trail back to headquarters better than any one else. You have been hauling ammunition over it for days. Can any human thing live long enough in that inferno to get a message back to headquarters?"
The captain looked back along the way that he and his dog team had traversed so many times in the past three weeks, but it looked like the very mouth of hell. The trees that had shielded and befriended them in the past were swaying and bending and breaking under the barrage. The ​air was filled with flying débris. The hilltops he knew would be even harder to cross than these infernos of the woods. The chance of getting through looked hopeless.
"I am afraid it would be a sure-death journey, General," he said at last. "I wouldn't expect to last to get across the first gulch, General."
"But some one must go," cried the general excitedly. "The army is at stake."
The captain looked down at his dog team and sighed. There were but four in the team.
They had left three others dead in the last gulch. And it was now ten times as bad as it had been when they had come through half an hour before.
The three huskies lay as though dead, their heads between their paws, limp and ​lifeless. The trip had taken the last particle of life and go out of them. But not so Pierre. All the dogs with whom he had drawn the first load of ammunition were dead, but Pierre was still in the lead position. Twice he had been grazed by bullets but they had done him no harm. He was still alert, eager, and full of vitality, and ready to do the bidding of his gods, the soldier-men.
As the captain looked down at him he grinned back and the man heard his stump of a tail thumping on the sod. Here was a little soldier who never would say die until the Boche got him for good.
At the sight of the dog, so alert, so eager, so splendid in his courage and endurance, a lump filled the captain's throat. He was just a dog, but he was great. He was every inch a soldier.
​Then a bright thought flashed through the mind of the man. They could send Pierre. He had gone over the trail every day for the past three weeks. He knew he could make him understand. He was such an intelligent little chap. He would not be afraid. A man would be afraid and with reason, but not Pierre. The captain read that in his fearless, eager eyes, which looked up in his face so brightly. They were so full of life, of the joy of living. Should he recommend sending him? It was a sure-death journey. He had just told the general so himself, but some one must go and Pierre was willing. The captain read that in his face. That hairy, alert, intelligent face.
So the captain turned to the commanding officer. "Get your message ready, General, I have a messenger. He will ​take it through if any one can. He is the one for a tight place."
"Who is he?" asked the general in surprise. For it astonished him to have a messenger appear so suddenly from nowhere to take a message at such risk.
For answer the captain stooped down and patted Pierre's head. But he could not speak, for a great lump was in his throat. Tears were coursing down his rough, sun-tanned, powder-stained face. Tears of which he was not ashamed.
He and Pierre were all there was left of the original outfit, and he had come to love the dog as his brother. The lieutenant had "gone west" the day before.
"Who is it?" inquired the general again, thinking the captain had not heard him.
"It's this dog," replied the captain be​tween gulps. "He would go into the mouth of a cannon if I told him to, even though he knew he would be blown to pieces. Get your message ready, General."
The general took a note-book from his pocket and began writing while the captain unbuckled the harness and sat down upon the ground and put his arms about the dog's neck and talked to him in a low voice.
"You've got to go back, little soldier." He put his hand on the dog's collar and pointed back along the trail they had come.
"Mush, mush. You have got to mush."
Pierre looked up into the captain's face and whined eagerly and tugged at his collar.
"It's a terrible trip. You must go alone. I can't go with you. You must ​mush." Again the captain pointed along the woodland trail, the trail that the dog knew so well.
Once more Pierre whined in eagerness and tugged at his collar.
"All right," said the captain. "I knew you would understand."
Presently the message was ready and the captain placed it in an oilskin tube made for the purpose and concealed it under the dog's collar. He smoothed it out carefully and then let out the collar one hole. He would need all the breath that nature could give him on this desperate journey and the captain did not want him choked by a tight collar.
Then the soldier very tenderly kissed the dog on the top of his head while Pierre showered the man's face with dog kisses.
"I am hating to send you, little soldier," ​he said thickly, "but the general says, 'Go,' and we all mush when he says the word. I will be praying for you all the way. I guess He looks out for dogs as well as men when they are doing their duty."
Then he turned Pierre's head towards the woods and pointed along the devastated wagon trail and cried, "Mush!" Thus far he had spoken quietly to the dog, but this command cut the air like the crack of a rifle. At the familiar word Pierre started as though he had been struck by a whip, and tugged at his collar and whined.
Then the captain cried, "Mush!" again in that peremptory voice, which to the willing dog was like "Charge" to the willing soldier.
As the man's hand let go the dog's col​lar, the Airedale galloped briskly across the open field towards the woods.
But almost immediately the sharpshooters in the tall trees to the east and the west saw him and divined that he was going back for help and the bullets began spitting all about him until the spurts of sand looked like rain falling upon the surface of a placid lake. Then they opened up with two rapid-fire guns and the captain groaned aloud. "The poor little chap, the poor little chap, they will get him before he even reaches the woods."
But worse things were still to come, for from away back in the woods somewhere a great shell mounted high in air, making a beautiful curve, and fell in the open field within fifty feet of Pierre.
The dog stopped and looked at it uncertain, and then back at the captain. He ​was not afraid, but he was bewildered, and he looked back for further orders.
The captain pointed towards the woods, and cried at the top of his voice:
"Mush, Pierre, mush!" And without the slightest hesitation the dog turned his head towards the gulch and galloped forward.
But he had barely gone fifty feet when there was a puff of smoke from the shell and then a great cloud of dust and sod which lifted Pierre on its outer edge and sent him rolling over and over down the slope towards the gulch.
The captain shaded his eyes to discover if he was killed, but after a few seconds, to his great joy, he saw the dog get slowly up and shake himself, and with one look backwards towards his friends trot away into the thicket.
​Then the iron-nerved soldier sat down on the grass and, clasping his hands over his knees, sat for a long time rocking back and forth and praying under his breath.
"God, take care of the little feller," he implored. "He's only a dog, but he's got a heart of gold and he's a soldier every inch of him. God, cover him with your feathers, just as it says in the Good Book. He is doin' it for us all. He's done what few men in this division would care to do. God, take care of him. Keep the great shells off him. Don't let him be afraid. I know he won't be, but he's just a dog, God; and it's hell out there in those woods.
"God, show him the way. It's dark and the noise is terrible. God, keep the bullets away from him. He trusts me and I sent him, and if he got killed I'd feel I killed him, so keep him all the way, God."
​But the captain was not the only man in the beleaguered division who was praying for Pierre that night. The general had told his orderlies of the messenger and how bravely he had crossed the open grounds to the woods, and the news had spread like wild fire. So hundreds of thirst-crazed men were saying over and over, "O God, keep the poor dog safe to-night. Help him to get through."
Four hours after the captain had seen Pierre disappear in the woods at the edge of the gulch his straining eyes beheld a bright streak on the southern horizon. It was a red rocket, and in another second it was followed by a blue one and then a green light flared in the heavens.
"God be praised!" cried the captain, jumping to his feet and running about wildly. "The signal, the signal! The ​little soldier has made it. The division is safe!"
But the captain's were not the only eyes which had observed the signal lights, for hundreds of straining eyes in the division saw the lights and new hope sprang up in breasts where blank despair had reigned supreme a moment before.
And this was what had caused the bright lights on the southern horizon which had put new hope into the lives of the men.
The sentry at headquarters had been pacing up and down as usual before the general's tent when he noticed a dog coming towards him. He was acting rather strangely, for he bumped against tents and wagons and anything that happened to be in his way. Yet he continued to advance, seeming to go by scent. When he came close to him, he saw that it was Pierre, ​Captain McClure's lead-dog that had done such fine work on the ammunition-cart.
The Airedale was a prime favorite with the men, and known to many of the soldiers, who recognized a good soldier when they saw one.
So the sentry whistled to the dog and called him by name.
At the familiar sound, the dog seemed to be transformed from a dejected, forlorn-looking canine to a joyous, confident dog, although he continued to grope his way towards the sentry.
"Why, good heavens, little chap. What is the matter?" inquired the soldier, as Pierre approached him and laid his face against the man's leg.
Then the man noted for the first time that the dog was going on three legs and, lifting up his nose, he discovered that his ​eyes were closed and his face was black with powder smoke.
"Why, Pierre! What is it? Where have you been?"
The dog whimpered and crowded against the man's legs as though he would get closer to him. Then the sentry chanced to run his hand under the dog's collar and discovered the tube, and the dog's plight and his eagerness were made plain to him. In another minute he was running towards the general's tent, with Pierre in his arms.
Five minutes later the general was poring over the message from the beleaguered division and this was what he read:
"We are cut off. Will have to surrender in twenty-four hours. Can you rush help to us?"
Even in this great exigency, the general ordered Pierre turned over to the best sur​geon in the camp for immediate attention. He had a broken fore-leg, and was temporarily blinded. But, due to his efforts for his friends, in another hour ten thousand men were in motion, going to rescue the lost division.