The Canton times. (Canton, Miss.) 1893-1906, 1894-08-10

look through the darkness ike some
tiery-eyed demon of the mists
Jags, lying prone on the rickety
steps Of the Old Mill, means and cries
little in his sleep as vague realiza-
tions of his wretched life and empty
stomach visit his dream.
Suddenly he starts up, nose in air,
and listens. There is nothing unusual,
Jags! The river gurgles on softly,
the stars twinkle undimmed, there is
no variation of sight or sound that hui
man mind can detect. Not human
mind, perhaps, but dog instinct
Jags quivers, he shifts the air and
walks about uneasily. He stops and
wines, tries TO push in the barred
door and fails Then he breaks into
long, plaintive howl. Surely that will
awaken some one in that narrow
street, that crowded house! But there
comes no other sound but the ripping
river, the roar of the far away, Sleep
less streets.
Again and again he bowls. Silence!
What is that? A mere shadow of
sound, faint, stealthy, as if some one
had stepped lightly on dry twig and
snapped it. 1t rouses Jags to frenzy.
Scores of human beings, men, women,
little children, sleeping calmly in a
tinder-box, that tlnder-b box on fire and
only he, Jags, a dumb, helpless ami
NAL, to know and save them! And he
his idolized tyrant. in there!
Jags throws himself against the door
with yell of agony. 1t falls open. A
thin puff of smoke waivers to meet him.
Barking, bowling, fairly shrieking,
Jags tears straight for the room where
he and Binks have their kennel. He
isn't there! Out again, jumping
against doors in his frantic search,
choked with smoke, rushing through
curling tongues of flame, goes the dog.
Are they all dead in there! His mas
ter, where is he? 1t is well that one
in that vast hive is not too tired nor
too drunk to awaken. Big Andy
rouses to realize that the dog is making
"a FUSS" taxes in the situation in a
flash, and bounds out of the smoke.
filled room.
"Great God! The house is on fret"
"Fire, fire, firel''
Somewhere a wire vibrates above
the city streets. A great bell tolls out
on the night. Clangs7 clang, clang +!
Rattle, rattle, rush! Streams ofsparks
in the wake of flying engines. Sharp
and clear the engine and patrol gongs
strike, in time with rattling hoofs and
wheels. Over all booms slowly and
with pauses between the
the great bell.
All this time dog was flying, with
feet scorched now by the heated floor,
from room to room, hunting for one
object. He finds him at last, in the
second story, coiled up in a drunken
heap on the floor. He springs upon
him, tugs at his clothing, barks, whines
and tries to drag him toward the door.
At last the man awakes, stolidly, stu
pidly, then to vague terror and alb
ect fright. He bounds to the door.
1t is wall of flames. He reaches the
no thought of the creature
who saved him comes to the brute's
mind. He raises the sash and leaps
,ut 1t falls behind him. Jags is i'm
1risoned in a tomb of fire.
The people have swarmed out, dirty,
LACED, half-dressed. The Gordon is
brown out; the engines throb and
cream. The firemen work quietly,
treams of perspiration dripping be-
leath their helmets. Floods of water
Glitter like liquid fire in the red flames.
The Old Mill is doomed. |
SIS every one out!" asks the Chief
gazing up toward the tot
ering furnace.
As if in answer there is a crash of
'reaking glass at a second-story win
ow and living thing appears there,
itiful, pleading, ablaze with little
ongues of fame. 1t whines implor-
ngly.
Big Andy has private reasons of his
wn for preferring to remain incog.
mong swarm of policemen. But
ow into the full blaze of light he
ashes forward.
"The dawg, the dawg that saved all
ur lives! Git i'm, boys; git i'm out
Iy God! ! hain't got no money,
oys, but look hyar! They's a re-
ard of $500 out fer mel I'm Big
ndy, the safe-cracker. You know I
le! I'll give myself up to anybody
lat'll save that dvwg. 1 mean it,
oys"
There was good in Big Andy; he
as sobbing aloud. For the credit of
uman nature be it said, no one ever
aimed that reward.
A quiet order through the Chiefs
umpet, and stream of water from