The Pioche weekly record. [volume] (Pioche, Nev.) 1877-1900, 1895-12-05
pIoCHE WEEKLY RECORD.
Published every Thursday a. u,n,
PIoCHE,
The Crime and Pardon OF PonVo'
A TALE OF A DOG.

A TALE OF A DOG.
Yes. for a long time reposed tne
mast blind confidence lin him. we
loved each other dearly. He was d
setter. white, with brown ears anu
tail His name was Ponto.
Ponto was enamcred of a certain
woodsn ball about the size OF Dii-
lard ball. In a moment OF weakness
had purchased this one day anu
brought it home. Ponto Immediately
seized it, rolled it toward me, ana
said. "Throw that over there In tne
rose bushes. will find 1t. You see
IL I dou't. 30 said, so done. Ine
ball was thrown and Ponto found H.
But he became rather irksome WIN
his desire to retrive the ball, because
his favorite remark to me became.
"Play ball." He had a fashion OF
coming into my study with brisk ar,
wagging his tail, with the ball hcld
in his mouth. Then, placing his lore
paws upon the table, he would put
precious ball in the middle of papers,
letters aud books, and say: "There is
nv ball. Now, toss it out OF the
window, and will go and get IT, IhaC
will be very much more amusing than
wasting your time on all these stupid
papers and books" would frequently
feign to hurl the ball from the WIN
dow, and like flash Ponto would dls-
appear. A few minutes would pass
before Ponto would reappear with MS
forepaws at the window and remark:
"Say, you, you man with the papers,
don't find anything here. The ball
isn't In the garden. You must nave
kept it," Then he would come in at
the door, go smiling around under the
furniture and in the partly opened
desk-drawers, and then, with the ar
of a man who smites his forehead
and discovers something, he would
look inquiringly at you and say: u
will wager that it Is on the table"
He was right - with his Intelligent
eye he had followed your glance. II
you attempted then to conceal the
ball, there was an end to work, lie
burst int extravagrnt gayety, jumped
after the ball, followed your least
movements, and would not quit you,
laughing energetically with his tail.
Ponto made me sometimes think
that he was one of those men turned
into dogs, Of whom we read in the
fairy stories. His eye was deep, ten
der and human, and at times it
seemed to say: "What would you? |
am only a four footed beast, but |
have a human heart-a better one
than that of many men. am beast
and have suffered much. | suffer
still because I cannst express myself
in speech and tell you, In those things
that you call words, my fidelity and
my devotion. Yes, l am yours, and |
love you like dog, Whatever belongs
to you is secure. Just let anybody
touch it, andsy6a will see."
But POntO and I fell out one day.
1t was very unfortunate affair. Only
these people who, like myself, believe
blindly in dogs will understand me.
This is what happened: The cook had
killed two chickens. and had gone in
to the adjoining pantry to get bas-
ket to put the feathers in as she
plucked them. When she returned to
the kitchen she uttered shriek--one
of the two chickens was gone. Yet
she had been absent but a few min
utes.
''Ah," said the cook reflectively,
evidently some beggar has passed by
here and has taken one of the chickens
through the window" She looked out
Of the door in order to find the suppo-
sititious beggar, but there was nobody
there. Then for moment she thought
1t must be the dog, but she was at
once seized with remorse. "Whatl
Suspect Ponto? Never. He would not
steal. Why, he would watch over a
leg of mutton all day without touch
ing it, even when he was perishing
with hunger. Besides he was there in
the kitchen, sitting on his launches,
with his eyes partly closed, and occa-
sionally yawning. He was not think
ing of chickens.
The cook was so profoundly puzzled
that she summoned her master, and
came. The melancholy affair was laid
before me. / looked at Ponto. Ponto
was sitting there, with a studied air
of indifference, apparently half
asleep. called him. "Ponton he
looked toward me, and lifted his
heavy eyelids.
"Did you call me, master? l was
only asleep. / was dreaming-I was
dreaming Of my ball"
OF his ball, Ell? / became at once
suspicious. This is evidently pre-
text. But / said.
81 think, Katherine, that you are
right. The dog could not have stolen
the chicken, If he mad stolen it he
would be engaged now in plucking it
somewhere in the garden"
But look at him, sir-just look at
him. He has mot the air of Chris.