The gazette-times. [volume] (Heppner, Or.) 1912-1925, 1915-02-11

He'll die in day or two, anyway,
and We think we'd better shoot him
so he won't suffer. Do you care?"
Nope, no care" said Johnny, as
impassive as ever, and went on with
the potatoes. There didn't seem to
be much more to say, and Bill and
l were moving away when a terrific
explosion took place somewhere back
Of the tents and 1t began to rain dirt
and rocks. When the air had cleared
a little, we investigated and found
that McCarey in his enthusiasm, had
used six sticks of powder and blown
hole in the ground big enough to
bury horse at the very least. We
applauded his zeal and went after
the dog.
When We got him We found that
Johnny had disappeared, which l
thought strange, as an Indian usu-
ally loves company. The cook could
throw no light on his whereabouts,
however, so we concluded to pro-
ceed without him. The dog was led
out to the newly-dug grave and pain
lessly shot. We then buried him
with much ceremony, and several of
the boys who had reyolvers fired
volleys over his grave. McCarey had
been missing for some time, but in
a minute his absence was explained.
There was roar and cloud of dust
from a hillside hundred yards or
so away, Immediately followed by
five more. He had decided to do a
little saluting on his own account,
and had been busy planting dynamite
while the funeral was in progress.
We adjourned to camp and shade,
and there we saw the flag flying at
half-mast, and heard the inspiring
strains of one of the "pious records.
Altogether 1t was very impressive
ceremony, and Bill O'Hara said, as
we gathered at the water barrel:
Sure, now, and I'll bet no Indian
dog ever had such send-off as that
before"
"He ought to get to the dogs par
adise, oughtn't he?" said Gray.
But where the duce Is johnny"
asked Harry King.
"The kid felt bad" said the cook,
''and he beat it. Don't rag him about
it, you windjammers, or I'll pour
boiling water over you tonight while
you're asleep. The little devil ain {
got any folks, and that NANCY ours
all the friends he's had for five
years."
TOO bad" said Gray thoughtfully.
We quieted down a little at this,
and | decided that | had discovered
a new departure in Indian psychol-
ogy. Poor kid" thought !, I'VE
ought to do something for him"
And then I'm afraid / forgot him
altogether in the thrills Of story
in a month-old paper.
At dinner Johnny was on hand as
usual, but showed no signs of grief
and said nothing about the morning.
The men we're very decent, | must
say. Not one of them mentioned the
dog during the meal, and they did
not refrain on account of the cooks
threats, of that ] am sure. That aft
ernoon / saw the "flunky'' wander
ing around, and attempted to com
miserate with him, but all got was
a grunt and the same impassive stare,
SO l gave 1t up.
It continued terrifically hot all that
day. At about 9 In the evening
strolled out in front of the tents for
a breath of air. The night was still,
and the moon was peering over the
jagged hills. The desert night is al
ways deathly quiet, and so, as l
paused in my walk, l caught a sound
almost too faint for human ears to
detect. l could not place 1t at first,
but presently l saw slight move
ment in the open, and there. under
the brilliant light of the moon, l
made out a small figure, crouched
pathetically in the middle of the dark
spot which marked the lonely grave
of the poor mongrel dog. The kneel-
ing figure remained motionless, but
| heard an occasional sob. With a
catch in my throat | threw away my
cigarette and ducked into my tent,
Johnny was but an Indian, but his
grief was too sacred for my prying
eyes to watch.