Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1915-06-10

fil, and unutterably wild, came the call.
With throbbing hearts, the searchers
splashed through the swamp water, ankle
deep, deep. waist-deep. They
pressed on, shoulder TO shoulder, drawn
together by an unconfeSsed fear.
They gathered on the road. and listened
to the call of the hound. II came from
the south.
They ran, with bobbing lanterns; they
jostled down the road, stumbling and trip
ping.
"The wild dog OF Caucomgomoc p they
cried. "God help the boy |"
Strangely enough, they had no doubt
whom the beast was tracking. They
swung their guns forward, they felt the
cartridges in their pockets. Ahead of all
OF them, at the unfailing pace OF racer
trained and tried, old Gordon Low ran
down the road.
The cry of the hound grew louder.
They were nearing the end Of the hunt,
they knew, for the bowling ofthe dog was
nearer, sharper, and continued without
pausing The dog had swung to the
right. The men hurried down hauling
road, stumbling over roofs, stumps, and
crisscrossed logs. For ten minutes they
struggled on; then, with Gordon Low
still ahead, they dashed from the road into
the swamp. FIoundering, splashing,
plunging, they thrust themselves through
alders and willows, leaped into dead
stream, knee-deepin mud and waiSt-deep
in water, surged through tall grass, crossed
beaver dam, partly by moonlight, partly
by lantern highland then stopped.
II had been a night OF terror, and this
was the eliminating moment. The shapes
OF trees and of men were ghostlY in the
wan light OF the moon. The lantern
bearers stood like wraiths in the sultry
swamp. They were close TO the dog. so
close that cold fear enshrouded them
But the dogs cry had changed With
difficulty they forced passage through
the brush, and struggled TO the edge OF a
black bog, and stopped again. Ahead OF
them lay an impossible morass.
For moment they stared across the
treacherouS plain; then, with a low,
quivering cry, Amos Nicben threw his
gun to his shoulder. As the Indians gun
barrel rose, Gordon Low swung the butt
of his own rifle against ii, and knocked up
the muzzle, so that the bullet whined into
the trees beyond the bog
"Fooli" Low cried. "Look there -
"But il is the demon beast |" shrieked
the Indian.
There, out in the marsh, was the wild
dog Of Caucon~0r'0c struggling toward
firm earth. The light was dim, and they
could not see distinctly, but as he ap-
preached, they gradually distinguished
something hanging from his jaws. Pick
ing his way over the mud and through the
tufted grasses, the dog came slowly near
er. The thing hanging from his mouth
was small boy, frightened, silent child
that was clinging TO the neck ofthe blood
hound with both arms. AS the bewilder-
ed men stared, not believing their own
eyes, they saw the boys arms drop, and
his body sink. Plainly, he had not the
strength 10 call he was too far gone even
to know in what place he was. But the
tall, lean dog seized the child's coat be-
tween his teeth, dragged the little body
through the water, ploughed on, founder
ed, splashed, and sank 10 his belly in bog
mud. The hounds large eyes looked up
at the searchers in pitiful appeal. With
out letting 90 his hold on the boys coat,
he whined.
Linking themselves together in one
long chain, hand and wrist, the men waded
out through the mud and tufted grass.
Then Gordon Low leaped far out into
The bog, caught up the boy, and passed
him back TO waiting hands ; and then,
even while he was sinking himself, lifted
the bloodhound bodily from the trap; he
foughtagainstthe sucking. .clingingmasses,
fell, rose, and helped by all who could
reach him, stepped on solid earth.
The boy was faint. desperately tired,
frightened, and hungry-but unframed.
The good news, borne by the swiftest
runners, preceded him TO the village a full
hour. His father carried him through The
swamps and down The tote road into the
waiting town, where lamp-ligh.ed win
dows and clustered groups OF women
waited; but close beside him marched
the grandfather, and at his heels followed
the wild dog OF Caucomgomoc.
That night the bloodhound seemed 10
recognize a new bond between himself
and mankind; he seemed no longer to
fear the man who had raised him from the
bog. That night he followed Gordon
Low to his door. AT first he was afraid
to enter the house, but when Gordon
called him in a low, gentle voice, he
crossed the threshold in perfect conf
dence. And from that memorable night
until the dog himself died, at the time Of
the great storm, years later, he loved
Gordon Low as once he had loved The
lonely trapper of Caucomgomoc.
West Virginia, long hailed as the second