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       *       *       *       *       *

  By Enos A. Mills

  YOUR NATIONAL PARKS. Illustrated.
  THE STORY OF SCOTCH. Illustrated.
  THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN WONDERLAND. Illustrated.
  THE STORY OF A THOUSAND-YEAR PINE. Illustrated.
  IN BEAVER WORLD. Illustrated.
  THE SPELL OF THE ROCKIES. Illustrated.
  WILD LIFE ON THE ROCKIES. Illustrated.

  HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

  BOSTON AND NEW YORK




  THE STORY OF SCOTCH

  [Illustration: SCOTCH AND HIS MASTER]




  THE STORY OF
  SCOTCH.

  BY

  ENOS A. MILLS

  _With Illustrations from
  Photographs by the Author_

  BOSTON AND NEW YORK
  HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

  _The Riverside Press Cambridge_




  COPYRIGHT, 1909, 1911 AND 1916, BY ENOS A. MILLS

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  _Published September 1916_




  TO
  MARY KING SHERMAN
  AND
  JOHN KING SHERMAN

  WHO KNEW AND APPRECIATED
  SCOTCH




PREFACE


Scotch and I were companions through eight years. Winter and summer we
explored the rugged mountains of the Continental Divide. Often we were
cold; more often we were hungry. Together we fought our way through
blizzards and forest fires. Never did he complain and at all times he
showed remarkable intelligence and absolute fidelity. The thousands who
have watched him play football by my cabin on the <DW72> of Long's Peak
and the other thousands who have read of his unusual experiences will be
interested, I am sure, in this complete story of his life.

I gave an account of Scotch in my _Wild Life on the Rockies_, and in
_The Spell of the Rockies_ I related one of our winter experiences.
These chapters and an article on him which I wrote for _Country Life in
America_ are, together with additional matter, embodied in this little
book.




ILLUSTRATIONS


  SCOTCH AND HIS MASTER                    _Frontispiece_

  HIS FIRST KENNEL                                     4

  PUPPY SCOTCH                                         8

  CHIPMUNKS?                                          12

  PLAYING FOOTBALL                                    26

  READY FOR A WALK                                    32

  THE MOUNTAINS IN WINTER
    Scotch on Guard at the Timber-Line Cabin          40

  SCOTCH NEAR TIMBER-LINE                             54




THE STORY OF SCOTCH

I


A famous collie and her five little puppies came into the possession of
a Swedish farmer of my acquaintance. For an unimportant and forgotten
kindness which I had shown his children, he decided that I should have
one of these promising puppies. To his delight I chose the "wisest one,"
wee "Scotch," who afterwards gave pleasure to hundreds of people and who
for eight years was a factor in my life.

I carried little Scotch all day long in my overcoat pocket as I rode
through the mountains on the way to my cabin. His cheerful little face,
his good behavior, and the bright way in which he poked his head out of
my pocket, licked my hand, and looked at the scenery, completely won my
heart before I had ridden an hour.

We camped for the night by a dim road near a deserted ranch-house in the
mountains. Scotch was quiet during the long ride, but while I was
lighting the camp-fire he climbed out of my overcoat and proceeded,
puppy fashion, to explore the camp. After one bark at my pony he went
over to make her acquaintance. He playfully smelled of each of her feet,
gave a happy bark, and jumped up to touch her nose with his own.
Cricket, the pony, intently watched his performance with lowered head
and finally nosed him in a friendly manner.

I shut him up in a small abandoned cabin for the night. He at once
objected and set up a terrible barking and howling, gnawing fiercely at
the crack beneath the door and trying to tear his way out. Fearing he
would break his little puppy teeth, or possibly die from frantic and
persistent efforts to be free, I concluded to release him from the
cabin. My fears that he would run away if left free were groundless. He
made his way to my saddle, which lay on the ground near by, crawled
under it, turned round beneath it, thrust his little head from beneath
the arch of the horn, and lay down with a look of contentment, and also
with an air which said: "I'll take care of this saddle. I'd like to see
any one touch it."

And watch it he did. At midnight a cowboy came to my camp-fire. He had
been thrown from his bronco and was making back to his outfit on foot.
Tiny Scotch flew at him ferociously; never have I seen such faithful
ferocity in a dog so small and young. I took him in my hands and assured
him that the visitor was welcome, and in a moment little Scotch and the
cowboy were side by side gazing at the fire.

On our arrival at my cabin he at once took possession of an old tub in a
corner of the porch. This he liked, and it remained his kennel for a
long time. Here, protected from wind and rain, he was comfortable even
in cold weather.

[Illustration: HIS FIRST KENNEL]

We were intimate from the start, and we lived most of the time apart
from the world. I watched his development with satisfaction. He grew
rapidly in size, strength, comprehension, and accomplishments. He was
watchful and fearless through life.

His first experience with the unfriendly side of life came from a burro.
A prospector came by with one of these long-eared beasts. Confiding
Scotch went out to play with the burro and was kicked. Thenceforward he
looked upon all burros with distrust, and every one that came near the
cabin promptly and precipitously retreated before him like a boy before
an aggressive bumblebee.

The summer that Scotch was growing up, I raised Johnny, a jolly young
grizzly bear. At first the smaller, Johnny early became the larger.
Both these youngsters were keenly alert, playful, and inclined to be
friendly. Each, however, was a trifle suspicious of the other.
Unfortunately, I was away during the period in which a complete
understanding between them could have been established and, as a result,
there never came about the intimate companionship that really should
have existed between these two highly developed animals; but their
relations, though ever peculiar, were never strained. At times both had
the freedom of the yard at once, and naturally they sometimes met while
going to and fro. On these occasions each passed the other by as though
unconscious of his presence.

Sometimes they lay at close range for an hour at a time, quietly,
half-admiringly watching each other. A bone was used as a medium the
few times they played together. Each in turn guarded this bone while the
other tried to take it away. This brought out from both a lively lot of
striking, feinting, boxing, dodging, and grabbing, which usually ended
in clinching and wrestling. In these vigorous, though good-natured
mix-ups, it was Johnny's idea to get in a few good bites on Scotch's
shaggy tail; while on the end of Johnny's sensitive nose Scotch landed
slap after slap.

Scotch was an old-fashioned collie and had a face that was exceptionally
expressive and pleasing. He was short-nosed, and his fine eyes were set
wide apart. When grown he was a trifle larger than the average dog, and
was surprisingly agile and powerful for his size. His coat was a
shaggy, silky black, with feet, tip of tail, and breast of pure white.
He was always well dressed and took good care of his coat and feet.
Daily he immersed himself in the cold waters of the brook, when it was
not frozen, and he frequently lay in the water, lapping it and enjoying
himself.

[Illustration: PUPPY SCOTCH]

I never knew of his killing anything, though often in the woods he
merrily chased the lively, playful chipmunks. Never, however, did he
disturb bird or chipmunk in the yard around the cabin. Often two or
three chipmunks romped over him as he lay, with half-shut eyes, near the
door. Occasionally a bird hopped upon him, and frequently birds,
chipmunks, and Scotch ate together from the same bowl.

Scotch did but little barking. In the country most dogs bow-wow at
strangers, and frequently make the night hideous with prolonged barking
at far-off sounds or imaginary objects. In summer Scotch allowed the
scores of daily callers to come and go without a bark, but he reserved
the right to announce, with a bark or two, the approach of the
semi-occasional stranger who invaded our winter isolation.

Talking to animals appears to make them gentler and more responsive.
Scotch never tired of listening to me, and I often talked to him as if
he were a child. He came to understand many of the words used. If I said
"hatchet," he hastened to bring it; if "fire," he at once endeavored to
discover where it was. Cheerfully and intelligently he endeavored to
help me, and early became efficient in driving cattle, horses, and
burros. Instinctively he was a "heeler," and with swift heel nips
quickly awakened and gave directions to lazy or unwilling "critters."




II


Many of Scotch's actions were beyond the scope of instinct. One day,
when still young, he mastered a new situation by the use of his wits.
While he was alone at the house, some frightened cattle smashed a fence
about a quarter of a mile away and broke into the pasture. He was after
them in an instant. From a mountain-side ledge above, I watched
proceedings with a glass. The cattle were evidently excited by the smell
of some animal and did not drive well. Scotch ignored the two pasture
gates, which were closed, and endeavored to hurry the cattle out through
the break through which they had entered. After energetic
encouragement, all but one went flying out through the break. This one
alternated between stupidly running back and forth along the fence and
trying to gore Scotch. Twice the animal had run into a corner by one of
the gates, and his starting for the corner the third time apparently
gave Scotch an idea. He stopped heeling, raced for the gate, and,
leaping up, bit at the handle of the sliding wooden bar that secured it.
He repeated this biting and tearing at the handle until the bar slid and
the gate swung open. After chasing the animal through, he lay down by
the gate.

[Illustration: CHIPMUNKS?]

When I came into view he attracted my attention with sharp barks and
showed great delight when I closed the gate. After this, he led me to
the break in the fence and then lay down. Though I looked at him and
asked, "What do you want done here?" he pretended not to hear. That was
none of his business!

He had much more individuality than most dogs. His reserve force and
initiative usually enabled him to find a way and succeed with situations
which could not be mastered in his old way. The gate-opening was one of
the many incidents in which these traits brought triumph.

One of his most remarkable achievements was the mastering of a number of
cunning coyotes which were persistent in annoying him and willing to
make an opportunity to kill him. In a sunny place close to the cabin,
the coyotes one autumn frequently collected for a howling concert. This
irritated Scotch, and he generally chased the howlers into the woods.
Now and then he lay down on their yelping-grounds to prevent their
prompt return. After a time these wily little wolves adopted tantalizing
tactics, and one day, while Scotch was chasing the pack, a lame coyote
made a detour and came behind him. In the shelter of a willow-clump the
coyote broke out in a maddening Babel of yelps and howls. Scotch
instantly turned back to suppress him. While he was thus busy, the
entire pack doubled back into the open and taunted Scotch with attitude
and howls.

Twice did the pack repeat these annoying, defying tactics. This serious
situation put Scotch on his mettle. One night he went down the mountain
to a ranch-house fifteen miles away. For the first time he was gone all
night. The next morning I was astonished to find another collie in
Scotch's bed. Scotch was in a state of worried suspense until I welcomed
the stranger; then he was most gleeful. This move on his part told
plainly that he was planning something still more startling. Indeed he
was, but never did I suspect what this move was to be.

That day, at the first howl of the coyotes, I rushed out to see if the
visiting collie would assist Scotch. There were the coyotes in groups of
two and three, yelping, howling, and watching. Both dogs were missing,
but presently they came into view, cautiously approaching the coyotes
from behind a screen of bushes. Suddenly the visiting collie dashed out
upon them. At the same instant Scotch leaped into a willow-clump and
crouched down; it was by this clump that the lame coyote had each time
come to howl behind Scotch.

While the visiting collie was driving the pack, the lame coyote again
came out to make his sneaking flank movement. As he rounded the
willow-clump Scotch leaped upon him. Instantly the other dog raced back,
and both dogs fell fiercely upon the coyote. Though lame, he was
powerful, and finally shook the dogs off and escaped to the woods, but
he was badly wounded and bleeding freely. The pack fled and came no more
to howl near the cabin.

At bedtime, when I went out to see the dogs, both were away. Their
tracks in the road showed that Scotch had accompanied the neighboring
collie at least part of the way home.

On rare occasions Scotch was allowed to go with visitors into the woods
or up the mountain-side. However, he was allowed to accompany only those
who appreciated the companionship and the intelligence of a noble dog or
who might need him to show the way home.

One day a young woman from Michigan came along and wanted to climb
Long's Peak alone and without a guide. I agreed to consent to her wish
if she would take Scotch with her and would also first climb one of the
lesser peaks on a stormy day, unaided. This climbing the young woman
did, and by so doing convinced me that she had a keen sense of direction
and an abundance of strength, for the day was a stormy one and the peak
was completely befogged with clouds. After this there was nothing for me
to do but to allow her to climb Long's Peak.

Just as she was starting for Long's Peak that cool September morning, I
called Scotch and said to him: "Scotch, go with this young woman up
Long's Peak. Keep her on the trail, take good care of her, and stay with
her until she returns!" Scotch gave a few barks of satisfaction and
started with the young woman up the trail, carrying himself in a manner
which indicated that he was both honored and pleased. I felt that the
strength and alertness of the young woman, when combined with the
faithfulness and watchfulness of Scotch, would make the ascent a
success, for the dog knew the trail as well as any guide.

The young woman climbed swiftly until she reached the rocky alpine
moorlands above timber-line. Here she lingered long to enjoy the
magnificent scenery and the brilliant flowers. It was late in the
afternoon when she arrived at the summit of the Peak. After she had
spent a little time there, resting and absorbing the beauty and grandeur
of the scene, she started to return. She had not gone far when clouds
and darkness came on, and on a <DW72> of slide rock she turned aside from
the trail.

Scotch had minded his own affairs and enjoyed himself in his own way all
day long. Most of the time he had followed her closely, apparently
indifferent to what happened. But the instant the young woman left the
trail and started off in the wrong direction, he sprang ahead and took
the lead with an alert, aggressive air. The way in which he did this
should have suggested to her that he knew what he was about, but she did
not appreciate this fact. She thought he had become weary and wanted to
run away from her, so she called him back. Again she started in the
wrong direction. This time Scotch got in front of her and refused to
move. She pushed him out of the way. Once more he started off in the
right direction and this time she scolded him and reminded him that his
master had told him to stay with her. Scotch dropped his ears, fell in
behind her, and followed meekly in her steps. He had tried to carry out
the first part of his master's orders; now he was resigned to the
second part of them.

After going a short distance, the young woman realized that she had lost
her trail but it never occurred to her that she had only to let Scotch
have his way and he would lead her safely home. However, she had the
good sense to stop where she was. And there, among the crags, by the
stained remnants of winter's snow, thirteen thousand feet above
sea-level, she knew she must pass the night. The wind blew a gale and
the alpine brooklet turned to ice, while, in the lee of a crag,
shivering with cold and hugging Scotch tight, she lay down to wait for
daylight.

When darkness had come that evening and the young woman had not
returned, I sent a rescue party of four guides up the Peak. They
suffered much from cold as they vainly searched among the crags through
the dark hours of the windy night. Just at sunrise one of the guides
found her. She was almost exhausted, but was still hugging Scotch
tightly and only her fingers were frost-bitten. The guide gave her wraps
and food and drink, and started with her down the trail. And Scotch? Oh,
as soon as the guide appeared he left her and started home for
breakfast. Scotch saved this young woman's life by staying with her
through the long, cold night. She appreciated the fact, and was quick to
admit that if she had allowed the dog to have his own way about the
trail she would have had no trouble.




III


One summer a family lived in a cabin at the farther side of the big
yard. Scotch developed a marked fondness for the lady of the house and
called on her daily. He was so purposeful about this that from the
moment he rose to start there was no mistaking his plans. Along the
pathway toward the cabin he went, evidently with something definite in
his mind. He was going somewhere; there was no stopping, no hurrying,
and no turning aside. If the door was open, in he went; if it was
closed, he made a scraping stroke across it and with dignified pose
waited for it to be opened. Inside he was the gentleman. Generally he
made a quiet tour through all the rooms and then lay down before the
fireplace. If any one talked to him, he watched the speaker and
listened with pleased attention; if the speaker was animated, Scotch
now and then gave a low bark of appreciation. Usually he stayed about
half an hour and then went sedately out. Without looking back, he
returned deliberately to his own quarters.

What an unconscious dignity there was in his make-up! He would not "jump
for the gentlemen," nor leap over a stick, nor "roll over." No one ever
would have thought of asking him to speak, to say grace, or to sit up on
his hind legs for something to eat. All these tricks were foreign to his
nature and had no place in his philosophy!

Though Scotch admitted very few to the circle of his intimate friends,
he was admired, respected, and loved by thousands. One of these admirers
writes of him: "Of this little rustic Inn, Scotch was no less the host
than was his master. He welcomed the coming and sped the parting guest.
He escorted the climbers to the beginning of the trail up Long's Peak.
He received the returning trout fishermen. He kept the burros on the
other side of the brook. He stood between the coyotes and the
inhabitants of the chicken yard. He was always ready to play football
for the entertainment of the guests after dinner. He was really the
busiest person about the Inn from morning till night."

Though apparently matter-of-fact and stolid, he was ever ready for a
romp and was one of the most playful dogs. Except at odd times, I was
the only playmate he ever had. It was a pleasure to watch him or to play
with him, for he played with all his might. He took an intense delight
in having me kick or toss a football for him. He raced at full speed in
pursuing the ball, and upon overtaking it would try to pick it up, but
it was too large for him. As soon as I picked it up, he became all alert
to race after it or to leap up and intercept it. If the ball was tossed
easily to him, he sprang to meet it and usually struck it with the point
of his chin and sent it flying back to me; at short range we were
sometimes able to send the ball back and forth between us several times
without either one moving in his tracks. If the ball was tossed above
him, he leaped up to strike it with head, chin, or teeth, trying to make
it bound upward; if it went up, he raced to do it over again.
Occasionally he was clever enough to repeat this many times without
allowing the ball to fall to the earth.

[Illustration: PLAYING FOOTBALL]

His enjoyment in make-believe play was as eager and refreshing as that
of a child. This kind of play we often enjoyed in the yard. I would
pretend to be searching for him, while he, crouching near in plain view,
pretended to be hidden. Oh, how he enjoyed this! Again and again I would
approach him from a different direction, and, when within touching
distance, call, "Where is Scotch?" while he, too happy for barks, hugged
the earth closely and silently. Now and then he took a pose and
pretended to be looking at something far away, while all the time his
eager eye was upon me. From time to time, with utmost stealth, he took a
new hiding-place. With every pretense of trying not to be seen, he
sometimes moved from behind to immediately in front of me! Silently,
though excitedly happy, he played this delightful childish game. It
always ended to his liking; I grabbed him with a "Hello, there's
Scotch!" and carried him off on my shoulder.

One day a family arrived at a nearby cottage to spend the summer. During
the first afternoon of their stay, the toddling baby strayed away. Every
one turned out to search. With enlarging circles we covered the
surrounding country and at last came upon the youngster in the woods
about a quarter of a mile from the house. Scotch was with him and was
lying down with head up, while the baby, asleep, was using him for a
pillow, and had one chubby arm thrown across his neck. He saw us
approach and lift the baby as if nothing unusual had happened.

He never failed to notice my preparations to journey beyond the
mountains. Never would he watch me start on this kind of a journey, but
an hour or so before leaving-time he would go to the side of the house
opposite where I started. Here he would refuse attention from any one
and for a few days would go about sadly.

A little in advance of my home-coming, he showed that he expected me.
Probably he heard my name used by the people in the house. Anyway, for
two or three days before my arrival, he each evening would go down the
road and wait at the place where he had greeted me many times on my
return.

When I went horseback-riding he was almost passionately happy if allowed
to go along. Whenever my pony was brought out, he at once stopped
everything and lay down near the pony to await my coming. Would I go out
on the trail with him, or go to the post office and leave him behind? By
the time I appeared, these questions had him in a high state of
excitement. Usually he turned his head away and yawned and yawned; he
rose up and sat down, altogether showing a strange combination of
bashfulness and impatience; though plainly trying to be quiet, he was
restless until my answer came. Usually he was able to make out what this
was without waiting for any word from me. A hatchet, for example, would
tell him I was going to the woods. On the other hand, the mail-bag meant
that I was going to the village. This meant that he could not go,
whereupon he would go off slowly, lie down, and look the other way.

If the answer was "yes," he raced this way and that, leaping up once or
twice to touch the pony's nose with his own. During each ride he
insisted on a race with the pony; if I chanced to forget this, he never
failed to remind me before the ride was over. As a reminder, he would
run alongside me and leap as high as possible, then race ahead as
swiftly as he could. This he repeated until I accepted his challenge.
Both dog and pony gleefully enjoyed this and each tried to pass the
other.

Once we were clattering over the last stretch toward home. Scotch, who
was in the lead, saw our pet chicken crouched in the pony's track, where
it was in danger of being crushed. Unmindful of his own danger from the
pony's hoofs, he swerved, gently caught up the chicken, and lifted it
out of danger. After fondling it for a moment, he raced after us at full
speed.

[Illustration: READY FOR A WALK]

No matter what the weather, he usually slept outdoors. He understood,
however, that he was welcome to come into my cabin day or night, and
was a frequent caller. In the cabin he was dignified and never used it
as a place of amusement.




IV


Scotch enjoyed being with me, and great times we had together. Many of
our best days were in the wilds. Here he often suffered from hunger,
cold, hardships, and sometimes from accident; yet never did he complain.
Usually he endured the unpleasant things as a matter of course.

Though very lonely when left by himself, he never allowed this feeling
to cause a slighting of duty. On one occasion he was supremely tried but
did his duty as he understood it and was faithful under circumstances of
loneliness, danger, and possible death.

At the close of one of our winter trips, Scotch and I started across the
Continental Divide of the Rocky Mountains in face of weather conditions
that indicated a snowstorm or a blizzard before we could gain the other
side. We had eaten the last of our food twenty-four hours before, and
could no longer wait for fair weather. So off we started to scale the
snowy steeps of the cold, gray heights a thousand feet above. The
mountains already were deeply snow-covered and it would have been a hard
trip even without the discomforts and dangers of a storm.

I was on snowshoes, and for a week we had been camping and tramping
through the snowy forests and glacier meadows at the source of Grand
River, two miles above the sea. The primeval Rocky Mountain forests are
just as near to Nature's heart in winter as in summer. I had found so
much to study and enjoy that the long distance from a food-supply, even
when the last mouthful was eaten, had not aroused me to the seriousness
of the situation. Scotch had not complained, and appeared to have the
keenest collie interest in the tracks and trails, the scenes and
silences away from the haunts of man. The snow lay seven feet deep, but
by keeping in my snowshoe-tracks Scotch easily followed me about. Our
last camp was in the depths of an alpine forest, at an altitude of ten
thousand feet. Here, though zero weather prevailed, we were easily
comfortable beside a fire under the protection of an overhanging cliff.

After a walk through woods the sun came blazing in our faces past the
snow-piled crags on Long's Peak, and threw slender blue shadows of the
spiry spruces far out in a white glacier meadow to meet us. Reentering
the tall but open woods, we saw, down the long aisles and limb-arched
avenues, a forest of tree-columns, entangled in sunlight and shadow,
standing on a snowy marble floor.

We were on the Pacific <DW72>, and our plan was to cross the summit by
the shortest way between timber-line there and timber-line on the
Atlantic side. This meant ascending a thousand feet and descending an
equal distance, traveling five miles amid bleak, rugged environment.

After gaining a thousand feet of altitude through the friendly forest,
we climbed out and up above the trees on a steep <DW72> at timber-line.
This place, the farthest up for trees, was a picturesque, desolate
place. The dwarfed, gnarled, storm-shaped trees amid enormous
snow-drifts told of endless, and at times deadly, struggles of the trees
with the elements. Most of the trees were buried, but here and there a
leaning or a storm-distorted one bent bravely above the snows.

Along the treeless, gradual ascent we started, realizing that the last
steep icy climb would be dangerous and defiant. Most of the snow had
slid from the steeper places, and much of the remainder had blown away.
Over the unsheltered whole the wind was howling. For a time the sun
shone dimly through the wind-driven snow-dust that rolled from the top
of the range, but it disappeared early behind wild, wind-swept clouds.

At last we were safe on a ridge, and we started merrily off, hoping to
cover speedily the three miles of comparatively level plateau.

How the wind did blow! Up more than eleven thousand feet above the sea,
with not a tree to steady or break, it had a royal sweep. The wind
appeared to be putting forth its wildest efforts to blow us off the
ridge. There being a broad way, I kept well from the edges. The wind
came with a dash and a heavy rush, first from one quarter, then from
another. I was watchful and faced each rush firmly braced. Generally
this preparedness saved me; but several times the wind seemed to expand
or explode beneath me, and, with an upward toss, I was flung among the
icy rocks and crusted snows. Finally I took to dropping and lying flat
whenever a violent gust came ripping among the crags.

There was an arctic barrenness to this alpine ridge,--not a house within
miles, no trail, and here no tree could live to soften the sternness of
the landscape or to cheer the traveler. The way wound amid snowy piles,
icy spaces, and wind-swept crags.

[Illustration: THE MOUNTAINS IN WINTER

Scotch on Guard at the Timber-Line Cabin]

The wind slackened and snow began to fall just as we were leaving the
smooth plateau for the broken part of the divide. The next mile of way
was badly cut to pieces with deep gorges from both sides of the ridge.
The inner ends of several of these broke through the center of the ridge
and extended beyond the ends of the gorges from the opposite side.
This made the course a series of sharp, short zigzags.

We went forward in the flying snow. I could scarcely see, but felt that
I could keep the way on the broken ridge between the numerous rents and
canyons. On snowy, icy ledges the wind took reckless liberties. I wanted
to stop but dared not, for the cold was intense enough to freeze one in
a few minutes.

Fearing that a snow-whirl might separate us, I fastened one end of my
light, strong rope to Scotch's collar and the other end to my belt. This
proved to be fortunate for both, for while we were crossing an icy,
though moderate, <DW72>, a gust of wind swept me off my feet and started
us sliding. It was not steep, but was so slippery I could not stop, nor
see where the <DW72> ended, and I grabbed in vain at the few icy
projections. Scotch also lost his footing and was sliding and rolling
about, and the wind was hurrying us along, when I threw myself flat and
dug at the ice with fingers and toes. In the midst of my unsuccessful
efforts we were brought to a sudden stop by the rope between us catching
over a small rock-point that was thrust up through the ice. Around this
in every direction was smooth, sloping ice; this, with the high wind,
made me wonder for a moment how we were to get safely off the <DW72>. The
belt axe proved the means, for with it I reached out as far as I could
and chopped a hole in the ice, while with the other hand I clung to the
rock-point. Then, returning the axe to my belt, I caught hold in the
chopped place and pulled myself forward, repeating this until on safe
footing.

In oncoming darkness and whirling snow I had safely rounded the ends of
two gorges and was hurrying forward over a comparatively level stretch,
with the wind at my back boosting me along. Scotch was running by my
side and evidently was trusting me to guard against all dangers. This I
tried to do. Suddenly, however, there came a fierce dash of wind and
whirl of snow that hid everything. Instantly I flung myself flat, trying
to stop quickly. Just as I did this I caught the strange, weird sound
made by high wind as it sweeps across a canyon, and at once realized that
we were close to a storm-hidden gorge. I stopped against a rock, while
Scotch slid into the chasm and was hauled back with the rope.

The gorge had been encountered between two out-thrusting side gorges,
and between these in the darkness I had a cold time feeling my way out.
At last I came to a cairn of stones that I recognized. I had missed the
way by only a few yards, but this miss had been nearly fatal.

Not daring to hurry in the darkness in order to get warm, I was becoming
colder every moment. I still had a stiff climb between me and the
summit, with timber-line three rough miles beyond. To attempt to make it
would probably result in freezing or tumbling into a gorge. At last I
realized that I must stop and spend the night in a snow-drift. Quickly
kicking and trampling a trench in a loose drift, I placed my elkskin
sleeping-bag therein, thrust Scotch into the bag, and then squeezed into
it myself.

I was almost congealed with cold. My first thought after warming up was
to wonder why I had not earlier remembered the bag. Two in a bag would
guarantee warmth, and with warmth, a snow-drift on the crest of the
continent would not be a bad place in which to lodge for the night.

The sounds of wind and snow beating upon the bag grew fainter and
fainter as we were drifted and piled over with the snow. At the same
time our temperature rose, and before long it was necessary to open the
flap of the bag slightly for ventilation.

At last the sounds of the storm could barely be heard. Was the storm
quieting down, or was its roar muffled and lost in the deepening cover
of snow? was the unimportant question occupying my thoughts when I fell
asleep.

Scotch awakened me in trying to get out of the bag. It was morning. Out
we crawled, and, standing with only my head above the drift, I found the
air still and saw a snowy mountain world all serene in the morning sun.
I hastily adjusted sleeping-bag and snowshoes, and we set off for the
final climb to the summit.

The final hundred feet or so rose steep, jagged, and ice-covered before
me. There was nothing to lay hold of; every point of vantage was plated
with smooth ice. There appeared only one way to surmount this icy
barrier and that was to chop toe- and hand-holes from the bottom to the
top of this icy wall, which in places was close to vertical. Such a
climb would not be especially difficult or dangerous for me, but could
Scotch do it? He could hardly know how to place his feet in the holes or
on the steps properly; nor could he realize that a slip or a misstep
would mean a slide and a roll to death.

Leaving sleeping-bag and snowshoes with Scotch, I grasped my axe and
chopped my way to the top and then went down and carried bag and
snowshoes up. Returning for Scotch, I started him climbing just ahead of
me, so that I could boost and encourage him. We had gained only a few
feet when it became plain that sooner or later he would slip and bring
disaster to both of us. We stopped and descended to the bottom for a
new start.

Though the wind was again blowing a gale, I determined to carry him. His
weight was forty pounds, and he would make a top-heavy load and give the
wind a good chance to upset my balance and tip me off the wall. But, as
there appeared no other way, I threw him over my shoulder and started
up.

Many times Scotch and I had been in ticklish places together, and more
than once I had pulled him up rocky cliffs on which he could not find
footing. Several times I had carried him over gulches on fallen logs
that were too slippery for him. He was so trusting and so trained that
he relaxed and never moved while in my arms or on my shoulder.

Arriving at the place least steep, I stopped to transfer Scotch from one
shoulder to the other. The wind was at its worst; its direction
frequently changed and it alternately calmed and then came on like an
explosion. For several seconds it had been roaring down the <DW72>;
bracing myself to withstand its force from this direction, I was about
to move Scotch, when it suddenly shifted to one side and came with the
force of a breaker. It threw me off my balance and tumbled me heavily
against the icy <DW72>.

Though my head struck solidly, Scotch came down beneath me and took most
of the shock. Instantly we glanced off and began to slide swiftly.
Fortunately I managed to get two fingers into one of the chopped holes
and held fast. I clung to Scotch with one arm; we came to a stop, both
saved. Scotch gave a yelp of pain when he fell beneath me, but he did
not move. Had he made a jump or attempted to help himself, it is likely
that both of us would have gone to the bottom of the <DW72>.

Gripping Scotch with one hand and clinging to the icy hold with the
other, I shuffled about until I got my feet into two holes in the icy
wall. Standing in these and leaning against the ice, with the wind
butting and dashing, I attempted the ticklish task of lifting Scotch
again to my shoulder--and succeeded. A minute later we paused to breathe
on the summit's icy ridge, between two oceans and amid seas of snowy
peaks.




V


One cold winter day we were returning from a four days' trip on the
Continental Divide, when, a little above timber-line, I stopped to take
some photographs. To do this it was necessary for me to take off my
sheepskin mittens, which I placed in my coat pocket, but not securely,
as it proved. From time to time, as I climbed to the summit of the
Divide, I stopped to take photographs, but on the summit the cold
pierced my silk gloves and I felt for my mittens, to find that one of
them was lost. I stooped, put an arm around Scotch and told him that I
had lost a mitten and that I wanted him to go down for it to save me the
trouble. "It won't take you very long," I said, "but it will be a hard
trip for me. Go and fetch it to me."

Instead of starting off quickly and willingly as he had invariably done
before in obedience to my commands, he stood still. His eager, alert
ears drooped. He did not make a move. I repeated the command in my most
kindly tones. At this, instead of starting down the mountain for the
mitten, he slunk slowly away toward home. Apparently he did not want to
climb down the steep, icy <DW72> of a mile to timber-line, more than a
thousand feet below. I thought he had misunderstood me, so I called him
back, patted him, and then, pointing down the <DW72>, said, "Go for the
mitten, Scotch; I will wait for you here." He started, but went
unwillingly. He had always served me so cheerfully that I could not
understand his behavior, and it was not until later that I realized how
cruelly he had misunderstood.

The summit of the Continental Divide where I stood when I sent Scotch
back, was a very rough and lonely region. On every hand were broken,
snowy peaks and rugged canyons. My cabin, eighteen miles away, was the
nearest house, and the region was utterly wild.

I waited a reasonable time for Scotch to return, but he did not come
back. Thinking he might have gone by without my seeing him, I walked
some distance along the summit, first in one direction and then in the
other, but, seeing neither him nor his tracks, I knew that he had not
yet returned. As it was late in the afternoon and growing colder, I
decided to go slowly on toward my cabin. I started along a route I felt
sure he would follow and I reasoned that he would overtake me. Darkness
came on and still no Scotch, but I kept on going forward. For the
remainder of the way I told myself that he might have got by me in the
darkness.

When, at midnight, I arrived at the cabin, I expected to be greeted by
him. He was not there. I felt that something was wrong and feared that
he had met with an accident. I slept two hours and rose, but he was
still missing. I decided to tie on my snowshoes and go to meet him. The
thermometer showed fourteen degrees below zero.

[Illustration: SCOTCH NEAR TIMBER-LINE]

I started at three o'clock in the morning, feeling that I should meet
him before going far. I kept on and on and when at noon I arrived at the
place on the summit from which I had sent him back, Scotch was not there
to cheer the wintry, silent scene.

Slowly I made my way down the <DW72> and at two in the afternoon,
twenty-four hours after I had sent Scotch down the mountain, I paused on
a crag and looked below. There, in a world of white, Scotch lay by the
mitten in the snow. He had misunderstood me and had gone back to guard
the mitten instead of to get it.

He could hardly contain himself for joy when we met. He leaped into the
air, barked, rolled over, licked my hand, whined, seized the mitten in
his mouth, raced round and round me, and did everything that an alert,
affectionate, faithful dog could to show that he appreciated my
appreciation of his supremely faithful services.

After waiting for him to eat a luncheon we started for home, where we
arrived at one o'clock in the morning. Had I not gone back for Scotch, I
suppose he would have died beside the mitten. Without food or
companionship, in a region cold, cheerless, and oppressive, he was
watching the mitten because he had understood that I had told him to
watch it. In the annals of the dog I do not know of any more touching
instance of loyalty.




VI


Through the seasons and through the years Scotch and I wandered in the
wilds and enjoyed nature together. Though we were often wet, hungry, or
cold, he never ceased to be cheerful. Through the scenes and the
silences we went side by side; side by side in the lonely night we gazed
into the camp-fire, and in feeling lived strangely through "yesterday's
seven thousand years" together.

He was only a puppy the first time that he went with me to enjoy the
woods. During this trip we came upon an unextinguished camp-fire that
was spreading and about to become a forest fire. Upon this fire I fell
with utmost speed so as to extinguish it before it should enlarge
beyond control. My wild stampings, beatings, and hurling of firebrands
made a deep impression on puppy Scotch. For a time he stood still and
watched me, and then he jumped in and tried to help. He bit and clawed
at the flames, burned himself, and with deep growlings desperately shook
smoking sticks.

The day following this incident, as we strolled through the woods, he
came upon another smouldering camp-fire and at once called my attention
to it with lively barking. I patted him and tried to make him understand
that I appreciated what he had done, and then extinguished the fire.
Through the years, in our wood wanderings, he was alert for fire and
prompt to warn me of a discovery. His nose and eye detected many fires
that even my trained and watchful senses had missed.

One autumn, while watching a forest fire, we became enveloped in smoke
and narrowly escaped with our lives. The fire had started in the bottom
and was burning upward in the end of a long, wide mountain valley, and
giving off volumes of smoke. In trying to obtain a clearer view, and
also to avoid the smoke, we descended into a ravine close behind the
fire. Shortly after our arrival a strong wind drove the wings of the
fire outward to right and left, then backward down both sides of the
valley, filling the ravine with smoke.

This movement of the fire would in a short time have encircled us with
flames. I made a dash to avoid this peril, and in running along a rock
ledge in the smoke, stumbled into a rocky place and one of my shoes
stuck fast. This threw me heavily and badly sprained my left leg. Amid
thick smoke, falling ashes, and approaching flames, this situation was a
serious one. Scotch showed the deepest concern by staying close by me
and finally by giving a number of strange barks such as I had never
before heard. After freeing myself I was unable to walk, and in hopping
and creeping along my camera became so annoying that I gave it to
Scotch; but in the brush the straps became so often entangled that
throwing it away proved a relief to us both.

Meanwhile we were making slow progress through the unburned woods and
the fire was roaring close. Seeing no hope of getting out of the way,
we finally took refuge to the leeward side of a rocky crag where the
flames could not reach us. But could we avoid being smothered? Already
we were dangerously near that and the fire had yet to surge around us.
To send Scotch for water offered a possible means of escape. Slapping my
coat upon the rocks two or three times I commanded, "Water, Scotch,
water!" He understood, and with an eager bark seized the coat and
vanished in the smoke. He would be compelled to pass through a line of
flame in order to reach the water in the ravine, but this he would do or
die.

After waiting a reasonable time I began to call, "Scotch! Scotch!" as
loudly as my parched throat and gasping permitted. Presently he leaped
upon me, fearfully burned but with the saturated coat in his teeth. Most
of his shaggy coat was seared off, one eye was closed, and there was a
cruel burn on his left side. Hurriedly I bound a coat-sleeve around his
head to protect his eyes and nose, then squeezed enough water from the
coat to wet my throat. Hugging Scotch closely, I spread the wet coat
over us both and covered my face with a wet handkerchief. With stifling
smoke and fiery heat the flames surged around, but at last swept over
and left us both alive. Without the help from Scotch I must have
perished.

It was this useful fire-fighting habit that caused the death of my
faithful Scotch. One morning the men started off to do some road work.
Scotch saw them go and apparently wanted to go with them. I had just
returned from a long absence and had to stay in the cabin and write
letters. About half an hour after the men had gone, Scotch gave a
scratching knock at the door. Plainly he wanted to follow the men and
had come for my consent to go without me. I patted him and urged him to
go. He left the cabin, never again to return.

Scotch arrived at the road work just as the men had lighted and run away
from a blast. He saw the smoking fuse and sprang to extinguish it, as
the blast exploded. He was instantly killed.

  THE END

  The Riverside Press
  CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS
  U . S . A

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Transcriber's Note

page 31: the word "for" changed to "from": text "any word from me"





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of Scotch, by Enos A. Mills

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