64 
WILD AMERICANS 
Father was driving, and he already had slowed 
down. Everyone was looking at the dog, and the 
dog was looking at the people, his tongue hanging 
out and his breath panting, for all the world like the 
children's pet dog at home. Father brought the car 
to a stop. 
“It's a dog, all right," Uncle Ely spoke up now. 
“But it is not the kind of dog you think." 
“Looks like a police dog, Uncle Ely," Buck de¬ 
clared. “See his ears, straight up? And his gray and 
tan hair? But he's not grown. I'll bet somebody lost 
him out of a car. Shame, to lose him! He's just a 
puppy, not half-grown!" 
“He's grown, all right." Uncle Ely was slowly get¬ 
ting out of his seat. “You needn't feel sorry for him. 
He is not suffering from hunger. He is too smart for 
that. We have seen half a dozen rabbits and several 
other little animals in the last few miles, you'll re¬ 
member. That dog isn't hungry." 
“Maybe he is a city dog, somebody's pet that 
doesn't know how to hunt," suggested Mother. 
“No. He is not a pet. I know him. His kind is 
common on our Texas ranches. He roams all over 
the American West, and down into Mexico. This is 
truly a western animal, and one that has been wise 
