46 
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THE RUNNING OF 
BLACK JOHN 
(Continued from page 7) 
son and Smith rode out and took their 
stations on the road to watch the pack 
pass. Nearer and nearer and straight 
for the road they came. Old Red had 
failed to shake them off in the thicket. 
Three dogs appeared to be in the lead, 
running close together. Every ear was 
tingling with the joy of it. Every eye 
was trained on the wide, moonlit road. 
Shaw and I were sitting our horses 
fifty feet apart and a red streak darted 
across between us. Five seconds—ten 
seconds—half a minute and a white 
form came into view and by its side 
ran the Black and Blue. 
“He’s across!” shouted Shaw and the 
crowd came racing up to see the dogs 
as they crossed. 
As the leaders landed in the road a 
lap-robe would have covered both, while 
the sullen: “How! how! how-u-u” of 
Black John, impatient now at their con¬ 
tinued lead, urged them on. 
As the first dogs crossed the road 
bedlam broke loose. Indian yells, Cau- 
cassian yells, Dago yells, whistles, 
screeches, mingled in an unearthly hub¬ 
bub that no pen can describe nor ear 
forget. Some of the weary dogs behind, 
spurred on by their master’s shouts of 
encouragement, came up and passed us; 
the rest, with weary limbs and lolling 
tongues dropped out behind. Nelson 
rode ahead, and oh! the reckless way he 
rode! and the pace he set! 
M ADDENED with fear by the yell¬ 
ing, whooping mob behind him, 
Old Red seemed to take on a new lease 
of life and was going fast. The dogs, 
too, were going well, but the strain was 
beginning to tell on them and every now 
and then, all would rush ahead, and, 
with a whining howl, would drop behind. 
“Eleven o’clock!” shouted Joe 
Thomas. We had been running two 
and a half hours. The next half would 
tell the tale. My heart beat fast again. 
Would Siren hold? “Some of you fel¬ 
lows wait a bit, my saddle girth is 
broken,” called someone behind. 
“Darn the saddle! Let it be!” was 
shouted back. “What you need now is 
a pair of wings.” And on we went. 
“Hold Harvey Nelson down up 
there!” yelled someone else. “He’ll kill 
every horse in the bunch, and I’ve got 
to plow in oats to-morrow.” 
“The oats will keep; this thing won’t,” 
was the jeering retort. 
“Eleven-fifteen!” shouted someone. 
Shaw rode side by side with Nelson, 
some fifty yards ahead. I touched the 
flank of Glass Eye with the spur, calling 
out to Thomas and Smith to “come on.” 
I looked over at Shaw as I caught up, 
and in the bright light as it shone on 
his face, I caught an uneasy look in his 
eyes. 
“Black John is closing up the gap,” he 
said simply, but he knew; and he knew 
that I knew now that his beautiful bitch 
was gone. I said for him, what I knew 
he wanted to say: “She’s the finest thing 
I’ve ever seen in the woods,” but addec 
to myself, “except Black John.” 
“Come, boys,” said Nelson, “we’ll have 
to ride parallel with them so we can set 
how they stand at three hours. I hac 
not called out to my dogs since wt 
started. As we rode from behind them 
I could see that Patty was falling back 
a little. Siren and Black John were run¬ 
ning side by side. “Eleven-twenty!’ 
called Joe Thomas. 
I rose in the stirrups, drew in all the 
air I could hold, and called, “Go, Black 
John !” 
The big black head turned as he heart 
and saw me. 
“How-u, how-u-u-u,” and with one 
sinew-straining bound, he took the lead 
“That Black Brute must be the devi’ 
himself,” growled Nelson. 
The tattering memory of Old Rec 
harked back to the foothills froir 
whence he came, some twenty mile' 
away, and up the western branch he 
fought his way, with maybe life ahead 
but death, sure death behind. 
Shaw called a halt. “There is no use 
for us to go so fast now. If the fox i; 
headed for the hills, Thomas can get u; 
out to the nearest road leading in thai 
direction, and we’ll jog along. If, a; 
often as we see them now, the black dog 
leads, I lose, that’s all.” 
Nelson spoke: “Joe, let’s make foi 
Mott’s Cross Roads. That’s only half i 
mile from the swamp they are following 
and we can stop there awhile and res' 
our horses until they come back. It - 
only three miles to the cross roads, anc 
about ten from there to the head of tht 
swamp.” 
“How, if they catch him up there it 
the foothills?” asked someone in tht 
crowd. 
“Eve never seen a red fox caught un¬ 
der six or seven hours,” replied Nelson 
“and we’ve run this one more than onct 
from five to seven hours, so the man ant 
the dog that stays until sunrise will set 
the ‘brush’—if he’s caught at all.” 
“Boys,” said old man Jack Nesmith 
“you may talk about your fast dogs ant 
your purty dogs, and I ain’t said nuthin 
yet about my dog Bulow, but I beer 
noticin’ all along that he’s been talkin 
way up toward the front ever sence the) 
fust got together.” 
Joe Thomas laughed loud and long 
“What! that ancient relic of tht 
Cresars ? Why, man alive, there’s dog; 
here to-night that wouldn’t speak to hin 
if they’d meet him in the road by him 
self, much less in a pack like this.” 
“Mebbe so, mebbe so,” growled tht 
old fellow, “but you mind whut I say 
Some o’ these same fine dogs’ll come iq 
behind him in the morning if we staj 
’till then.” 
Mott’s Cross Roads at last and ont 
o’clock. Not a sound of the dogs savt 
an occasional plaintive howl from ont 
that had quit, and was wondering when 
to go. The weary, limping dogs camt 
shuffling up and dropped down to rest 
