Kumtucks

KUMTUCKS By Richard Inscore Born of a pair of thoroughbred shepherds and inheriting all of their characteristic wisdom and sagacity at a very early age, the little yellow, squirming bundle of silken haired flesh had, during his puppyhood, been named "Kumtucks" by old Chief Ani-stah, the leathern-faced Indian. The name, in Ani-stah's language, meant much understanding, a thing which brought the puppy to his early attention. Though the dogs belonged to a white renter on the reservation, the old Indian might often be seen silently regarding their proud poise and graceful carriage as they raced about their work, which was plentiful on the big ranch. Kumtuck's parents needed no guid- ing voice to direct them in the work of bringing in the cattle, which was a daily chore in the evening. Besides this sort of thing, the dogs were highly educated in the general things of life that went to make a good dog welcome on a ranch — and highly favored in the old eyes of Chief Ani-stah. Under these conditions, Kumtucks grew into adult doghood, favored always with the affection of his masters, which he accepted much as did his parents — rather haughtily, if not a little disdainfully. He was polite, however, and had always returned their little pats of affection and words of praise with & wag of his magnificent brush. Ani-stah's praise was reserved, but no less frank, as Kumtucks, after the death of his parents, assuming the leadership and responsibilities of the lesser animals on the big farm. "Ugh! Heap skookum Kumtucks!" was Ani-stah's commenda- tion after an especially brilliant deed by his yellow, shaggy idol. So Kumtucks lived on, even after the passing of Ani-stah to the Great Spirit; and as age crept upon him, general affection for him was no less, but as is decreed, an old dog, being useless, must eventually become an unwelcome nuisance, even to his most devoted masters. Kumtucks had grown old and, due to a strenuous life and an unlimited ambition for work, had become stiffened and rheumatic until of late, he experienced much physical pain with the effort of moving around. Work he could not, nor was it required of him by his master, Jim Ledyard, in whose service he had grown old. It seemed that Kumtucks' declining years were to b<j spent in dreamv laziness, a condition which palled upon the old dog miserably and made him feel more and more like a useless nuisance. Jim Led- yard felt this,* too, but out of sheer loyalty to his faithful old dog, would not voice his feeling for worlds.

512 IMPROVEMENT ERA Then came the new "chore boy," Carl. Carl was a boy of eleven or twelve years, thin faced and thin framed and limping carefully on a deformed leg, who one day entered the farm yard. He told Jim Ledyard that so far as he knew his name was "just Carl" and that he hailed from anywhere he was allowed to stop, or where he could live. His life had been spent here and there and every- where, a slave to chore jobs and his deformity. The last place he had stayed, no longer felt the need of a chore boy and he had been turned away. In passing along the road, he had seen this farm and had taken a chance upon calling, with the hope that he might be needed and of some use. His thin face looked up into that of Jim Ledyard with a pathetic expression that the big hearted man could not resist. Yes, he supposed he could use him — for a while at least. This news brought a suspicious moisture to the boy's eyes, flanked by a beautiful smile of gratitude. It had not been often in his life that he had met a man whose voice shook — ever so little — when he looked down upon his lame form. He instantly loved the big, rugged farmer and Jim Ledyard admitted to himself that there was something mighty likable in the boy. Then the farmer escorted the boy to the house for something to eat, where he was received with no less compassion by Jim Ledyard's wife. They were childless, which perhaps accounted for much of this feeling toward the lame child — he was little else. Then came Old Kumtucks on the scene and at sight of the faltering steps, the boy felt that here he had found a companion in misery. Boy and dog halted, each regarding the other speculatively for a long time. It seemed that a mutual feeling of comradship sprang up instantly in the breast of each. Carl took a few steps for- ward, holding his hand out, while Old Kumtucks waited, his tail moving slowly to and fro in a token of welcome. "Well, old feller," greeted the boy, stroking the old head, "I guess you an' me're just alike — both of us crippled. On y you've got lame with old age, an' I always been that way. You an' me's goin' t' be friends, ain't we?" The old dog's eyes met those of the boy squarely, and gazed into them long and searchingly. Here, he felt, was one who would never consider him a nuisance, because he, too, was lame like him. Looking on from the porch, Jim Ledyard suddenly turned and walked rapidly away, a queer lump rising in his throat. His wife went into the house and closed the door, where she busied herself preparing a lunch for the boy. For many months during the following Summer, Carl lived a happy existence here with the Ledyards and their few hired men. He was welcomed by all as a means of taking much of the hated "chores" off the others' hands. He was a very efficient boy, too.

KUMTUCKS 513 with the lighter work and Jim Ledyard always knew that he could depend upon the boy's allotted portion of the work being done well. Kumtucks had daily grown closer to the boy and the boy had grown to love the old dog as he had never loved any other living thing. It seemed that his starved nature and pent-up affection, which should have been lavished upon a loving mother and father, or brothers and sisters, all went out to the old dog. Old Kumtucks retaliated with a like feeling for his constant companion and comrade. No one but he who has known the great, unselfish, faithful love of a dog can appreciate what a capacity for love he has wrapped up within his hairy frame and shining forth from a pair of devoted and soulful eyes, as did the love of Old Kumtucks for his little crippled comrade. The Summer wore on and harvest time drew near with a good promise of a bumper crop. Jim Ledyard was in high spirits. His stock was in good shape and his crop well taken care of. True, his expenses were heavy, but with the oncoming crop, it looked like the future bade fair to be rosy for this hard working man. Then came the unexpected and almost unheralded clouds and with them rain, striking the immatured grain a death blow. For days it rained while heavy, beating winds tumbled the tall grain to the ground where the torrents hammered it into the earth. It looked like a visitation from an angry Power, to the shocked and despairing farmers of that section. Gone were their rosy-hued hopes of a successful season and gone was their money with which to pay their expenses incurred during the long Summer. Jim Ledyard was stunned. He had entertained hopes all during the Summer of taking his wife off the farm for a much needed rest and vacation. He had also planned on some education for the little crippled boy. He had — . Oh, well — the Lord's will be done. He had had disappointments before. His wife smiled at him through her tears, bidding him not to worry — she did not mind. Then came an offer from a man who proposed to buy outright, all of Jim Ledyard's holding on the rented land at a very fair figure. At first Jim shook his head, but after talking it over with his wife, decided to sell and move to the city where he would seek his fortune along another line. It was this news that chilled the crippled boy's heart and brought a great ache thereto. The new owner proposed taking the livestock to his own farm for the winter and close up this place until Spring. This, of course, would turn the boy away again, as he had nothing to offer him. It was not this, however, that brought the pain to Carl's heart. Old Kumtucks was very old and would undoubtedly be shot, or left here to starve. In fact, Jim Ledyard had intimated as much to his wife, which the boy overheard. This knowledge brought a change in the comradeship of the

514 IMPROVEMENT ERA boy and dog. Kumtucks sensed the ominous something which seemed to hang over his old head and which he knew was preying on his idol's mind. It worried him. Often the boy caught the old dimming eyes gazing with a puzzled expression into his own. Then he would choke back a sob and seize the dog around the neck as if to hold him fiercely from all harm. * Kumtucks would gently lick the boy's hands and his face in an endeavor to assuage his fears, whatever they might be. He was vaguely disturbed, but fortunately knew not the meaning of it all. The time drew nearer and nearer for Jim Ledyard's and his wife's leave taking of the farm and the time grew shorter and shorter when the crippled boy would again wander his limping way forth upon the world to eke out what scant living he might. The time also seemed to fly on wings of lightning, when Old Kumtucks would be led forth over some hill, a shot ring out and the old dog would be no more. Gone would be the starved boy's only friend and companion. No, no, no; he could not stand for it! An idea struck him. He limped hurriedly to Jim Ledyard, as the latter worked over the preparations for leaving. "Oh, Mr. Ledyard — " he hesitated. "Yes?" answered the man straightening up and looking at the boy expectantly. "I been thinkin' — could I — have Old Kumtucks?" "Well — ," Jim sat down on a box and rubbed his chin re- flectively, looking toward the old dog who was picking his way carefully across the yard toward Carl. "Well, I dunno, Carl, he's pretty old an' stove up. I think th' best thing t' do is t' kill 'im an' git 'im out o' his misery. He wont never be any use t' ye — he can't even walk good." "Oh, I know it, Mr. Ledyard, but neither can I walk good, an' — an' Old Kumtucks is th' on'y friend I got. I'll take good care o' 'im — honest I will. We'll git along — somehow. Can I keep 'im?" With a sudden tightening of his throat, Jim Ledyard turned swiftly to his work, swallowing hastily: "Yes, Boy, take 'im. I won't kill Kumtucks. He's yours." The disappointment the Ledyards suffered with the crop failure was poignant for many reasons. They had really built strong upon keeping the boy with them, sending him to school and perhaps eventually having his twisted leg attended to. They had even planned upon adopting him. Now, however, they could not think of it any more. The boy would be bettered very little, if any, by staying with them, as poor as they were; and, of course, it would mean one more mouth for Jim Ledyard's hands to provide for, and he was not a young man any more. They steeled themselves against the thought. It hurt, though. Without turning, Jim addressed the boy again:

KUMTUCKS 5 1 5 "What do you intend doing when we leave, Carl?" "Oh — , look for another place first. Winter's close, though, an' places are hard t' find in winter. Work's mostly done by th' farmers their selves, or their own boys. Old Kumtucks an' me' 11 git along though, wont we Kumtucks?" The old dog gazed lovingly into the boy's eyes which had some- how become less gloomy. For the latter, the dog was glad. He stood up and stretched his stiff old joints and yawned. "Yes, course we will," answered Carl for him. The boy fell to his good knee, his bad one dangling at the side and drew the old dog's head to his thin breast, crooning loving words into his ear, while the latter's tail softly patted the ground. Jim Ledyard flung the hammer savagely away and walked rapidly around the house. Next day, Jim Ledyard called to Carl from the porch: "Just got a letter from Joel Sorenson, down near Peagrande. I told 'im sometime ago about you. Says if you'll come down there he'll give you a place for the winter. Nice old fellow, too. He's — ." "Peagrande? That's such a long ways, Mr. Ledyard, I couldn't never walk — ." "Yes, its a long ways. Two hundred miles anyway. No, I reckon you couldn't walk it. Summer's over; no work on th' way, an' it'll be gittin' cold nights soon. I was a thinkin' — ." He paused, folding the letter and creasing it with his fingers, while his eyes wandered off down to the barnyard where they alighted upon the little sorrel horse he and Carl had used to run errands on and gather in the milk cows at night. He was old but serviceable and gentle. He, too, was a great object of affection from the boy. Carl turned and looked in the direction, too, and a glad light suddenly shone in his eyes. He hoped — ! "I been thinkin' I might hold out th' pony an' give ye, if ye'd like t' have 'im. You've been a mighty good boy t' us an' — an' — " He could say no more. The thin, spiritual face of the boy was suf- fused in the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Not only the smile, but great, glad tears of joy and gratitude were streaming down his face and falling on the dog's back, who sat at his feet. He essayed to speak, but when he turned toward Jim Ledyard, the latter was walking rapidly around the corner of the porch from sight. For several minutes, Carl stood looking lovingly toward the little sorrel pony, fingering the shaggy hair of the dog's neck ab- stractedly. He was picturing himself astride the pony, which was all his own, and setting out for the farm of Joel Sorenson near Peagrande. He also pictured himself sometime, his twisted leg cured, a big man with stock of his own around him and much wealth. He continued to smile. Suddenly, looking down, he realized Kumtucks was there. The

516 IMPROVEMENT ERA smile slowly left his face to be replaced by the return of the pain around his heart which was registered in every tiny line of his thin face. He would have to leave Kumtucks! Leave Kumtucks? No, no, no; he could not! Neither could he take him and the pony. Kumtucks could never walk that far and would die by the roadside, of starvation and fatigue. There was no way which he might carry the dog. He simply could not take the dog and the pony, too. That was certain. Then which should he take? He loved the old dog devotedly, He also loved the horse and there was the matter of the long trip to make. As Jim Ledyard had said, winter was near and jobs were scarce at that time of year. By walking neither he nor the dog would be able to go very far. By riding the pony it would be out of the question to suppose Old Kumtucks would be able to follow, or to make the trip. There would be no way for him to ride. Desperately he looked into the dog's face, as if he might find the answer there, but the other's eyes merely met his with that same simple trust and devotion. The boy could see there a question which he answered: "I'll have t' leave ye, Old Boy, I'll — . No! I can't do it, neither — I can't do it!" he sobbed suddenly aloud, remembering that it meant death for the dog. With the problem still unsolved, Carl sought his little bed in the loft of the barn, where he slept during the warm weather. He made himself sure that Kumtucks went to his own bed in the end of the manger below him and that the sorrel pony was comfortable in the stall at the dog's right. For a long time Carl lay awake, his brain in a turmoil. Strive as he would, he could not bring himself to decide either way. It was horse versus dog, and he loved both. Both were old, but one was the means of his getting to Peagrande for the winter, while the other was well nigh helpless and whose days were numbered at the best of it. He could ride out on the long trip astride his own horse while a little bullet would — No, no, not that! He could not think of shooting Kumtucks. He could not think of that last convulsive quiver of the old dog's frame after the shot. He could not allow his only friend to be killed. Then he must give up the sorrel pony and do as best he could in this country, which was very poor at best. With this resolve in mind, he finally fell asleep. The next afternoon, Jim Ledyard asked Carl to get on the pony and go after the cows. Calling to Kumtucks to follow, the lame boy clambered upon the pony's back and set off at a slow pace so the old dog could keep up. The cattle proved to be grazing on a piece of "scab land," or untillable, rocky, useless land, about a mile from the house. It was

KUMTUCKS 517 early yet, and they had plenty of time, so the boy rode slowly, calling encouragingly to Kumtucks to follow. The old fellow bravely wagged his brush and hung his red tongue out, while he carefully picked his way over the ground. With the cows started on their way home, Carl slipped off the pony's back to stroke the dog's head and allow him to rest a bit before they commenced the return walk. He did not take any notice of where he had stepped or what danger he had dropped into. Kumtucks, however, had frozen in his tracks, fear in every feature of his face. He had closed his mouth quiveringly, the saliva dripping through his lips, while his whole frame shook with dread. He remained motionless, watching. A monstrous rattlesnake, surprised in his leisurely crawl toward the badger hole which was his home, had angrily whirled himself into the ominous coil. Then his tail quivered and his warning rattle rang out, but the effect was even more terrifying to the dog. Carl looked and was too frightened to move. He only stared, horror written upon his face. It seemed that the beady little eyes were boring wickedly into his own with a venomous glare. He was still unable to move as the flat head slowly drew back. He realized that in another instant that terrible strike would be launched, but he was unable to flee — or even move. Suddenly a low growl rent the air, which broke the spell over the boy and with a swish and scattering of rock and gravel, Kumtucks rushed upon the reptile, snapping and growling. He made a vicious lunge at the thin neck, but his aim was poor and he caught the snake farther down the back. With a simultaneous movement, the reptile buried his terrible fangs into the old dog's jaw. With a quiver of fear, the wise dog realized what it meant. But he had no intention of allowing the snake to go victorious. His jaws clinched harder and the reptile beat the ground with his tail while his head flew back and forth each time sinking those deadly fangs into the old dog's face. Suddenly Kumtucks let go and leaped back only to again leap forward. This time grasping the rattler just back of the head he held on with all his might as the tremendous struggle of the death stricken reptile jerked him about. The long tail wrapped around his body then beat at his legs, while the nauseous thing between his teeth sickened him. Still he held on. Soon the rattler's struggles became weaker then ceased altogether, except for a slight twitching of the tail. Then Kumtucks dropped the inert thing and staggered back. By this time, Carl had regained the pony's back after much difficulty due to the horse's fright and his own horror. As Kum- tucks staggered away from his kill, the boy looked at the already swelling face and a cry of grief escaped his lips. He essayed to again

518 IMPROVEMENT ERA slip off the pony's back to the dog's aid, but the look in Kumtucks' eyes arrested him. The dog was now sitting on his haunches, looking long and lovingly at the boy. His red tongue was hanging a little way out of his sagging jaws. He reeled slightly, then shook himself. With the dread realization of what deadly poison was in his system and his helplessness, the old fellow whined softly and with another long, searching look into the tearful eyes of his idol, turned and staggered off toward the edge of the clearing a few hundred yards away. Nor did he heed the boy's frantic calls. Like the best of his kind, Old Kumtucks was going away to himself to die. He knew his moments of life were numbered. His weakened condition, the exertion and that system so full of the reptile's venom was already causing his old heart to flutter and waver. He must hurry. He essayed to walk faster, but staggered and fell to his haunches. Again the boy shrieked for him to return, in his voice, grief-stricken pleading. But Kumtucks regained his unsteady legs and strode on. With the sheltering screen of trees about him, he sank to the ground, putting his head between his paws, while the poison sent a convulsion through his frame. Bracing himself against a tree for the next spasm, the old fellow cast one more loving look toward his little companion, who was off the pony and coming toward the clump of woods, calling his name with each breath. The dog's under jaw sagged slightly and his red tongue came through in a last beauti- ful dog-smile in the direction of his comrade. Carl was destined never to reach the spot in time as the final paralyzing convulsion gripped the dog's heart which was too over- wrought to withstand it. The tender dog-smile froze on his lips and with a shuddering whine, Kumtucks breathed his last, just as Carl burst into the woods. The boy stumbled over the yellow shaggy form of his dearest friend who would no more ramble over the hills with him in a loving companionship. With a heartbroken sob, Carl drew away and merely leaned over the body of the dog, while a flood of bitter tears rained down upon the yellow coat. Another week, which was the extreme of loneliness for Carl, saw Jim Ledyard and his wife on their way to the city, after in- structing Carl how to find Joel Sorenson's farm, near Peagrande, and bidding him an affectionate farewell. With heavy heart, Carl rode the pony to the clump of trees again for a last look at the neat little mound under which slept his friend and companion, Old Kumtucks. The bitter tears welled up in his eyes again and dropped down on the little mound while the pony stood with lowered head, seemingly in understanding and respect.

KUMTUCKS 519 Carl drew a long breath and mounting, cast another last, linger- ing look toward the ground, then turned the little sorrel's head toward Peagrande and Joel Sorenson's ranch. Nephi, Utah. Arizona's Grand Canyon On the rim of that world famed canyon. In the tops of the mountains high, We stood and gazed in rapture On the wond'rous beauty nigh. In the depths of the mighty canyon, Some thousands of feet below, Flows the muddy Colorado, Fed by springs and melting snow. It has worked its way through gorges, Over boulders huge and high, Under hanging rocks it tumbles Far beneath the azure sky. Cliff on cliff, majestic rising Like the ancient castles stand With their towers pointing upward, Can be seen on every hand. Of all sizes, shapes and colors Are the hills and mountains too, Till the lights that play upon them Make a scene of varied hue. From the rim, a path is winding Down and round a steep descent, Like a narrow ribbon stretching — For the tourist it is meant. Up and down the hills and hollows Ever pointing out the way, Till the traveler stops to rest him At the Inn till coming day. All the beauties of the mountains, And the river and the glen Here in all their untrained grandeur Are ne'er changed by hands of men. And the thought that held me spellbound, As I looked upon the scene, Was that all beneath earths surface Such formation might be seen. And I thought, How kind the Giver Who has planned such beauty rare, And how great his love and power And how sure his tender care. Yet how little we repay him, For his blessings day by day, For his loving watchcare o'er us As we journey on our way. Mesa, Arizona. IDA R. ALLDREDGE.