Press enter after choosing selection

The Dogs Of Death

The Dogs Of Death image
Parent Issue
Day
1
Month
May
Year
1895
Copyright
Public Domain
OCR Text

, ■ISTE.W' SAID ■Harkins, lov, 'hls pipe, and lifting ione hand warnlng' ■ly. A strange, doleful sound came down the night wind, faint and far away, yet aweyome and blood-chilling. r "What is it?" I sked. Making no immeöiate reply, my companion leaped up and scattered the burning brands of our camp-fire with two deft kicks of his heavy boot. From his manner I plainly saw there was danger in the air, and my hand sought my Winchester. "What is it?" I repeated, as we stood in the shadow of the bluff, with the moonlight silvery white on the bosom of the rippling stream near at hand. "Walt and you'll see, I reckon," sweic-u .HarKins. Ei I don t mistake, ther derned critters are coming this yar way." True, the sounds were growing more and more distinct with each passinj moment. "A dog-?" I said interrogatively. "Dogs," replied the oíd prospector- "the Dogs of Death." "I hear but one." "T'other runs silent, an' he's the: worst brute of ther two. Hark! Heai that?" "Horses?" "Tes." The ring of iron-shod hoofs could now be heard. Several horses were coming down the opposite bank of the creek at a mad gallop. We had not long to wait. Seven horses appeared, bearing on their backs as many dark riders. The animáis were being lashed and spurred to their highest speed. As they went by in the moonlight I saw the faces of two or three of the riders. They flung hasty glances over their shoulders. Never have I beheld abject terror more strongly depicted than it was on the white faces of those men. On they went, disappearing from view. Then -we heard the doleful baying once more. It was near at hand. "The Death Dogs are running them hard," whispered Harkins, and I feit him clutch my arm with a strong grip. Something sent a shuddering chili all over me. I waited expectant, my heart seeming to throb in my throat. They came - two great gray beasts, one running in advance of the other. The foremost had its nose close to the ground, lifting it now and then to send a wild wail shuddering through the night. The leader was the smaller of the two. The other seemed almost as large as an ox, with a great mishapen body, long hind legs, and feet that flapfiapped with an unpleasant sound. This creature seemed actually to glow with a dull, white light, which it apparently emitted from its body. Por all of its awkwardness, it followed the smaller beast with great speed. On they went. Soon they disappeared, holding hard to the track of the fleeing horsemen. Not till the sound of the doleful baying liad quite died out in the distance did I speak. Then I thickly said: "Merciful heaven! What sort of ereatures were those, Harkins?" "The Dogs of Death," replied my companion, who was scarcely less effected than myself. "Why do you cali them that?" "It is the name given them by Murdell's gang." "Then " "Them thar hossmen wur Murdell and hls men. They're whut's left of ther gang-, and thar wuz more'n twenty of them once. The Death Dogs have hunted them down one by one." "But the dogs- what kind of creatures are they? They did not seem of flesh and blood." "No more do they, none -svhatever. And Murdell's men will sw'ar they're Satan's own pups. They-ve tried ter kill ther critters more'n once, but it wuzn't nary bit of good. Lead or steel can't hurt ther Dogs of Death." "How long have the uncanny beasts been hunting the outlaws?" "Near a year- ever sence Murdell killed Old Mis' Dugan and her fooi son on Cottonwood Creek. Ther boy, though he -wuz a fooi, flt his best fer his mother, and they filled him with lead- wise that s ther story. Then, as he lay covered with blood, stone dead, on ther door of ther hut, ther old woman knelt and took hls head in her arms. They grasped her. Her hands wuz covered with blood, and she left her mark on eix of them- ther mark of blood. She cursed them, an' told them they'd all die afore six months. The story goes that she fit so hard the skunks wiped her out. Anyhow, northin' wuz ever found of her ner ther boy. Ther hut wuz burned fiat that night." "And the men she cursed?" "The Dogs of Death run them down Inside of the six months limit." "They did not stop there?" "No; ther dogs are detarmined ter wipe out ther huil derned gang I reekon, an' a service it will be ter ther country. They killed old Mis' Dugan Dut of pure cussedness, and now thev're gittin their deserts." We rebuilt our campfire. Long hours we sat and talked of the Death Dogs The stars had swung around, and the moon was low down before we slept That night made a strong impression on me. I was continually thinking of the uneanny Dogs of Death as they bayed wiei he trail of the hunted and fear-stricken outlaws. "We found no trace of "yellow" along the Medicine Bow. Our expeditlon was a failure. But we did not return to Cheyenne til! the of winter drove us in. I was broke-, and Harria was little better. He wondered how we'd get through the iter, and who would grub-stake us in the spring. One night Harkins dropped into Tommy Gringo's "Little Monte Cario." Harkins h'ad a passion for gambling, and he had sworn never again to touch a card. That night he broke his oath. With something like $25 to start with, he went into a game of faro. When the game was stopped at 5 o'clock the next morning he had $4,70C in his pocket. He came in and pulled me out of bed by the heels, got me by the neck, chucked my head into a bucket of cold water, thumped me till f. got mad and waded in to lick the stuffing out of him. Then he took me down and sat on me, while he told me all about it. "We don't need any galoot ter grubstake us in ther spring, pard!" he cried, triumphantly. 'Tve got ther rocks ter do it." "You'll run up against the game again, and lose every dollar!" I declared. He swore he wouldn't play agaln for six months. And he kept his word. As soon as we could move in the spring, we struck for the Sweet Water región. We had two pack-mules and an extra horse, the latter to be used in case one of the saddle animáis became injured. We were crossing the Laramie range, when, one night, we feil to talking of the Doks of Death. We had heard nothing of the creatures all winter, save a few odd reports brought in by stragglers and "drifters." And we did not know it went with Murdell's men. Strange though it seemed, while we were talking that night of the uncanny dogs, the baying of the wierd hunters came to our ears. We knew the sound the instant we heard it. "There they are!" cried Harkins, excitedly. "And they're coming!" I exclaimed. "Sure as shooting!" Nearer and nearer came the doleful sounds, breaking sharper and sharper with each passing moment. "It's a hot trail!" declared Harkins. "They're right onter ther game, and some miserable wretch goes under this night." Straight toward us the dogs seemed coming. I clutched my rifle. Panting, groaning, reeling, a man broke out of the night and came toward us. He saw us and feil at our feet, shrieking: "Save me - save me f rom ther critters! !'m ther last! Ther rest are all gone! Ther dogs are " He ended in a wild scream, trying to crawl away. Howling fiendishly, a great gray brute came shooting toward the spot. Before a hand could be lifted the animal had the fugitive by the throat. It was all over in a moment. I never saw a human being killed quicker in all my life - and I have seen many a life ended by violence. The other dog came lumbering out of the darkness. One look the creature took at the body of the dead man and then he spoke: "The last of the gang! Ha! ha! Poor old mammy. The moon is dead!" Straight up on his hind legs he rose. The shaggy, white-glowing robe that covered him peeled off with a motion of his hands and arms. A man stood before us! "Great miracles!" I ejaculated. Then we looked at the other creature o see if it would change into a human being. No. There was nothing human about hat beast. It crouched and growled over the dead man, its eyes gleaming red. "Who are you?" my companion finaly managed to ask. "Me Lute Dugan," was the reply. 'Poor old mammy! Bruno and me hunt em all down. They kill no more. This be the last. The moon is in its grave. The new day will weep. Now I shall augh! Ha! ha! ha!" Then, before a hand could check him, he dashed away, whisthng to his dog. He was gone- the dog was gone - we svere alone with the dead man. "That was oíd Mis' Dugan's fool boy," aid Harkins, slowly. "They didn't kill him, after all. He has hunted down Murdell's gang with the aid of his dog." "But - but the strange Hght on his haggy coat?" "Phosphorus." "How could he run so swiftly on all ours?" "I heard once that he was stolen by a she b'ar as had lost her cubs, an' her critter kept him near a year. When hey recovered him he wuz jest a wild ittle b'ar." "Do you believe lt?" "I don't know what to believe. I've een him run on hands an' hoofs." We buried the dead man. Then we moved our night camp. More than half the night we talked ver the marvel. It seemed absurdly mpossible. Had we not seen it with ur eyes, no one could have made us relieve such a story. In the morning the "new day wept," s our strange visitor had predicted. And we never again saw anything of he Dogs of Death. Nor of "Mis' Dugn's Fooi." I believe Harkins and myself saw the ast man of Murdell's gang die. Further han that, I know not what to beïeve. I have told the story. Bvery incident s given exactly as it occurred. The reader is welcome to form his wn opinión.

Article

Subjects
Old News
Ann Arbor Courier