A Young Hero

________________________________________________
Title:     A Young Hero
Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis [More Titles by Ellis]

Reuben Johnson leaned on his hoe, and, looking up at the sun, wondered whether, as in the Biblical story, it had not been stationary for several hours. He was sure it was never so long in descending to the horizon.

"Wake up, Rube," sharply called his Uncle Peter, smartly hoeing another row a few paces behind him, "doan be idlin' your time; de sun am foah hours high yit."

The nephew started and raised his implement, but stopped. He was staring at the corner of the fence just ahead, where sat the jug of cold water, with the Revolutionary musket leaning against the rails. The crows were so annoying that the double-loaded weapon was kept ready to be used against the pests when they ventured too near.

"See dar, uncle!" said Rube in a scared voice. The old man also ceased work, adjusted his iron-rimmed spectacles, and looked toward the fence.

Within a few feet of where the flint lock musket inclined against the rails, a yellow dog was trying to push his way through. Watching his efforts for a few minutes, the elder said:

"Rube, I wish we had de gun; dat dog ain't peaceable."

"He am mad; dis ain't de place fur us."

"Slip down to de fence and got de gun; dat's a good boy!"

"Gracious!" gasped the youth; "it am right dar by de dog."

"He won't notice you; run behind him and be quick 'bout it, or he'll chaw us bofe to def."

"He'll chaw _me_ suah if I goes near him," was the reply of Rube, who felt little ardor for the task his relative urged upon him.

"Ain't it better dat _one_ ob us should go dead, dan bofe should be obstinguished?" asked the uncle reproachfully.

"Dat 'pends which am de one to go dead; if it am _me_, it am better for _you_, but I don't see whar _I'm_ to come in; 'spose you see wheder you can got de gun--"

"Dar he comes!" whispered Uncle Pete.

Sure enough the cur, having twisted his body between the rails, began trotting toward the couple that were watching him with such interest.

There was good reason for fear, since the canine was afflicted with the rabies in the worst form. He showed no froth at the jaws, for animals thus affected do not, but his eyes were fiery, his mouth dry, the consuming fever burning up all moisture. He moaned as if in pain, his torture causing him to snap at everything in reach. He had bitten shrubbery, branches, wood and other objects, and now made for the persons with the purpose of using his teeth on them.

"Rube," said his uncle, "stand right whar you am! No use ob runnin', for he'll cotch you; when he gets nigh 'nough bang him wid your hoe; if dat don't fotch him, I'll gib him anoder whack and dat'll finish him suah."

Fate seemed to have ordered that the younger person should hold the van in the peril, though he was tempted to take his place by his relative, so that the attack of the dog should be met by both at the same instant. This promised to be effective, but the time was too brief to permit any plan of campaign.

The brute was already within a hundred yards of Rube, who, with his hoe drawn back, as though it were a club, tried to calm his nerves for the struggle. He would have fled, had he not known that that would draw pursuit to himself. He was inclined to urge his uncle to join him in a break for freedom, the two taking diverging routes. Since the canine could not chase both at the same time, such a course was certain to save one, but, inasmuch as the youth was at the front, he knew he must be the victim, and the prospect of a mad dog nipping at his heels, with fangs surcharged with one of the most fearful venoms known, was too terrifying to be borne. He, therefore, braced himself, and, with a certain dignity and courage, held his ground.

A dog suffering from the rabies often shows odd impulses. This one was within fifty feet of Rube, when he turned at right angles and trotted toward the other side of the cornfield.

"_Now's_ your time, chile!" called Uncle Pete; "got de gun quick, and if he comes back we'll be ready for him."

It was the first suggestion that struck the nephew favorably, and he acted upon it at once. The dog might change his mind again and return to the attack, in which event no weapon could equal a loaded gun.

As Rube ran with his broad-brimmed hat flapping in his eyes, he kept glancing over his shoulder, to make sure the brute was not following him, while his uncle held his position, with his hoe grasped and his eye fixed on the animal, trotting between the hills of corn. He managed also to note the action of his nephew, who was making good time, and whose progress caused the hearts of the two to heat high with hope.

Had the fence ahead of the dog been open, doubtless he would have soon passed out of sight; but, as if recalling his trouble in entering the field, and possibly seeing his error in leaving two victims, he stopped only an instant in front of the rails, when he turned and came at a swifter gait than before, straight for Uncle Pete.

The latter stared a second or two and then shouted:

"Quick, Rube! he means _me_ dis time!" And he dashed off, not to join his nephew, but to reach the side of the field opposite the nose of the animal.

By this time the youth had his hands on the smoothbore musket and his courage came back. He saw his uncle crashing over the hills, the picture of dismay, while the dog rapidly gained on him.

"Hey dar! hey dar!" shouted Rube, breaking into a run and trying to draw attention to himself. But the brute only sped the faster. He was near the middle of the procession, but gaining on the fugitive, who had thrown aside his hoe, flung his hat to the ground, and was making better progress than when he used to run races with the boys in his younger days.

The fence was near and he strained every nerve. It looked as if man and dog would reach it at the same moment, but the former put forth an extra spurt and arrived a pace or two ahead, with the cur at his heels.

Rube, however, was not far to the rear. Seeing the crisis had come, he stopped short, brought the musket to his shoulder, and, taking the best aim he could, let fly with the whole load that clogged several inches of the barrel.

He did not observe at the moment of pressing the trigger that his uncle and the dog were in line, but it could have made no difference, since the shot had to be made at that instant or not at all.

Just as the weapon was fired, Uncle Pete with a great bound cleared the fence, landing on his hands and knees; and, rolling over on his back, kicked the air with such vigor that his shoes flew off, one after the other, as if keeping time with his frenzied outcries.

The yellow cur was scared, as a shark is sometimes driven off by the loud splashing of a swimmer, and, though he leaped the fence, he wheeled again, and, without harming the man, ran down the highway toward the Woodvale school.

For a moment after firing, Rube Johnson believed he was killed. The flint shot a spark among the powder grains, there was a flash, a hiss, and then, as the fire worked its way to the charge inside, the explosion came and he toppled over, half stunned, with the gun flying a dozen feet away.

But his fear for his relative brought him to his feet, and he hurried to the old gentleman, who was climbing uncertainly to an upright posture.

"What's de matter?" asked Rube; "you ain't bit."

"I know dat; I warn't yellin' on _dat_ 'count."

"What fur den?"

"You black rascal, you shot me instid ob de yaller dog."

"Lemme see," said Rube, turning his uncle round and scanning him from head to foot.

"I done pepper you purty well, uncle, but dare ain't any ob de slugs dat hit yer--only de fine bird shot."

"How many ob dem?" was the rueful question.

"I don't tink dar's more dan five or six hundred; Aunt Jemimer can gib her spar time de next six weeks pickin' 'em out; she'll enj'y it, but dat shot ob mine scared off de mad dog, and yer oughter be tankful to me, uncle, all yer life."

It was recess at the Woodvale school, and the forty-odd boys and girls were having a merry time on the playgrounds, which included the broad highway. Within the building, Mr. Hobbs, the young teacher was busy "setting copies," his only companion just then being Tod Clymer, a pale-faced cripple, who, unable to take part in the sports of the other boys, preferred to stay within doors and con his lessons, in which he was always far in advance of the rest.

A strange confusion outside caused him to raise his head and look through the window near him.

"Oh, Mr. Hobbs," he said, "there's a mad dog!"

The teacher started up, and saw the yellow cur running about the grounds, snapping at the children, while a couple of boys had already raised the fearful cry, and there was a scattering in all directions. Although without any weapon, the instructor was on the point of hurrying out to the help of the children, when he observed the canine coming toward the outer door. He tried to close it in his face, but the brute was too quick and was inside before he could be stopped. He made for the second door, leading into the session-room, but, in this instance, the teacher slammed it shut just in time.

Instead of going out the dog slunk into the entry and crawled under a bench, so nearly behind the outer door that he was invisible to any one beyond.

"Mr. Hobbs," said Tod Clymer a moment later, "will you please help me out of the window?"

"I think you are safer here," replied the teacher, "for he cannot reach you, but you will not be able to get away from him outside."

"I want to leave, please, very much."

It was a strange request, and the teacher waited some minutes before complying, but the heart of the lame boy was so set upon it, that he finally assisted him to the window furthest from where the dog was crouching, gently lifted him down to the ground, and then passed his crutches to him.

"Now, Tod," said he kindly, "don't tarry a moment, for there's no saying how soon he will be outside again. The other children are away, but you cannot run like them."

"Thank you," replied Tod, who never forgot to be courteous, as he carefully adjusted the collars of his crutches under his shoulders.

Mr. Hobbs motioned from the window for several of the boys to keep off. With a natural curiosity, they were stealing closer to the building, in the hope of finding out what the rabid dog was doing.

The teacher, seeing his gestures were understood, turned back, when to his surprise, he noticed the top of Tom Clymer's straw hat, as it slowly rose and sank, moving along the front of the building toward the front door.

Instead of hurrying off, as he should have done, the lad was making his way toward the very spot where the dreadful animal was crouching.

"Why, Tod, what are you doing?" called Mr. Hobbs through the open window; "you will surely be bitten."

Instead of replying or heeding the words, the lad turned his pale face toward his friend and shook his head, as a warning for him to make no noise. Then he resumed his advance to the open outer door, doing so with great care and stealth, as if afraid of being heard by the brute.

The entrance to the old Woodvale school building was reached by two steps, consisting of the same number of broad high stones worn smooth by the feet of the hundreds of children that had trod them times without number. To make his way into the entry where the pupils hung their hats and bonnets on the double rows of pegs, Tod had to move slowly and carefully use his crutches. Being tipped with iron he could not set them down on the smooth stones without causing noise.

But he acted without hesitation. The teacher read his purpose and knew it was useless to try to check him. He leaned his head out of the window and held his breath, while he watched him.

Tod never faltered, though none could have understood the danger he ran better than he. He had a brother and sister among the children that had scattered in such haste before the snapping cur, and who were gathering again around the building despite the warning gesture of the teacher.

He could not know whether they had all escaped or not, but he was sure that if the dog came forth again, more than one of them must suffer, and in those days there was no Pasteur with his wonderful cure to whom the afflicted ones could be taken.

Tod did not tremble, though it seemed to him the brute must hear the tumultuous throbbing of his heart and rush forth. Puny as was his strength, he meant that, if he did so, he would steady himself on his one support, and grasping the other with both hands, strike the dog with might and main. It is doubtful whether the blow would have stunned the dog, for the little fellow's confidence in himself was greater than his bodily powers warranted.

At the moment he rested the end of the crutch on the smooth surface of the second stone, it slipped, and only by a strong wrench did he save himself from falling. The noise was heard by the animal, who was not six feet distant, and he emitted another moan, which can never be forgotten by those that have heard it.

Certain that the cur was about to rush forth, Tod steadied himself on the single crutch, and, reversing the other, held it firmly in his weak hands. He knew the shuffling sound was caused by the animal moving: uneasily about the entry, and it was strange he did not burst through the open door. But he did not do so, and, like a flash, the cripple shifted his weapon in place under his shoulder. Then, with the same coolness he had shown from the first, he reached his hand forward and grasped the latch.

The smart pull he gave, however, did not stir it. It resisted the effort, as though it was fastened in position. If such were the fact, his scheme was futile.

Setting down both crutches, Tod now leaned against the jamb to prevent himself from falling, seized the handle with both hands, and drew back suddenly and with all his might. This time the door yielded and was closed.

As it did so, the rabid animal flung himself against it with a violence that threatened to carry it off its hinges, but it remained firm and he was a prisoner.

"You are a hero!" called the teacher in a voice tremulous with suppressed emotion.

"I guess we've got him fast, but look out, Mr. Hobbs, that he doesn't reach you."

"I think there is little danger of that," said the other, looking anxiously at the inner door, "but we must get help to dispose of him before he can do further injury."

By this time, so many of the children had come back to the playgrounds that several of those living near were sent home for assistance. It quickly arrived; for Reuben Johnson and his uncle lost no time in spreading the news, and three young men, each with a loaded gun, appeared on the scene, eager to dispose of the dangerous animal. The latter was at such disadvantage that this was done without trouble or risk.

Providentially none of the children had been bitten, though more than one underwent a narrow escape. Such animals as had felt the fangs of the rabid cur were slain, and thus no harm resulted from the brief run of the brute.

[The end]
Edward Sylvester Ellis's short story: A Young Hero

________________________________________________



GO TO TOP OF SCREEN