Renni the Rescuer (13 page)

Suddenly, without rising, with just a quick turn, Renni wriggled away. He was gone some time. Then, still crouching, he slipped up again and got George and
the stretcher-bearers, who crept along after him on their bellies. A man had fallen into a deep ditch under his machine gun and could not move. They had a good deal of trouble setting him free and lifting the gun out. He seemed unharmed, only a little unsteady on his legs.

The firing raged on. The regiment had to use all its skill, resource and caution to escape from the ambush, but finally it succeeded. Renni sniffed the air. A second storm drew on. George was worried about the dog, but this time its only effect was to make him stick closer to his master. He continued to sniff the air all about. His ears pricked up sharply and he wagged his tail slowly but expectantly. All at once he leaped up and charged away. In a little while he crawled back and urged his master and the stretcher-bearers to come with him. He seemed so impatient that all four of them jumped to their feet and began to run after the flying dog. They gave no heed to the calls that followed them:

“Get down! Get down, you! Crawl!”

They pretended not to hear and in the crash of battle perhaps they did not. When the dog stopped,
wagging his tail violently, his muzzle pointed straight down, the four shocked men found themselves standing over their major. He lay in a soft puddle. He must have fallen headlong over a slippery root and struck his head on a sharp stone. A major in the mud!

They wasted no time in thought. They turned the dazed man over, washed the blood from his cheek and nose, and tried to pick him up. He moaned and the pain brought him back to consciousness.

“I don't . . . know . . . what happened to me,” he stammered, stupefied.

When they tried again a sharp groan burst from him.

“My ankle—I'm afraid it's broken.”

“Let's hope it's only sprained, Major.”

He smiled at George. “Oh, it's you,” he said wearily. “And your dog found me?”

“Yes, sir. My Renni found you.”

“A splendid animal, really a wonderful animal . . . . Who knows how long I've been lying here?”

“It can't have been long, sir. Not very long. Renni's been hunting all the time.”

“A noble animal. That's the word for him—noble.”

At last they got him up to level ground. He stifled his groans heroically.

“Get a stretcher,” George ordered. Two of the bearers went off at a run. “Major, we'll have to carry you on a stretcher to the ambulance. You'd suffer too much if we tried it all the way on our shoulders.”

“Thank you, thank you. But you'll stay with me?”

“At your orders, sir.”

Again George washed his face, streaked with blood from a wound on the left cheekbone.

“Ah, that helps.”

“How did this happen, Major?”

“Why, really, I don't know. Evidently I'm as dumb as any rookie. The first thing I knew I was lying there and it was all over. It must be that way when a man is shot down in war.”

A distant bugle sang out. The call was repeated here and there, nearer and nearer. “The signal to cease operations for today,” smiled George.

“No telling how long they'll cease for me. Beastly
luck!” The major felt round in his tunic for his cigarette case. George held a match for him. Renni had stretched out by the wounded man, smelled him over carefully and then in quiet confidence laid his head on his breast.

“How beautiful a dog's face can be,” said the major, “and how he honours me. Yes, a man is downright honoured when an animal like that . . . ” He broke off and turned to Renni. “Do you get the scent of my pup Tyras on me? Yes? Well, he can't do all the things you can, not by a long way. I've taught him only to shake hands. I didn't have to whip him to teach him that.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but my Renni's never been whipped. Never. Not once.”

“Great! That's most unusual, and the kind of thing I like to hear. I hate to see animals beaten. Dogs, horses, cattle—it makes no difference. I hate it. How much honour and honesty are in a dog's face! Of course, I don't need to tell you that. But have you ever observed the high-strung courage in the eyes, the movements of a horse? The strong and gentle beauty of the eyes and heads of cattle?”

George would have liked to shake the major's hand, but discipline kept him from it. At that moment Renni sprang up unexpectedly and ran off as straight as a die.

“You'll excuse me, sir; I must follow the dog. The stretcher-bearers will be here straightway. If someone should be needing us, we can shorten his waiting and suffering by . . . ”

“Go right ahead,” cried the major.

George saw the stretcher-bearers coming up and signalled them to hurry. He took the third with him. This time it was only a soldier who had collapsed under the burden of his field equipment and the severe work of the day. They helped him to his feet. Embarrassed over his condition, he panted, “I'm a reservist.”

“I too,” thought George, but he said nothing.

The reservist went on, breathless, “I'm a government clerk. After an indoor life I can't stand this killing grind.”

“You ought to report yourself exhausted and unfit for duty,” advised the stretcher-bearer.

“That's what I'm going to do,” the man said bitterly.
Then of a sudden he screamed, “Let me alone, you cur!” and kicked at the frightened, dodging Renni with his heavy boot.

“Say, you!” George blazed out at him. “Haven't you got any sense? That dog found you. Kick him, would you? Not while I'm about. Thank him.”

“Thank him! Is that so? Well, thank you very kindly, Mr. Dog. The brute did his duty, and that's all there is to it.”

“It's not everyone can say that for himself,” George remarked dryly.

“You mean to compare me with that cur, Corporal?”

“No, I wouldn't insult the dog.”

“You think I'll stand for it when he sticks his stinking snout in my hand? You think I won't kick him?”

George stood still. He ordered the stretcher-bearer: “Take this fellow in by yourself. If I go, I'll report his actions, and his insolence will be punished.” He turned away with Renni, who did a joyful dance around him. He left plenty of room as he walked around the clerk and struck off through the woods.

“What do we care for trash like that, Renni? We don't care a rap, do we?”

A short, happy bark. Renni leaped up on his master and laid his forepaws on his shoulders so that George had to stop for a moment. He took Renni's head in his two hands. “You want to tell me I'm right? Clever of you, old man. We two . . . But come on, partner. We're both wet to the skin. Let's step along. Perhaps we'll get something hot to eat.”

Renni trotted obediently at his master's left side, sniffing and from time to time laying his muzzle in George's hand. A short walk to a neat little town. Their quarters were with friendly people in a roomy old house. Many soldiers were there, and they gave Renni an enthusiastic greeting. They led him and his master to the kitchen, where they offered him the place of honour before the stove. Renni sat down, stared into the flames, dried his coat. After he had soaked up the comfortable waves of heat through his body, he got so hot that he panted and his tongue hung out. Meanwhile George stretched his wet clothes before the stove. Then they had a bite to eat.

“Does anyone know how the major's getting on?”

None had even heard of the accident.

The stretcher-bearer who had been left with the reservist came in to report. “That guy's a big fool. He laid down on me, said he wasn't going to walk another step. He bawled like a baby. Say, Corporal, don't you want to go to bed? You must be tired. There's a bed for you on the second floor.”

“A bed?” George thanked him, laughing. “Just bring me a mattress here in front of the stove. We'll sleep like kings on it, Renni and I.”

The soldiers laughed and dragged up a mattress. George stretched out. Renni stood before him, his tail a question mark.

“Why, of course you may, Renni. Just lie down beside me.” Renni understood. He crept softly over, pressed close against George, and laid his muzzle on his shoulder. He sighed once, comfortably, before he went to sleep.

The other two stretcher-bearers came into the kitchen to report to George.

“Well, what is it?” George's tone was low, but Renni raised his head and pricked up his ears, wide awake.

“Everything's all right. The major's ankle is only sprained a little. He'll be dancing again in a week or so.”

“That's fine,” said George. “Where have they put him?”

“In the barracks—his own quarters.”

Renni was again sleeping soundly by the time George told the stretcher-bearers to see about their food and a place to sleep. And George himself sank to sleep with a happy heart.

So ended the second day of the manœuvres.

O
N THE THIRD DAY REVEILLE sounded somewhat later than usual and they formed ranks more slowly.

“Today, we're the rear guard,” the word went around.

“I don't understand that,” one said.

“My dear friend,” a high, squeaky voice put in, “what do you supes know about this battle anyway?”

“The main body of our army,” declared a jolly bass,
“is fighting farther north. Any supe has sense enough to know that.”

“We'll get the umpire's decision today,” another ventured.

There was a general outburst of laughter. “Marvellous! Marvellous! Just think of that on the last day of manœuvres!”

“Toward noon the bugles will blow to cease operations,” said a non-commissioned officer.

They laughed at him too for saying what they all knew, and a smart voice asked him earnestly, “Is that the order of the day, General? Then of course we'll just have to stop at noon. Won't that be awful?”

“Children,” roared a giant infantryman, “children, perhaps we'll have no more fighting to do.”

“Well, that won't hurt my feelings any,” a pale lad said dryly.

From the distance came the roar of heavy artillery. Machine guns snapped viciously. They began to march in column formation. Renni walked along beside George in regulation step, his head lowered, his tail swinging
half-sideways. There was no work for him to do yet. The farther forward they went the farther away the battle receded. From this they concluded that the “enemy” was retreating and that they were victorious. High spirits sparkled along the ranks. Here and there a song was started but the sharp command of “Silence!” ripped it to tatters. So they marched along talking in undertones. The blue sky called for good humour. The air had been cooled by yesterday's storm and there was not enough heat to be bothersome. Hour after hour they marched. At last, a forest. The command: “Form in skirmish lines! Guns ready! Fix bayonets!”

The formations began to break up and trickle into the woods. Then came the bugle calls, well known and long looked for, greeted with loud cries of joy, “The manœuvres are over!” “Cease operations!”

Guns, knapsacks, helmets with white bands lay all around them, tokens that a struggle had taken place here and the enemy been routed. A pause for rest. The big infantryman spoke up: “Didn't I tell you we wouldn't see any more fighting?”

“Yes, you old Napoleon, you military genius, you.”

“Just look at Renni.” Indeed it was wonderful to see him hurry along with his nose to the ground. He stopped unexpectedly, sniffed, and struck off on a different tack.

“He's lost the trail.”

“Not on your life,” declared George, never for a moment taking his eyes off the dog.

“But he doesn't know what to do. There's nothing for him to find now.”

“You just wait and see,” smiled George.

“Look here. The regiment that was driven out of this place certainly must have taken care of its own casualties.”

At this moment Renni gave them the answer. He stopped beside a dark mass which gradually took human form. He sniffed at it, turned about, took up the trail by which he had come. On the way he stopped before another man who flung both arms around him and tried to help himself up. Renni shook him off and rushed toward George who was coming to meet him
with his three helpers. Renni would not let them give first attention to the second man, as they started to do. He leaped away from him once and again till George grasped that he insisted they look first to that motionless body lying farther on.

Bending over the unconscious form, George said, “He's right. Wise Renni. This fellow is the worse case.”

It was no easy matter to bring him back to his senses. Revived at last, he stammered out that he had either fallen or been knocked down, and who knows how many soldiers had tramped over him. On his uniform they could see the marks of hob nails. Two stretcher-bearers carried him away. Then George turned to the other soldier, who had his arms stretched out. He was conscious but said he had been knocked out for a long time and had not come to till the dog had touched him. He was in a pretty bad way after all. A motor cycle had run into him from behind and gone over him. He complained about his chest.