CHAPTER II
BILLY UNEXPECTEDLY MEETS A FRIEND
GOOD-MORNING, friends!” baaed Billy. “Would you allow a tired traveler to rest under the shade of your trees, and give him a drink of water? For I am a stranger in a strange land, and have traveled far. I am an American.”
“You an American?” exclaimed the dogs in chorus.
“Now we surely are glad to meet you!” barked the big Dane. “For if there is any place on earth we dogs have longed to see, it is America. Probably you will tell us about it?”
“Yes,” said another dog. “We have heard that every dog has his day over there and many of them two or three.”
“We have also heard,” added a French poodle, “that all dogs are free over there, and can go and come as they like, and that they are never tied up, shut in a house or muzzled. Is that true?”
“Yes and no,” replied Billy. “It depends on where you live and who your master or mistress is.”
“Why, we have heard,” piped up a little black and tan, “that any dog can choose his own master or mistress, and that all he has to do if he doesn’t like them or isn’t pleased with the way they treat him is to walk off and follow the first person he sees that he thinks he would like to live with, and that they will take him home with them and feed and house him.”
“Again you are partly right and partly wrong,” replied Billy. “It depends on whom you run away from and whom you pick out to be your new master or mistress. You might happen to belong to some one who was very fond of you, though you might not be fond of them. In that case if you ran away they would advertise and try to get you back, but if you had proved yourself to be a good-for-nothing dog, they would let you go and say ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish!’ and never bother their heads about you.
“Then again you might show poor judgment in selecting a new master and choose one who did not care for dogs, and when he found you following him he might throw sticks and stones at you. So you see you can’t always be sure of changing masters successfully.”
“Did you just come from America?” asked a fourth.
“Oh, no! I have been over here nearly a year now, with the army.”
“You don’t mean to tell us that you have really and truly been with the army?”
“Surely not at the front!” added another in amazement.
“But I have!” Billy assured them. “I have crossed No-Man’s-Land many times, and been shot at and blown up once besides. See where a piece of my tail is gone? Well, I lost it at Verdun. A bomb exploded and threw me up in the air and also blew off part of my tail. I consider myself very lucky that it decided to blow a piece off that end of my body instead of the other, for if it had been my head in place of my tail, it would have killed me. I can’t get along without a head, but I can without a tail.”
“Haw! Haw! Haw!” laughed the dogs.
“You surely are a funny fellow!” said one. “Come on in and we will find something for you to eat and drink and also a place to rest. Then after you have rested, I hope you will tell us more of your experiences at the front. If you will do that, we will tell you our experiences in Paris before we left there, and we will introduce you to some of our celebrated police and Red Cross dogs who have been in the war and been wounded or gassed. They will relate some thrilling adventures and hairbreadth escapes. To-night will be a good time, after our keepers have gone to bed. Then we can sneak out under the trees in the little patch of woods behind the big stables and while you brave soldiers swap tales of the war we who have never been near the war can listen.
“There goes one of our heroes now. See that dog crossing the lawn, wearing a Red Cross bandage on his chest?”
Billy turned and took one long look at the dog. Then without a word of warning he put down his head and bounded toward him, taking ten or twelve feet at a single bound.
The dogs stood spellbound. What was the big goat going to do? Butt their wounded hero? If so, why should he wish to butt a perfectly harmless dog he had never seen before? But had he never seen him before? Perhaps they had met and fought on the battlefield and were enemies. If so, they must all run and protect their hero from the long horns of the strange goat.
But when the dogs arrived within speaking distance they were overjoyed to hear the goat baa out, “Hello, old chum! How in all that is wonderful did you get here? I heard you were dead; that you had been seen with a Red Cross ambulance which had first been gassed and then blown up by a shell. One of your friends said he saw you with his own eyes sitting in the back of the ambulance when the shell struck it, and the next thing he saw was the whole ambulance flying up in the air and then coming down in small pieces.”
“What he saw all happened. I was there and sitting in the back of the ambulance with my gas mask on, for the signal had been given for all to put on their masks, and one of the doctors with the ambulance corps had just stopped and strapped mine in place when a shell hit us, and I found myself going up in the air at the rate of about a hundred miles a minute. When I came down, my mask had been blown off my face. How it ever was done without killing me or blowing my head off I don’t know, but it was. I thought I was all right until I began to see red, and I had a queer sensation in my head as if my brain were going round and round like a cat runs after its tail. Then I could not get my breath and I fell over, giving myself up for dead. But if you will believe it, the next thing I knew I opened my eyes and found myself in a long room with two rows of beds in it, all just like baby cribs. And bending over me was a sweet-faced lady nurse. I found myself all bound up in splints and cotton batting. You see an interne to another Red Cross ambulance who had come to look for the wounded, if any had possibly survived the blow-up, had found me senseless on the ground. So he picked me up and brought me here as this hospital for dogs was on the way to the hospital where he was stationed. This is now my fourth week here, and I want to tell you that only angels in human form live here. They are so good to one! They have nursed me back to life. I was only slightly gassed and so my lungs are all healed and I am also over my shell shock. I shall likely go back to the front in another week.”
“You don’t mean that you are going back to the fighting line, do you?” asked a long white-haired collie that had fallen very much in love with the brave Red Cross dog. “Oh, why do you risk your life again?”
“Why do I risk my life?” in astonishment. “To try to save some brave soldier, whose life is a thousand times more valuable than any dog’s ever will be. Yes, I am going back and back and back as long as I have eyes, teeth or claws to go back with, until this cruel war is over.”
“Bully for you!” exclaimed Billy. “You make me feel like a slacker, getting homesick and running away from the army.”
“Well, it is not too late yet to go back. I propose that you stay here and rest until next week and then go back with me.”
“I’ll do it!” said Billy, and they rubbed noses together to seal the bargain. “I hear a bugle. What is that call for?”
“Oh, that is our supper call,” said the Red Cross dog. “When they blow the bugle all the dogs that are running loose are supposed to go to the back kitchen door. There are long troughs there in which they put our suppers. Come ahead with us, and we will give you some food. There will be plenty for all of us and for you too, for they serve very bountifully here,” and all the dogs and Billy too moved off in the direction of the kitchen.