the hound that whipped the
big bulldog at Monroe, Louisiana, two years ago. He did not see me as I
came up back of him, and as he had not even heard my voice for over
one year, I was almost childishly afraid to speak to him. But I
finally said, "Hal, you have not forgotten your old friend?" He turned
instantly, but as I put my hand upon his head there was no joyous bound
or lifting of the ears and tail--just a look of recognition, then a
raising up full length of the slender body on his back legs, and putting
a forefoot on each of my shoulders as far over as he could reach, he
gripped me tight, fairly digging his toe nails into me, and with his
head pressed close to my neck he held on and on, giving little low
whines that were more like human sobs than the cry of a dog. Of course I
had my arms around him, and of course I cried, too. It was so pitifully
distressing, for it told how keenly the poor dumb beast had suffered
during the year he had been away from us. People stared, and soon there
was a crowd about us with an abundance of curiosity. Cagey explained the
situation, and from then on to train time, Hal was patted and petted and
given dainties from lunch baskets.

He was in the car next to ours, coming out, and we saw him often. Many
times there were long runs across the plains, when the only thing to
be seen, far or near, would be the huge tanks containing water for the
engines. At one of these places, while we were getting water. Cagey
happened to be asleep, and a recruit, thinking that Hal was ill-treated
by being kept tied all the time, unfastened the chain from his collar
and led him from the car.

The first thing the dog saw was another dog, and alas! a greyhound
belonging to Ryan, an old soldier. The next thing he saw was the dear,
old, beautiful plains, for which he had pined so long and wearily. The
two dogs had never seen each other before, but hounds are clannish and
never fail to recognize their own kind, so with one or two jumps by way
of introduction, the two were off and out of sight before anyone at the
cars noticed what they were doing. I was sitting by the window in our
car and saw the dogs go over the rolling hill, and saw also that a dozen
or more soldiers were running after them. I told Faye what had happened,
and he started out and over the hill on a hard run. Time passed, and we
in the cars watched, but neither men nor dogs came back. Finally a long
whistle was blown from the engine, and in