l, and the big cement tank where Judge
Miller's boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hot
afternoon.

And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and here he
had lived the four years of his life. It was true, there were other
dogs, There could not but be other dogs on so vast a place, but they did
not count. They came and went, resided in the populous kennels, or lived
obscurely in the recesses of the house after the fashion of Toots, the
Japanese pug, or Ysabel, the Mexican hairless,--strange creatures that
rarely put nose out of doors or set foot to ground. On the other hand,
there were the fox terriers, a score of them at least, who yelped
fearful promises at Toots and Ysabel looking out of the windows at them
and protected by a legion of housemaids armed with brooms and mops.

But Buck was neither house-dog nor kennel-dog. The whole realm was his.
He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge's sons;
he escorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge's daughters, on long twilight
or early morning rambles; on wintry nights he lay at the Judge's feet
before the roaring library fire; he carried the Judge's grandsons on his
back, or rolled them in the grass, and guarded their footsteps through
wild adventures down to the fountain in the stable yard, and even
beyond, where the paddocks were, and the berry patches. Among the
terriers he stalked imperiously, and Toots and Ysabel he utterly
ignored, for he was king,--king over all creeping, crawling, flying
things of Judge Miller's place, humans included.

His father, Elmo, a huge St. Bernard, had been the Judge's inseparable
companion, and Buck bid fair to follow in the way of his father. He was
not so large,--he weighed only one hundred and forty pounds,--for his
mother, Shep, had been a Scotch shepherd dog. Nevertheless, one hundred
and forty pounds, to which was added the dignity that comes of good
living and universal respect, enabled him to carry himself in right
royal fashion. During the four years since his puppyhood he had lived
the life of a sated aristocrat; he had a fine pride in himself, was even
a trifle egotistical, as country gentlemen sometimes become because of
their insular situation. But he had saved himself by not becoming a mere
pampered house-dog. Hunting and kindred outdoor delights had kept down
the fat and hardened his muscles; and to him, as to the cold-tubbing
races, the love of water had been a tonic and a h