Seton-Thompson Ernest - (Stories about animals). Snap

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E. Seton-Thompson
Snap
History of the Bull Terrier

I

I saw him for the first time at dusk.

Early in the morning I received a telegram from my school friend Jack:

“I am sending you a wonderful puppy. Be polite to him. It's safer that way."

Jack has such a temper that he could send me a hell machine or a rabid ferret instead of a puppy, so I waited for the package with some curiosity. When it arrived, I saw that it was written: "Dangerous." From within, at the slightest movement, a grumbling growl could be heard. Peering into the hole, which had been closed up with bars, I saw, however, not a tiger cub, but only a small white bull terrier. He tried to bite me and growled grumpily all the time. Dogs growl in two ways: in a low, chesty voice - a polite warning or a dignified answer - and loudly, almost shrill - this is the last word before the attack. And the white dog growled just like that. As a dog lover, I thought I could handle any of them. Therefore, having dismissed the porter, I took out my folding knife, which successfully replaced the hammer, hatchet, tool box and poker (specialty of our company) and tore off the grate. The imp growled menacingly at every blow on the boards, and as soon as I turned the box on its side, it rushed straight to my feet. If only his paw had not become tangled in the wire mesh, I would have had a bad time - he clearly did not intend to joke. I jumped up on the table where he couldn't reach me and tried to reason with him. I have always been a supporter of talking to animals. It is my deep conviction that they capture common sense our speech and our intentions, even without understanding the words. But this puppy, apparently, considered me a hypocrite and scorned all my fawning. First he sat down under the table, vigilantly looking in all directions for a foot trying to get down. I was pretty sure that I could bring him into obedience with a look, but I could not manage to look him in the eye, and so I remained on the table. I am a cold-blooded person. After all, I am a representative of a firm that sells hardware, and our brother is generally famous for his presence of mind, second only to the gentlemen who sell ready-made clothes.

So I took out a cigar and lit it, sitting Turkish on the table, while the little despot waited at the bottom of my feet. Then I took the telegram out of my pocket and reread it: “Remarkable puppy. Be polite to him. It's safer that way." I think that my composure successfully replaced politeness in this case, for half an hour later the growling died down. After an hour, he no longer threw himself at the newspaper, carefully lowered from the table to test his feelings. It is possible that the irritation caused by the cell has subsided a little. And when I lit my third cigar, the puppy walked unhurriedly to the fireplace and lay down there, however, not forgetting me - I could not complain about that. One of his eyes followed me all the time. I followed with both eyes not for him, but for his short tail. If that tail had twitched to the side just once, I would have felt that I had won. But the tail remained motionless. I took out a book and continued to sit on the table until my legs became numb and the fire in the fireplace began to go out. By ten o'clock it became cool, and at half past ten the fire was finally extinguished. My friend's gift got to his feet and, yawning, stretching, went to me under the bed, where there was a fur rug. Easily stepping from the table to the sideboard and from the sideboard to the fireplace, I also reached the bed and, undressing without noise, managed to lie down without alarming my master. Before I had time to fall asleep, I heard a slight scratching and felt that someone was walking on the bed, then on my legs. Snap apparently found it too cold downstairs and decided to make himself as comfortable as possible.

He curled up at my feet in a very uncomfortable way for me. But it was in vain to try to get comfortable, because as soon as I tried to move, he grabbed my leg with such fury that only a thick blanket saved me from a terrible injury. A full hour passed before I managed to position my legs in such a way, moving them by a hair's breadth each time, that I could finally fall asleep. During the night I was awakened several times by the puppy's angry growling, perhaps because I dared to move my leg without his permission, but also, it seems, because I allowed myself to occasionally snore.

I wanted to get up early in the morning with Snap. You see, I called him Snap... His full name was Gingersnap. Some dogs have a hard time finding a name, while others do not have to come up with nicknames - they are somehow themselves.

“Snap, my friend, some people would educate you with a whip, but I think my plan is better. Today's doctors are recommending a system of treatment called "leaving no breakfast." I will try it on you.

It was cruel not to give him food all day, but I held my temper. He scratched the whole door, and then I had to repaint it, but in the evening he willingly agreed to take some food from my hands.

It hasn't even been a week since we were friends. Now he slept on my bed, not trying to cripple me at the slightest movement. The system of treatment called “leaving no breakfast” worked wonders, and after three months we could not be spilled with water. It also turned out that in the telegram it was not in vain that he was called a wonderful puppy.

Apparently, the feeling of fear was unfamiliar to him. When he met a small dog, he did not pay any attention to her, but as soon as he appeared healthy dog how he stretched out his thick tail like a string and began to walk around the stranger, shuffling contemptuously with his hind legs and looking at the sky, at the earth, into the distance - anywhere, with the exception of this dog, and noticing his presence only with a frequent growl on high notes. If the stranger was in no hurry to leave, the fight began. After the battle, the stranger in most cases retired with particular readiness. Snap had lost a battle, too, but no bitter experience could instill in him a shred of caution.

One day, riding in a cab during a dog show, Snap saw an elephantine St. Bernard on a walk. Its size aroused such frenzied delight in the puppy that he rushed headlong out of the carriage window and broke his leg.

He didn't know what fear was. He didn't look like any other dog I know. For example, if a boy happened to throw a stone at him, he would immediately start running, but not from the boy, but towards him. And if the boy threw a stone again, Snap immediately dealt with him, which gained universal respect. Only I and the clerk of our office were able to see his good side. Only the two of us he considered worthy of his friendship. By midsummer, Carnegie, Vanderbildt, and Astor put together couldn't have raised enough money to buy my little Snap from me.

II

Although I was not a traveling salesman, nevertheless, the firm in which I worked sent me on a trip in the fall, and Snap was left alone with the landlady. They didn't get along. He despised her, she was afraid of him, and both hated each other.

I was busy selling barbed wire in the northern states. Letters were delivered to me once a week. In her letters, my landlady constantly complained about Snap.

Arriving in Mendoza, North Dakota, I found a good market for the wire. Of course, I made the main deals with large merchants, but I also hung around among the farmers to find out their needs and requirements, and thus became acquainted with the farm of the Penroof brothers.

It is impossible to visit the area where they are engaged in cattle breeding, and not hear about the atrocities of some crafty and bloodthirsty wolf. Gone are the days when wolves were poisoned. The Penroof brothers, like all reasonable cattle breeders, abandoned poison and traps and began to train all kinds of dogs to hunt the wolf, hoping not only to rid the neighborhood of enemies, but also to have fun.

The hounds were too weak for a decisive fight, the Great Danes were too clumsy, and the greyhounds could not pursue the beast without seeing it. Each breed had some fatal flaw. The cowboys hoped to make a difference with a mixed pack, and when I was invited to hunt, I was very amused by the variety of dogs participating in it. There were a lot of bastards, but there were also purebred dogs - a few Russian wolfhounds, by the way, which must have cost a lot of money.

Gilton Penroof, the eldest of the brothers and the "head" of the local hunt, was extremely proud of them and expected great feats from them.

- Greyhounds are too pampered for wolf hunting, great danes run slowly, but you will see, shreds will fly when the wolfhounds get down to business.

Thus, the greyhounds were intended for the rut, the dogs for the reserve, and the wolfhounds for the pitched battle. In addition, two or three hounds were included in the pack, which were supposed to track down the beast with their subtle instincts if the rest lost sight of it.

It was a glorious sight as we set off between the hills on a clear October day! The air was clear and pure, and despite the late season, there was neither snow nor frost. The hunters' horses got a little excited and once or twice tried to show me how they get rid of their riders. We noticed two or three gray spots on the plain, which, according to Gilton, could be wolves or coyotes. The pack rushed off with a loud bark. But they did not succeed in catching anyone, although they rushed about until evening. Only one of the greyhounds caught up with the wolf and, having received a wound in the shoulder, lagged behind.

“It seems to me, Gilt, that your vaunted wolfhounds are of no use,” said Garvin, the youngest of the brothers. “The little black dog is much better, even though he is a simple bastard.

- I do not get it! Gilton grumbled. “Even coyotes have never been able to get away from these greyhounds, let alone wolves. The hounds are also excellent - they will follow at least a three-day trail. And dogs can even cope with a bear.

“I don’t argue,” their father said, “your dogs can chase, they can track and they can handle a bear, but the point is that they don’t want to mess with a wolf. The whole damned pack is simply a coward. I would give a lot to get back the money I paid for them.

So they quarreled and grumbled when I said goodbye to them and drove on. Apparently, the failure was due to the fact that the dogs, although they were strong and quick-footed, but the sight of the wolf, obviously, terrified them. They did not have the courage to measure their strength with him, and involuntarily my imagination carried me to the fearless dog who shared my bed during the last year. How I wish he was here! Clumsy giants would get a leader who never leaves courage.

At my next stop, in Baroque, I received letters, among which were two messages from my owner: the first stating that "that nasty dog is misbehaving in my room", the other, even more ardent, demanding the immediate removal of Snap.

“Why not release him to Mendoza? I thought. “Only twenty hours on the road. The Penroofs will be glad to have my Snap. On my way back, I'll visit them."

III

My next meeting with Gingersnap was not at all as different from the first as might have been expected. He lunged at me, pretended to want to bite, grumbled incessantly. But the grumbling was chesty, bassist, and the tail twitched intensely.

The Penroofs have been wolf-hunting several times since I visited them, and have been beside themselves with constant failure. The dogs almost every time raised the wolf, but could not finish it; the hunters were never close enough to know why they were cowardly.

Old Penroof was now fully convinced that "in all the worthless rabble there is not a single dog more courageous than a rabbit."

The next day we left at dawn. The same excellent horses, the same excellent riders, the same big gray, red and motley dogs. But, besides, we had a little white dog with us, all the time clinging to me and introducing her teeth not only to dogs, but also to horses, when they dared to approach me. Snap seems to have quarreled with every man, dog, and horse in the neighborhood. We stopped at the flat top of a large hill. Suddenly Gilton, surveying the neighborhood through binoculars, exclaimed:

- I see him! Here he is running to the stream, Skell. It must be a coyote.

Now it was necessary to force the greyhounds to see the prey. This is not an easy task, as they cannot look through binoculars, and the plain was covered with polynya higher than a dog's height.

Then Gilton called: "Here, Dunder!" and put his foot forward. With one nimble leap, Dander swung up into the saddle and stood there, balanced on the horse, while Gilton insistently pointed out to him:

“Here he is, Dander, look!” Bite it, there, there!

Dander stared intensely at the point indicated by the owner, then he must have seen something, for with a slight yelp he jumped to the ground and began to run. Other dogs followed him. We hurried after them, however, lagging far behind, as our path was hampered by ravines, badger holes, stones and high sagebrush. Too fast jump could end sadly.

So we all fell behind; I, a man unaccustomed to the saddle, lagged behind the most. From time to time dogs flashed ahead, now racing across the plain, now flying into a ravine in order to immediately appear on its other slope. The acknowledged leader was the greyhound Dunder, and, climbing the next ridge, we saw the whole picture of the hunt: a coyote flying at a gallop, and dogs running a quarter of a mile behind, but apparently overtaking him. When we are in next time saw them, the coyote was lifeless and all the dogs were sitting around him, except for two hounds and Gingersnap.

- Too late to fight! Gilton remarked, glancing at the lagging hounds. Then he proudly patted Dander: “After all, as you can see, your puppy was not needed!”

- Tell me, please, what courage: ten big dogs attacked a little coyote! Father remarked mockingly. “Wait, let us meet the wolf!”

The next day we went hunting again. Climbing up the hill, we saw a moving gray dot.

A moving white dot means an antelope, a red dot means a fox, and a gray dot means a wolf or coyote. Whether it's a wolf or a coyote is determined by the tail. The lowered tail belongs to the coyote, raised up - to the hated wolf.

Like yesterday, Dander was shown the prey, and, like yesterday, he led a motley pack of greyhounds, wolfhounds, hounds, great danes, bull terriers and riders. For a moment we saw the pursuit: without a doubt, ahead of the dogs, a wolf was moving in long leaps. For some reason it seemed to me that the front dogs were not running as fast as when they were chasing the coyote. What happened next, no one saw. The dogs came back one by one, and the wolf disappeared.

Now ridicule and reproach rained down on the dogs.

- Eh! They chickened out, they just chickened out! said old Penroof with disgust. - They could easily catch up with him, but as soon as he turned on them, they fled. Ugh!

– And where is the incomparable, fearless and heroic terrier? Gilton asked contemptuously.

“I don't know,” I said. - Most likely, he did not see the wolf. But if he ever does, I bet he will choose victory or death.

That night the wolves slaughtered several cows near the farm, and we went hunting again.

It began in much the same way as the day before. By evening, we saw a gray fellow with a raised tail not more than half a mile away. Gilton put Dunder on the saddle. I followed his example and called Snap. His legs were so short that he could not jump onto the horse's back. Finally he climbed up with the help of my leg. I showed him the wolf and repeated: “Bite, bite!” - until he finally noticed the beast and rushed at full speed in pursuit of the greyhounds already running.

The chase was this time not through the bushes in the river valley, but across open country. We all climbed the tableland together and saw the pursuit just at the moment when Dander overtook the wolf and tried to grab him by the hind leg. Gray turned to him for a fight, and we perfectly saw everything that followed. The dogs ran up in twos and threes, surrounding the wolf in a ring, barking at him until the last white dog swooped down. This one did not waste time barking, but rushed straight to the wolf's throat, but missed and only managed to grab his nose. Then ten large dogs closed over the wolf, and two minutes later he was dead. We raced at a gallop so as not to miss the denouement, and although from a distance, we clearly saw that Snap had justified my recommendation and laudatory telegram.

Now it's my turn to celebrate. Snap showed them how to catch wolves, and at last the Mendoza pack finished off the wolf without the help of people.

However, two circumstances somewhat overshadowed the joy of victory. First, it was a young wolf, almost a wolf cub. That is why he foolishly ran across the plain. And secondly, Snap was injured - the wolf hit his shoulder badly.

As we walked proudly back, I noticed that he was limping.

- Here! I shouted. - Snap, Snap!

He tried twice to jump on the saddle, but could not.

“Give it to me here, Gilton,” I said.

- Thank you very much. You can handle your own rattlesnake,” Gilton replied, since everyone now knew that it was not safe to mess with Snap.

“Here, Snap, take it!” I said, holding out the whip to him. He seized it with his teeth, and in this way I lifted him onto the saddle and brought him home. I took care of him like a child. He showed these pastoralists who was missing in their pack. Hounds have beautiful noses, greyhounds have quick legs, wolfhounds and great danes are strong men, but they are all worthless, because only the bull terrier has selfless courage. On this day, the herdsmen solved the wolf question, as you can easily see if you visit Mendoza, for each of the local packs now has its own bull terrier, for the most part of Snapomendoza blood.

IV

The next day was the anniversary of my Snap. The weather was clear and sunny. There was no snow yet. We again gathered for the wolf hunt. To everyone's dismay, Snap felt unwell. He slept, as usual, at my feet, and there were traces of blood on the blanket. He, of course, could not participate in the persecution. We decided to go without him. He was lured into a barn and locked there. Then we set off on our journey, but I was tormented by a premonition of evil. I knew that without my dog we would fail, but I didn't imagine how great she would be.

We had already climbed far, wandering among the hills, when suddenly flashing in the wormwood, a white ball rushed after us after us. A minute later, Snap ran up to my horse, grumbling and wagging his tail. I couldn't send him back because he wouldn't listen for anything. His wound looked bad. Calling him, I handed him the whip and lifted him into the saddle. “Here,” I thought, “you will sit until you return home.” But it was not there. Gilton's cry of "atu, atu!" informed us that he had seen a wolf. Dunder and Ryle, his rival, both rushed forward, collided, and sprawled on the ground together. In the meantime, Snape, looking sharply, spotted the wolf, and before I could look back, he had already jumped off the saddle and zigzagged up and down - through the sagebrush, under the sagebrush, straight at the enemy. Within a few minutes he led the whole pack. Not for long, of course. The big greyhounds saw a moving dot, and a long line of dogs stretched across the plain. The persecution promised to be interesting, since the wolf was very close and all the dogs rushed at full speed.

- They turned into the Bear's ravine! Garvin called out. - Behind me! We can get ahead of them!

And we, turning, quickly galloped up the northern slope of the hill, while the pursuit, apparently, moved along the southern slope.

We climbed the ridge and were about to descend when Gilton called out:

- He is here! We ran right into it.

Gilton jumped off his horse, dropped the reins, and ran forward. I did the same. Towards us across the open meadow, waddling, rushed a big wolf. Its head was lowered, its tail stretched out in a straight line, and fifty paces behind him dashed Dunder, twice as fast as the wolf. A minute later, the greyhound overtook him and was already baring his teeth, but backed away as soon as the wolf turned to him. They were now just below us, no more than fifty pounds away. Garvin drew his revolver, but Gilton unfortunately stopped him:

- No no! Let's see what will happen.

A moment later, the second greyhound rushed in, then one after the other and the rest of the dogs. Each rushed, burning with rage and thirst for blood, ready to immediately tear the gray apart. But each in turn retreated and began to bark at a safe distance. Two minutes later, the wolfhounds arrived in time - glorious, beautiful dogs. Approaching, they no doubt wanted to rush straight at the gray wolf. But his fearless appearance, muscular chest, deadly jaws frightened them long before they met him, and they also joined the general circle, while the gray robber turned now to one side, then to the other, ready to fight with each of them and with all together.

Here came the great danes, overweight creatures, each of the same weight as a wolf. Their heavy breathing turned into a menacing wheeze as they advanced, ready to rip the wolf to shreds. But as soon as they saw him close - gloomy, fearless, with powerful jaws, with tireless paws, ready to die if necessary, but confident that he would not die alone - these big dogs, all three, felt, like the rest, a sudden surge of shyness: yes, yes, they will attack him after a while, not now, but as soon as they catch their breath. Of course, they are not afraid of the wolf. Their voices sounded bold. They knew very well that the first one to show up would be unhappy, but it's all the same, just not now. They bark a little more to cheer themselves up.

As the ten great dogs darted idly around the silent beast, there was a rustle in the sagebrush behind them. Then a snow-white rubber ball appeared in leaps and bounds, which soon turned into a small bull terrier. Snap, the slowest and smallest of the pack, came running, panting so hard he looked like he was choking, and flew right up to the ring around the predator that no one dared to fight. Did he hesitate? Not for a moment. Through the ring of barking dogs, he rushed forward to the old despot of the hills, preparing to grab him by the throat. And the wolf struck him with all twenty of his daggers. However, the kid rushed at him a second time, and what happened then is hard to say. The dogs mixed up. It seemed to me that I saw how a small white dog grabbed the nose of a wolf, which was now attacked by the whole pack. We couldn't help the dogs, but they didn't need us either. They had a leader of invincible courage, and when the battle was finally over, a wolf lay on the ground in front of us - a mighty giant - and a white dog clutching its nose.

We stood around ready to intervene but unable to do so. At last it was all over: the wolf was dead. I called out to Snap, but he didn't move. I leaned towards him.

"Snap, Snap, it's over, you killed him!" But the dog was motionless. Now I only saw two deep wounds on his body. I tried to lift him up: - Let go, old man, it's over!

He grunted weakly and released the wolf.

Rough stockmen knelt around him, and old Penroof muttered in a trembling voice:

“It would be better if I lost twenty bulls!”

I took Snap in my arms, called him by name and stroked his head. He grunted slightly, apparently in parting, licked my hand and fell silent forever.

Sadly we returned home. We had the skin of a monstrous wolf with us, but it could not console us. We buried the fearless Snap on the hill behind the farm. At the same time, I heard Penroof, who was standing nearby, mutter:

- This is really brave! You won't get far in our cause without courage.

Once a hunter received a puppy as a gift from his friend. Having freed the dog from the parcel box, the man immediately had to jump onto the table, as the little bull terrier was very aggressive. He had to sit there for a long time until the puppy decided to move to the fireplace. When the fire went out, the little aggressor went under the bed. With all the precautions, the hunter got to the bed, and quietly lay down on the bed. The puppy climbed onto the bed, and settled down at the feet of the man. As soon as he wanted to move or began to snore, the bull terrier furiously dug his teeth into his leg.

In the morning the owner had to get up at the time when the puppy wanted it. Hunter named him Snap. He immediately decided to start raising a dog. The puppy spent the whole day without food, but in the evening Snap took food from the hands of the owner. Such an upbringing was beneficial, and after a few days the hunter and his pupil became real friends.

The puppy was not like other dogs, he fearlessly rushed at huge dogs, and did not at all look at small dogs. With his pressure and fury, Snap turned opponents to flight, and when he was defeated, this did not teach him anything, the puppy next time again rushed into battle. The brave man also behaved with children if they threw stones at him. For the owner, this fearless puppy has become priceless.

Once a man was sent on a long business trip on company business, and the puppy had to be left in the care of the landlady. The hostess in letters complained about the little prankster, with whom they did not find a common language, and treated each other with hatred.

During the trip, the hunter met the farmers of Penroof, who are engaged in cattle breeding. The hero learned that wolves were atrocious on the territory of their farm. There was no control over the wolves, and the breeders used dogs of different breeds to exterminate the wolves. In order to drive the predators, greyhounds were used, and the wolfhounds had to deal with the wolves, the Great Danes remained for the reserve. Having gone hunting with brothers-farmers, the hunter was convinced that all dogs are simply afraid of the wolf, and at the slightest danger they leave the battlefield.

The landlady, meanwhile, sent Snap to his landlord. On the next hunt, the cowboys took a bull terrier with them. The bullying began. The dogs surrounded the wolf, but did not attack him. And then a small fearless puppy flew out. Wasting no time, the dog rushed at the wolf and grabbed the nose of the predator. Then the rest of the dogs joined in, and the victory over the beast was won. Snap suffered in this battle, he had a severe wound on his shoulder.

The next day, the cowboys went hunting again. The wounded puppy was left at home, but he managed to get out of the barn and caught up with the hunters. Seeing the wolf, the little brave man rushed forward, dragging the whole pack of dogs with him. Without thinking, Snap lunged at the huge wolf. The wolf hit the puppy with all his fangs, but this did not cool his ardor. The bull terrier rushed again and grabbed the wolf's nose. The dogs have completed their work. The battle was over, the seasoned wolf and the puppy were left lying on the ground. Snap managed to lick his owner's hand and died.

The story teaches devotion and loyalty.

Picture or drawing Seton-Thompson - Snap

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HISTORY OF THE BULL TERRIER

I
I saw him for the first time at dusk.

Early in the morning I received a telegram from my school friend Jack:
"I am sending you a wonderful puppy. Be polite to him. He does not like impolite people."
Jack has such a temper that he could send me a hell machine or a rabid ferret instead of a puppy, so I waited for the package with some curiosity. When it arrived, I saw that it was written: "Dangerous." From inside, at the slightest movement, a grumbling screeching could be heard. Peering through the barred hole, I saw not a tiger cub, but only a small white bull terrier. He tried to bite me and growled grumpily all the time. His growl was unpleasant to me. Dogs can growl in two ways: a low, chesty voice is a polite warning or a dignified answer, and a loud, high-pitched grunt is the last word before an attack. As a dog lover, I thought I could manage them. Therefore, dismissing the porter, I took out a penknife, a hammer, an hatchet, a toolbox, a poker and tore off the grate. The little imp snarled menacingly at every blow of the hammer, and as soon as I turned the box on its side, it rushed right at my feet. If only his paw hadn't got tangled in the wire mesh, I would have had a bad time. I jumped up on the table where he couldn't reach me and tried to reason with him. I have always been a supporter of talking to animals. I claim that they catch the general sense of our speech and our intentions, even if they do not understand the words. But this puppy, apparently, considered me a hypocrite and disdainfully reacted to my fawning. First he sat down under the table, vigilantly looking in all directions for a foot trying to get down. I was pretty sure that I could bring him into obedience with a look, but I could not manage to look him in the eye, and so I remained on the table. I am a cold-blooded person. After all, I am a representative of a company that sells iron goods, and our brother is generally famous for his presence of mind, second only to the gentlemen who sell ready-made clothes.
So I took out a cigar and lit it, sitting Turkish on the table, while the little despot waited at the bottom of my feet. Then I took out a telegram from my pocket and reread it: "A wonderful puppy. Be polite to him. He does not like impolite people." I think that my composure successfully replaced politeness in this case, for half an hour later the growling died down. After an hour, he no longer threw himself at the newspaper, carefully lowered from the table to test his feelings. It is possible that the irritation caused by the cell has subsided a little. And when I lit my third cigar, he hobbled over to the fire and lay down there, not forgetting me, though - I couldn't complain about that. One of his eyes followed me all the time. I followed with both eyes not for him, but for his short tail. If that tail had twitched to the side even once, I would have felt that I had won. But the tail remained motionless. I took out a book and continued to sit on the table until my legs were numb and the fire in the fireplace began to go out. By ten o'clock it became cool, and at half past ten the fire was completely out. My friend's gift got to his feet and, yawning, stretching, went to me under the bed, where there was a fur rug. Easily stepping from the table to the sideboard and from the sideboard to the fireplace, I also reached the bed and, undressing without noise, managed to lie down without alarming my master. Before I had time to fall asleep, I heard a slight scratching and felt that someone was walking on the bed, then on my legs. Snap* apparently found it too cold downstairs.

* Snap (snap) means "grab", "click".

He curled up at my feet in a very uncomfortable way for me. But it would be in vain to try to get comfortable, because as soon as I tried to move, he grabbed my leg with such fury that only a thick blanket saved me from serious injury.
A full hour passed before I managed to position my legs in such a way, moving them by a hair's breadth each time, that I could finally fall asleep. During the night I was awakened several times by the angry growling of the puppy, perhaps because I dared to move my leg without his permission, but also, it seems, because I allowed myself to snore from time to time.
In the morning I wanted to get up before Snap. You see, I named him Snap... His full name was Gingersnap*. Some dogs have a hard time finding a nickname, while others do not have to come up with nicknames - they are somehow themselves.

* Gingersnap - (gmgersnap) - crispy gingerbread gingerbread.

So, I wanted to get up at seven o'clock. Snap preferred to delay getting up until eight, so we got up at eight. He let me light the fire and let me get dressed without once driving me onto the table. Leaving the room and getting ready to have breakfast, I noticed:
“Snap, my friend, some people would educate you by beatings, but I think my plan is better. Today's doctors are recommending a system of treatment called "leaving no breakfast." I will try it on you.
It was cruel to not give him food all day, but I held my temper. He scratched the whole door, and then I had to repaint it, but in the evening he willingly agreed to take some food from my hands.
It hadn't even been a week since we were friends. Now he slept on my bed, not trying to cripple me at the slightest movement. The treatment system called “leaving no breakfast” worked wonders, and after three months we could not be spilled with water.
He seemed to be unfamiliar with fear. When he met a small dog, he did not pay any attention to her, but as soon as a healthy dog appeared, he stretched his chopped off tail with a string and began to walk around him, shuffling contemptuously with his hind legs and looking at the sky, at the earth, into the distance - anywhere, with the exception of the stranger himself, noticing his presence only with frequent, high-pitched growls. If the stranger was in no hurry to leave, the fight began. After the battle, the stranger in most cases retired with particular readiness. There were times when Snap was beaten, but no bitter experience could inspire even a shred of caution in him.
One day, riding in a cab during a dog show, Snap saw an elephantine St. Bernard on a walk. His size aroused the delight of the puppy, he rushed headlong out of the carriage window and broke his leg.
He had no sense of fear. He didn't look like any other dog I know. For example, if a boy happened to throw a stone at him, he would immediately start running, not from the boy, but towards him. And if the boy threw a stone again, Snap immediately dealt with him, which gained universal respect. Only I and the clerk of our office were able to see his good side. Only the two of us he considered worthy of his friendship. By mid-summer, Carnegie, Vanderbilt, and Astor, combined, couldn't have raised enough money to buy my little Snap from me.

* Three American billionaires.

II
Although I was not a traveling salesman, nevertheless, my firm, in which I worked, sent me on a trip in the fall, and Snap was left alone with the landlady. They didn't get along. He despised her, she was afraid of him, they both hated each other.
I was busy selling wire in the northern states. Letters addressed to me were delivered to me once a week. In these letters, my landlady constantly complained to me about Snap.
Arriving in Mendoza, North Dakota, I found a good market for the wire. Of course, I made the main deals with big merchants, but I hung around among the farmers to get practical instructions from them, and thus became acquainted with the farm of the Penroof brothers.
It is impossible to visit the area where they are engaged in cattle breeding, and not hear about the atrocities of some crafty and deadly wolf. Gone are the days when wolves were poisoned. The Penroof brothers, like all reasonable cowboys, abandoned poison and traps and began to train various kinds of dogs to hunt the wolf, hoping not only to rid the neighborhood of enemies, but also to have fun.
The hounds were too good-natured for a decisive fight, the great danes were too clumsy, and the greyhounds could not pursue the beast without seeing it. Each breed had some fatal flaw. The cowboys hoped to make a difference with a mixed pack, and when I was invited to hunt, I was very amused by the variety of dogs participating in it. There were a lot of bastards there, but there were also purebred dogs - by the way, a few Russian wolfhounds, which must have cost a lot of money.
Gilton Penroof, the eldest of the brothers, was extraordinarily proud of them and expected great deeds from them.
- Greyhounds are too thin-skinned for wolf hunting, Great Danes - they run slowly, but, you will see, shreds will fly when my wolfhounds intervene.
Thus, greyhounds were intended for the rut, great danes - for the reserve, and wolfhounds - for the pitched battle. In addition, two or three hounds were in store, which were supposed to track down the beast with their subtle instincts if they lost sight of it.
It was a glorious sight as we set off between the hills on a clear October day! The air was clear and pure, and despite the late season, there was neither snow nor frost. The cowboy horses got a little excited and once or twice showed me how they get rid of their riders.
We noticed two or three gray spots on the plain, which were, according to Gilton, wolves or jackals. The pack rushed off with a loud bark. But they did not succeed in catching anyone, although they rushed about until evening. Only one of the greyhounds caught up with the wolf and, having received a wound in the shoulder, lagged behind.
“It seems to me, Gilt, that your wolfhounds will be of little use,” said Garvin, the youngest of the brothers. - I'm ready to stand for the little black dog against everyone else, although he is a simple bastard.
- I do not get it! Gilton grumbled. “Even jackals have never been able to get away from these greyhounds, let alone wolves. The hounds - also excellent - will track down at least a three-day trail. And dogs can even cope with a bear.
- I do not argue, - said the father, - your dogs can drive, they can track and they can deal with a bear, but the fact is that they are reluctant to mess with a wolf. The whole damned pack is simply a coward. I would give a lot to get back the money I paid for them.
That was how they interpreted it when I said goodbye to them and went on my way.
Greyhounds were strong and quick-footed, but the sight of a wolf obviously terrified all dogs. They did not have the heart to face him, and involuntarily my imagination carried me to the fearless puppy who had shared my bed for the last year. How I wish he was here! Clumsy giants would get a leader who never leaves courage.
At my next stop, in Baroque, I received a packet in the mail containing two messages from my owner: the first stating that "that mean dog is misbehaving in my room," the other, even more ardently, demanding the immediate removal of Snap.
"Why not send him to Mendoza?" I thought. "Only twenty hours' journey. The Penroofs will be glad to have my Snap."

III
My next meeting with Gingersnap was not at all as different from the first as might have been expected. He lunged at me, pretended to want to bite, grumbled incessantly. But the grumbling was chesty, bassist, and the stump of the tail twitched intensely.
The Penroofs have been wolf-hunting several times since I lived with them, and have been beside themselves with constant failure. The dogs almost every time picked up the wolf, but could not finish it, and the hunters were never close enough to find out why they were cowardly.
Old Penroof was now fully convinced that "in all the worthless rabble there is not a single dog capable of competing even with a rabbit."
The next day we went out at dawn - the same good horses, the same excellent riders, the same big gray, yellow and pockmarked dogs. But, besides, we had a little white dog with us, all the time clinging to me and introducing her teeth not only to dogs, but also to horses, when they dared to approach me. Snap seems to have quarreled with every man, dog, and horse in the neighborhood.
We stopped at the top of a large flat-headed hill. Suddenly, Gilton, who was examining the surroundings through binoculars, exclaimed:
- I see him! Here he is going to the stream, Skell. It must be a jackal.
Now it was necessary to force the greyhounds to see the prey. This is not an easy task, as they cannot look through binoculars, and the plain is covered with bushes taller than a dog.
Then Gilton called: "Here, Dunder!" - and put his foot forward. With one nimble leap, Dander swung up into the saddle and stood there, balanced on the horse, while Gilton insistently pointed out to him:
- There he is, Dander, look! Bite it, bite it, there, there!
Dander stared intensely at the point indicated by the owner, then he must have seen something, for with a slight yelp he jumped to the ground and began to run. Other dogs followed him. We hurried after them, however, lagging far behind, as the soil was pitted with ravines, badger holes, covered with stones, bushes. Too fast jump could end sadly.
So we all fell behind; I, a man unaccustomed to the saddle, lagged behind the most. From time to time dogs flashed by, now galloping across the plain, now flying into the ravine, in order to immediately appear on the other side. The recognized leader was the Dunderhound, and as we climbed the next ridge we saw the whole picture of the hunt: the jackal flying at a gallop, the dogs running a quarter of a mile behind, but apparently overtaking him. The next time we saw them, the jackal was lifeless, and all the dogs were sitting around him, except for two hounds and Gingerenape.
- Late to the feast! Gilton remarked, looking at the lagging hounds. Then he proudly patted Dander: - Still, as you can see, your puppy was not needed!
- Tell me, please, what courage: ten big dogs attacked a little jackal! - mockingly remarked the father. - Wait, let us meet the wolf.
The next day we set off again.
Climbing up the hill, we saw a moving gray dot. A moving white dot means an antelope, a red dot means a fox, and a gray dot means a wolf or jackal. A wolf or a jackal, determined by the tail. The hanging tail belongs to the jackal, raised up - to the hated wolf.
Like yesterday, Dander was shown the prey, and, like yesterday, he led a motley flock - greyhounds, wolfhounds, hounds, great danes, bull terriers and riders. For a moment we saw the chase: no doubt it was a wolf moving in long leaps ahead of the dogs. For some reason it seemed to me that the leading dogs did not run as fast as when they were chasing the jackal. What happened next, no one saw. The dogs came back one by one, and the wolf disappeared.
Ridicule and reproaches now rained down on the dogs.
- Eh! They chickened out, they just chickened out! said the father in disgust. - Freely could catch up with him, but as soon as he turned on them, they fled. Ugh!
- And where is he, the incomparable, fearless terrier? asked Gilton contemptuously.
“I don't know,” I said. - Most likely, he did not see the wolf. But if he ever does, I bet he'll choose victory or death.
That night, a wolf slaughtered several cows near the farm, and we once again equipped ourselves for hunting.
It started about the same as the day before. It was already well after noon that we saw a gray fellow with a raised tail not more than half a mile away. Gilton put Dunder on the saddle. I followed his example and called Snap. His legs were so short that he could not jump onto the horse's back. Finally he climbed up with the help of my leg. I showed him the wolf and repeated "Bite, bite!" until he finally spotted the beast and rushed at full speed after the greyhounds already running.
The chase was this time not over bushes, along the river, but over an open plain. We all climbed up the tableland together and saw the pursuit just at the moment when Dander overtook the wolf and barked behind him. The Gray turned to him for battle, and a glorious sight appeared before us. The dogs ran up in twos and threes, surrounding the wolf in a ring and barking at him, until the last one swooped down was a small white dog. This one did not waste time barking, but rushed straight to the wolf's throat, missed, but managed to grab onto his nose. Then ten large dogs closed in on the wolf, and two minutes later he was dead. We raced at a gallop so as not to miss the denouement, and although from a distance, we clearly saw that Snap had justified my recommendation.
Now it's my turn to brag. Snap showed them how to catch wolves, and at last the Mendoza pack finished off the wolf without the help of people.
There were two circumstances that somewhat overshadowed the triumph of victory: firstly, it was a young wolf, almost a wolf cub. That is why he foolishly ran across the plain. And secondly, Snap was injured - he had a deep scratch on his shoulder.
As we started back triumphantly, I noticed that he was limping.
- Here! I shouted. - Over here, Snap! He tried twice to jump on the saddle, but could not.
“Give it to me here, Gilton,” I said.
- Thank you very much. You can handle your own rattlesnake,” Gilton replied, since everyone now knew that it was not safe to mess with Snap.
- Here, Snap, take it! I said, holding out the whip to him. He seized it with his teeth, and in this way I lifted him onto the saddle and brought him home. I took care of him like a child. He showed these cowboys who was missing in their pack. Hounds have beautiful noses, greyhounds have fast legs, wolfhounds and great danes are strong men, but they are all worthless, because only the bull terrier has courage. On this day, the cowboys solved the wolf question, which you will see for yourself if you visit Mendoza, for each of the local packs now has its own bull terrier.

IV
The next day was the anniversary of my Snap. The weather was clear and sunny. There was no snow yet. Cowboys again gathered for the wolf hunt. To everyone's dismay, Snap's wound did not heal. He slept, as usual, at my feet, and traces of blood remained on the blanket. He, of course, could not participate in the persecution. We decided to go without him. He was lured into a barn and locked there. Then we hit the road. Everyone felt bad for some reason. I knew that without my dog we would fail, but I didn't imagine how great she would be.
We had already climbed far, wandering among the hills, when suddenly, flashing in the bushes, a white ball rushed after us. A minute later, Snap ran up to my horse, grumbling and waving the stump of his tail. I couldn't send him back because he wouldn't listen for anything. His wound looked bad. Calling him, I handed him the whip and lifted him into the saddle. "Here," I thought, "you will sit until you return home." But it was not there. Gilton's cry "Atu, atu!" informed us that he saw a wolf. Dunder and Ryle, his rival, both rushed forward, collided and fell together, sprawling on the ground. In the meantime, Snap, looking sharply, spotted the wolf, and before I could look back, he had already jumped off the saddle and zigzagged, up, down, over the bush, under the bush, straight at the enemy. Within a few minutes he led the whole pack. Not for long, of course. The big greyhounds saw a moving dot, and a long line of dogs stretched across the plain. The persecution promised to be interesting, since the wolf was very close and the dogs rushed at full speed.
- They turned into the Bear's ravine! shouted Garvin. - Behind me! We can get ahead of them!
So we turned back and galloped quickly up the north slope of the hill, while the chase seemed to be moving along the south slope.
We climbed up the ridge and were getting ready to go down when Gilton called out:
- He is here! We ran right into it.
Gilton jumped off his horse, dropped the reins, and ran forward. I did the same. A large wolf was running towards us across the open meadow, waddling. Its head was lowered, its tail stretched out in a straight line, and fifty paces behind him rushed Dunder, rushing like a hawk above the ground, twice as fast as a wolf. A minute later, the greyhound overtook him and barked, but backed away as soon as the wolf turned to him. They were now just below us, no more than fifty feet away. Garvin took out a revolver, but Gilton, unfortunately, stopped him:
- No no! Let's see what will happen. A moment later, the second greyhound rushed in, then one after the other and the rest of the dogs. Each rushed, burning with rage and thirst for blood, ready to immediately tear the gray apart. But each in turn stepped aside and began to bark at a safe distance. Two minutes later, the Russian wolfhounds arrived - glorious, beautiful dogs. From a distance, no doubt, they wanted to rush straight at the old wolf. But his fearless appearance, muscular neck, deadly jaws frightened them long before they met him, and they also joined the general circle, while the hunted bandit turned first to one side, then to the other, ready to fight with each of them and with all together.
Then the great danes appeared, heavy creatures, each of the same weight as a wolf. Their heavy breathing turned into a menacing wheeze as they advanced, ready to tear the wolf to shreds. But as soon as they saw him close - gloomy, fearless, with powerful jaws, with tireless paws, ready to die if necessary, but confident that he would not die alone - these big dogs, all three, felt, like the rest, a sudden surge of shyness: yes, yes, they will attack him after a while, not now, but as soon as they catch their breath. Of course, they are not afraid of the wolf. Their voices sounded bold. They knew well that the first one to turn up would be bad luck, but it's all the same, just not now. They bark a little more to cheer themselves up.
As ten great dogs darted idly around the silent beast, a rustle was heard in the distant bushes. Then a snow-white rubber ball rushed past, soon turning into a small bull terrier. Snap, running slowly and the smallest of the pack, came running, panting so hard that he seemed to be suffocating, and flew right to the ring around the predator, which no one dared to fight. Did he hesitate? Not for a moment. Through the ring of barking dogs, he rushed straight to the old despot of the hills, aiming straight for the throat. And the wolf struck him with a sweep of his twenty fangs. However, the kid rushed at him a second time, and what happened then is hard to say. The dogs mixed up. It seemed to me that I saw how a small white dog grabbed the nose of a wolf, which was now attacked by the whole pack. We couldn't help the dogs, but they didn't need us either. They had a leader of indomitable courage, and when the battle was finally over, a wolf lay on the ground in front of us - a mighty giant - and a small white dog clinging to his nose.
We stood around ready to intervene but unable to do so. At last it was all over: the wolf was dead. I called out to Snap, but he didn't move. I leaned towards him.
- Snap, Snap, it's over, you killed him! But the dog was motionless. Now I only saw two deep wounds on his body. I tried to lift him up: - Let go, old man: it's all over!
He grunted weakly and released the wolf.
Rough stockmen knelt around him, and old Penroof muttered in a trembling voice:
- It would be better if I lost twenty bulls! I took Snap in my arms, called him by name and stroked his head. He grunted slightly, evidently in farewell, licked my hand, and fell silent forever.
Sadly we returned home. We had the skin of a monstrous wolf with us, but it could not console us. We buried the fearless Snap on the hill behind the farm. At the same time, I heard Penroof, who was standing nearby, mutter:
- That's really brave! You won't get far in our cause without courage.

)

E. Seton-Thompson Snap History of the Bull Terrier

I

I saw him for the first time at dusk.

Early in the morning I received a telegram from my school friend Jack:

“I am sending you a wonderful puppy. Be polite to him. It's safer that way."

Jack has such a temper that he could send me a hell machine or a rabid ferret instead of a puppy, so I waited for the package with some curiosity. When it arrived, I saw that it was written: "Dangerous." From within, at the slightest movement, a grumbling growl could be heard. Peering into the hole, which had been closed up with bars, I saw, however, not a tiger cub, but only a small white bull terrier. He tried to bite me and growled grumpily all the time. Dogs growl in two ways: in a low, chesty voice - this is a polite warning or a dignified answer - and loudly, almost shrill - this is the last word before the attack. And the white dog growled just like that. As a dog lover, I thought I could handle any of them. Therefore, dismissing the porter, I took out my folding knife, which successfully replaced the hammer, hatchet, tool box and poker (specialty of our company) and tore off the grate. The imp growled menacingly at every blow on the boards, and as soon as I turned the box on its side, it rushed straight to my feet. If only his paw hadn't got tangled in the wire mesh, I would have had a bad time - he clearly didn't mean to joke. I jumped up on the table where he couldn't reach me and tried to reason with him. I have always been a supporter of talking to animals. In my deep conviction, they catch the general meaning of our speech and our intentions, even if they do not even understand the words. But this puppy, apparently, considered me a hypocrite and scorned all my fawning. First he sat down under the table, vigilantly looking in all directions for a foot trying to get down. I was pretty sure that I could bring him into obedience with a look, but I could not manage to look him in the eye, and so I remained on the table. I am a cold-blooded person. After all, I am a representative of a company that sells hardware, and our brother is generally famous for his presence of mind, second only to the gentlemen who sell ready-made clothes.

So I took out a cigar and lit it, sitting Turkish on the table, while the little despot waited at the bottom of my feet. Then I took the telegram out of my pocket and reread it: “Remarkable puppy. Be polite to him. It's safer that way." I think that my composure successfully replaced politeness in this case, for half an hour later the growling died down. After an hour, he no longer threw himself at the newspaper, carefully lowered from the table to test his feelings. It is possible that the irritation caused by the cell has subsided a little. And when I lit my third cigar, the puppy walked leisurely to the fireplace and lay down there, however, not forgetting me - I could not complain about that. One of his eyes followed me all the time. I followed with both eyes not for him, but for his short tail. If that tail had twitched to the side just once, I would have felt that I had won. But the tail remained motionless. I took out a book and continued to sit on the table until my legs became numb and the fire in the fireplace began to go out. By ten o'clock it became cool, and at half past ten the fire was finally extinguished. My friend's gift got to his feet and, yawning, stretching, went to me under the bed, where there was a fur rug. Easily stepping from the table to the sideboard and from the sideboard to the fireplace, I also reached the bed and, undressing without noise, managed to lie down without alarming my master. Before I had time to fall asleep, I heard a slight scratching and felt that someone was walking on the bed, then on my legs. Snap apparently found it too cold downstairs and decided to make himself as comfortable as possible.

He curled up at my feet in a very uncomfortable way for me. But it was in vain to try to get comfortable, because as soon as I tried to move, he grabbed my leg with such fury that only a thick blanket saved me from a terrible injury. A full hour passed before I managed to position my legs in such a way, moving them by a hair's breadth each time, that I could finally fall asleep. During the night I was awakened several times by the puppy's angry growl, perhaps because I dared to move my leg without his permission, but also, it seems, because I allowed myself to snore from time to time.

Snap, my friend, some people would discipline you with a whip, but I think my plan is better. Today's doctors are recommending a system of treatment called "leaving no breakfast." I will try it on you.

It was cruel not to give him food all day, but I held my temper. He scratched the whole door, and then I had to repaint it, but in the evening he willingly agreed to take some food from my hands.

Apparently, the feeling of fear was unfamiliar to him. When he met a small dog, he did not pay any attention to her, but as soon as a healthy dog appeared, he stretched out his thick tail like a string and began to walk around the stranger, shuffling contemptuously with his hind legs and looking at the sky, at the earth, into the distance - anywhere, except for this dog, and noticing his presence only by frequent growling at high notes. If the stranger was in no hurry to leave, the fight began. After the battle, the stranger in most cases retired with particular readiness. Snap had lost a battle, too, but no bitter experience could instill in him a shred of caution.

II

I was busy selling barbed wire in the northern states. Letters were delivered to me once a week. In her letters, my landlady constantly complained about Snap.

The hounds were too weak for a decisive fight, the Great Danes were too clumsy, and the greyhounds could not pursue the beast without seeing it. Each breed had some fatal flaw. The cowboys hoped to make a difference with a mixed pack, and when I was invited to hunt, I was very amused by the variety of dogs participating in it. There were a lot of bastards there, but there were also purebred dogs - by the way, a few Russian wolfhounds, which must have cost a lot of money.

Gilton Penroof, the eldest of the brothers and the "head" of the local hunt, was extremely proud of them and expected great feats from them.

Greyhounds are too pampered for wolf hunting, Great Danes run slowly, but you will see tatters fly when wolfhounds get down to business.

Thus, greyhounds were intended for the rut, great danes - for the reserve, and wolfhounds - for the pitched battle. In addition, two or three hounds were included in the pack, which were supposed to track down the beast with their subtle instincts if the rest lost sight of it.

It seems to me, Gilt, that your vaunted wolfhounds are of no use, ”said Garvin, the youngest of the brothers. - The little black dog is much better, even though he is a simple bastard.

I do not get it! Gilton grumbled. “Even coyotes have never been able to get away from these greyhounds, let alone wolves. The hounds are also excellent - they will follow at least a three-day trail. And dogs can even cope with a bear.

I do not argue, - said their father, - your dogs can drive, they can track and they can handle a bear, but the fact is that they are reluctant to mess with a wolf. The whole damned pack is simply a coward. I would give a lot to get back the money I paid for them.

At my next stop, in Baroque, I received letters, among which were two messages from my owner: the first with the statement that "this vile dog is mischievous in my room", the other, even more ardently, demanding the immediate removal of Snap.

“Why not release him to Mendoza? I thought. - Only twenty hours on the road. The Penroofs will be glad to have my Snap. On my way back, I'll visit them."

III

Old Penroof was now fully convinced that "in all the worthless rabble there is not a single dog more courageous than a rabbit."

I see him! Here he is running to the stream, Skell. It must be a coyote.

Now it was necessary to force the greyhounds to see the prey. This is not an easy task, as they cannot look through binoculars, and the plain was covered with polynya higher than a dog's height.

Then Gilton called: "Here, Dunder!" - and put his foot forward. With one nimble leap, Dander swung up into the saddle and stood there, balanced on the horse, while Gilton insistently pointed out to him:

Here he is, Dunder, look! Bite it, there, there!

So we all fell behind; I, a man unaccustomed to the saddle, lagged behind the most. From time to time dogs flashed ahead, now racing across the plain, now flying into a ravine in order to immediately appear on its other slope. The acknowledged leader was the greyhound Dunder, and, climbing the next ridge, we saw the whole picture of the hunt: a coyote flying at a gallop, and dogs running a quarter of a mile behind, but apparently overtaking him. The next time we saw them, the coyote was lifeless and all the dogs were sitting around him, except for two hounds and Gingersnap.

Too late to fight! Gilton remarked, looking at the lagging hounds. Then he proudly patted Dander: - Still, as you can see, your puppy was not needed!

Please tell me what courage: ten big dogs attacked a small coyote! - mockingly remarked the father. - Wait, let us meet the wolf!

The next day we went hunting again. Climbing up the hill, we saw a moving gray dot.

Like yesterday, Dander was shown the prey, and, like yesterday, he led a motley flock - greyhounds, wolfhounds, hounds, great danes, bull terriers and riders. For a moment we saw the pursuit: without a doubt, ahead of the dogs, a wolf was moving in long leaps. For some reason it seemed to me that the front dogs were not running as fast as when they were chasing the coyote. What happened next, no one saw. The dogs came back one by one, and the wolf disappeared.

Now ridicule and reproach rained down on the dogs.

Eh! They chickened out, they just chickened out! said old Penroof with disgust. - Freely could catch up with him, but as soon as he turned on them, they fled. Ugh!

And where is the incomparable, fearless and heroic terrier? asked Gilton contemptuously.

I don't know, I said. - Most likely, he did not see the wolf. But if he ever does, I bet he'll choose victory or death.

That night the wolves slaughtered several cows near the farm, and we went hunting again.

It began in much the same way as the day before. By evening, we saw a gray fellow with a raised tail not more than half a mile away. Gilton put Dunder on the saddle. I followed his example and called Snap. His legs were so short that he could not jump onto the horse's back. Finally he climbed up with the help of my leg. I showed him the wolf and repeated: “Bite, bite!” - until he finally noticed the beast and rushed as fast as he could in pursuit of the greyhounds already running.

Now it's my turn to celebrate. Snap showed them how to catch wolves, and at last the Mendoza pack finished off the wolf without the help of people.

As we walked proudly back, I noticed that he was limping.

Here! I shouted. - Snap, Snap!

He tried twice to jump on the saddle, but could not.

Give it to me here, Gilton, I asked.

Thank you humbly. You can handle your own rattlesnake,” Gilton replied, since everyone now knew that it was not safe to mess with Snap.

Here, Snap, take it! I said, holding out the whip to him. He seized it with his teeth, and in this way I lifted him onto the saddle and brought him home. I took care of him like a child. He showed these pastoralists who was missing in their pack. The hounds have beautiful noses, the greyhounds have fast legs, wolfhounds and great danes are strong men, but they are all worthless, because only the bull terrier has selfless courage. On this day, the herdsmen solved the wolf question, as you can easily see if you visit Mendoza, for each of the local packs now has its own bull terrier, for the most part of Snapomendoza blood.

IV

We had already climbed far, wandering among the hills, when suddenly flashing in the wormwood, a white ball rushed after us after us. A minute later, Snap ran up to my horse, grumbling and wagging his tail. I couldn't send him back because he wouldn't listen for anything. His wound looked bad. Calling him, I handed him the whip and lifted him into the saddle. “Here,” I thought, “you will sit until you return home.” But it was not there. Gilton's cry of "atu, atu!" informed us that he had seen a wolf. Dunder and Ryle, his rival, both rushed forward, collided, and sprawled on the ground together. In the meantime, Snap, looking sharply, spotted the wolf, and before I could look back, he had already jumped off the saddle and zigzagged up and down - through the sagebrush, under the sagebrush, straight at the enemy. Within a few minutes he led the whole pack. Not for long, of course. The big greyhounds saw a moving dot, and a long line of dogs stretched across the plain. The persecution promised to be interesting, since the wolf was very close and all the dogs rushed at full speed.

They turned into the Bear's ravine! shouted Garvin. - Behind me! We can get ahead of them!

And we, turning, quickly galloped up the northern slope of the hill, while the pursuit, apparently, moved along the southern slope.

We climbed the ridge and were about to descend when Gilton called out:

He is here! We ran right into it.

No no! Let's see what will happen.

A moment later, the second greyhound rushed in, then one after the other and the rest of the dogs. Each rushed, burning with rage and thirst for blood, ready to immediately tear the gray apart. But each in turn retreated and began to bark at a safe distance. About two minutes later, wolfhounds arrived in time - glorious, beautiful dogs. Approaching, they no doubt wanted to rush straight at the gray wolf. But his fearless appearance, muscular chest, deadly jaws frightened them long before they met him, and they also joined the general circle, while the gray robber turned now to one side, then to the other, ready to fight with each of them and with all together.

We stood around ready to intervene but unable to do so. At last it was all over: the wolf was dead. I called out to Snap, but he didn't move. I leaned towards him.

Snap, Snap, it's over, you killed him! But the dog was motionless. Now I only saw two deep wounds on his body. I tried to lift him up: - Let go, old man, it's over!

He grunted weakly and released the wolf.

Rough stockmen knelt around him, and old Penroof muttered in a trembling voice:

It would be better if I lost twenty bulls!

I took Snap in my arms, called him by name and stroked his head. He grunted slightly, apparently in parting, licked my hand and fell silent forever.

This is truly brave! You won't get far in our cause without courage.

E. Seton-Thompson

History of the Bull Terrier