With an awful
pain in my heart I asked, "Did Lieutenant Lomax shoot Hal?" After a
second's hesitation Faye said "No; but Hal is dead!" It seemed too
dreadful to be true, and at first I could not believe it, for it had
been only such a short time since I had seen him bounding and leaping,
evidently in perfect health, and oh, so happy!
No one in the house even thought of dinner that night, and poor black
Cagey sobbed and moaned so loud and long Faye was obliged to ask him
to be quiet. For hours I could not listen to the particulars. Faye
says that they had not gone out so very far when he saw a wild cat
some distance away, and taking careful aim, he shot it, but the cat,
instead of falling, started on a fast run. Hal was in another
direction, but when he heard the report of the rifle and saw the cat
running, he started after it with terrific speed and struck it just as
the cat fell, and then the two rolled over and over together.
He got up and stood by Faye and Lieutenant Lomax while they examined
the cat, and if there was anything wrong with him it was not noticed.
But when they turned to come to the post, dragging the dead cat after
them, Faye heard a peculiar sound, and looking back saw dear Hal on
the ground in a fit much like vertigo. He talked to him and petted
him, thinking he would soon be over it - and the plucky dog did get up
and try to follow, but went down again and for the last time The swift
run and excitement caused by encountering an animal wholly different
from anything he had ever seen before was too great a strain upon the
weak heart.
Before coming to the house Faye had ordered a detail out to bury him,
with instructions to cover the grave with pieces of glass to keep the
wolves away. The skin and head of the cat, which was really a lynx,
are being prepared for a rug, but I do not see how I can have the
thing in the house, although the black spots and stripes with the
white make the fur very beautiful. The ball passed straight through
the body.
The loneliness of the house is awful, and at night I imagine that I
hear him outside whining to come in. Many a cold night have I been up
two and three times to straighten his bed and cover him up. His bed
was the skin of a young buffalo, and he knew just when it was smooth
and nice, and then he would almost throw himself down, with a sigh of
perfect content.
