His German master, a
captain, whom he obeyed sullenly, always dragged him about in leash, as
he never willingly kept at heel. Everyone wondered why the officer, who
was far from lenient with his men, showed patience with the dog. But his
orderly explained that Captain von Busche had picked up the starving
animal weeks before, wandering about No Man's Land. The creature was
valuable, and his dislike of the gray-green uniform had puzzled Von
Busche. His failure to win the dog's affection piqued him, and in his
blundering way he persevered. The people of the village were more
successful. They made friends with "Siegfried," to Von Busche's
annoyance; and a day or two before the hurried German retreat under
bombardment, the dog was beaten for deserting his master to follow a
little boy. The boy, too, was punished for his "impudence" in calling
the dog. People were indignant, and there were secret murmurings about
revenge.
That night, however, Fate took the matter in hand. Precisely what
happened is the bit that must remain missing in the puzzle. The dog
slept in the room with his master, in a house where several young
officers lived close to headquarters. All of them had been out playing
cards at a tavern. Von Busche returned earlier than the rest. He was
seen in the street the worse for drink. He went into the house, and must
have gone to his room, where the police dog had been shut up for hours
in disgrace. A moment later there was a yell, then a gurgling shriek.
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