CHAPTER XVIII.

A STRANGE FUNERAL.

Frank found the saddle-bags and the belt about the dead man's waist heavy with gold. It took him some time to make preparations for transporting the precious stuff, and it was no easy task for him to quiet his horse and induce the animal to stand while he lifted the corpse and placed it where it could be tied securely on the horse's back.

He had no thought of leaving the body of Benson Clark to be devoured by wolves and vultures.

The sun was resting close down to the blue tops of the western mountains when everything was ready to start.

The dog had watched every move with eyes full of singular intelligence, but made no move or sound until Merry was ready to go.

Then Frank turned more water from the canteen, after taking a few swallows himself, placing it before Boxer in the tin plate. The dog licked it up.

"Good Boxer!" said Merry, patting the beast's head. "I'm your master now, my boy. Your other master is dead. He has told you to stick to me. Did you understand?"

The dog made some strange swallowing and mumbling sounds in its throat, as if trying to talk back in words.

"By Jove!" said Merry, gazing at the creature with great interest. "You are a knowing fellow, and you actually try to talk. Your master fancied you might be taught to talk."

Again those strange swallowings and mumblings issued from the dog's throat, and the creature wagged its tail a little.

"We'll go now," said Frank. "It's a good distance to the mine, and we have something to do before we can set out in earnest."

So they started off, Frank leading the horse bearing the ghastly burden, while the dog walked behind with hanging head, the perfect picture of sorrow.

A strange funeral procession it was, making its way toward the setting sun and the hazy mountains. The dead horse was left behind, while far in the sky wheeled two black specks, buzzards waiting for the feast.

The Indians had long vanished from the face of the plain, yet Frank knew their nature, and he was not at all sure he had seen the last of them.

The sun vanished behind the mountains and the blue night lay soft and soothing on the hot plain when the funeral procession came into the foot-hills.

It was not Frank's intention to carry the dead man farther than was needful, and, therefore, he kept his eyes about him for some place to bestow the body where it might rest safe from prowling beasts.

This place he found at last, and, with the aid of a flat stone, and with his bare hands, he scooped a shallow grave. Into this the body was fitted. Over the man's face Frank spread his own handkerchief. Then he besprinkled the dry earth lightly over the body at first, afterward using the flat rock to scrape and shovel more upon it, ending with covering it heavily with such stones as he could find, knowing well with what skill the ravening beasts of the desert could use their claw-armed paws.

For a time the dog sat and watched everything. When his late master was placed in the grave he whined and cried softly; but when the body was covered he lay down beside the grave in silence, and there was in his posture something so heartbroken that Frank was moved to a great pity.

"Poor old Boxer!" he murmured. "It is the end to which all living things must come, each in its own time. But it is the law of nature, and it is not so bad, after all. Blessed is he who goes to his last deep sleep without fear, feeling that he has done his best and is willing to trust everything in the hands of Him who sees and knows all. The fear of death and what may follow is such as should trouble alone the coward or the wicked wretch. Boxer, your master seemed to pass without fear, and something tells me it is not so bad with him. His case is in the hands of the Great Judge, and we may rest sure that he will be done no wrong."

Was there ever such a strange funeral oration! A youth with bared head and solemn face, speaking above a grave, and a silent, grief-stricken dog as the only mourner and attendant! The still Arizona night all around, with no sound of humming insect, no stir of foliage, no whisper of moving breeze, the dome of heaven above, studded with millions of clear stars! The dog did not move or lift its head, but Frank saw the starshine glint upon his eyes, which were wide open and fastened upon the speaker.

When the work was completed Frank knelt for a moment beside that grave, praying softly, yet with an earnestness that bespoke his faith that his words were heard.

It was over. His horse was at a little distance. He went and brought the animal up and adjusted the saddle. The dead man's belt, stuffed to bursting and wondrous heavy, he had fastened about his own waist.

"Come, Boxer," he said, again stooping to pat the head of the dog. "We must go. Bid farewell to your master's grave. It's not likely you may ever again come beside it."

The dog stirred. He sat up and lifted his muzzle toward the stars. From his throat came a low note that rose and swelled to the most doleful sound imaginable.

With his blood chill in his body, Frank listened while the dog sang a requiem above that grave. Tears started from Merry's eyes, and never while life was his could he forget that sound and that sight. Never chanted words of mass had more of sorrow! No human tongue could speak greater grief.

At last the sound died away into silence, and the dog stood on all fours, with hanging head and tail, his muzzle kissing some of the rough stones heaped on that grave. How long he might have remained in that attitude cannot be said; but soon Frank spoke again and called him to follow. At the word he turned, and his manner denoted he was ready.

Merry swung into the saddle and started, looking over his shoulder. In dead silence, the dog followed.

And so they passed into the still night.