THE THING FROM THE ARENA

This morning, early, I went through the gardens; but found everything as usual.  Near the door, I examined the path, for footprints; yet, here again, there was nothing to tell me whether, or not, I dreamed last night.

It was only when I came to speak to the dog, that I discovered tangible proof, that something did happen.  When I went to his kennel, he kept inside, crouching up in one corner, and I had to coax him, to get him out.  When, finally, he consented to come, it was in a strangely cowed and subdued manner.  As I patted him, my attention was attracted to a greenish patch, on his left flank.  On examining it, I found, that the fur and skin had been apparently, burnt off; for the flesh showed, raw and scorched.  The shape of the mark was curious, reminding me of the imprint of a large talon or hand.

I stood up, thoughtful.  My gaze wandered toward the study window.  The rays of the rising sun, shimmered on the smoky patch in the lower corner, causing it to fluctuate from green to red, oddly.  Ah! that was undoubtedly another proof; and, suddenly, the horrible Thing I saw last night, rose in my mind.  I looked at the dog, again.  I knew the cause, now, of that hateful looking wound on his side—­I knew, also, that, what I had seen last night, had been a real happening.  And a great discomfort filled me.  Pepper!  Tip!  And now this poor animal ...!  I glanced at the dog again, and noticed that he was licking at his wound.

‘Poor brute!’ I muttered, and bent to pat his head.  At that, he got upon his feet, nosing and licking my hand, wistfully.

Presently, I left him, having other matters to which to attend.

After dinner, I went to see him, again.  He seemed quiet, and disinclined to leave his kennel.  From my sister, I have learnt that he has refused all food today.  She appeared a little puzzled, when she told me; though quite unsuspicious of anything of which to be afraid.

The day has passed, uneventfully enough.  After tea, I went, again, to have a look at the dog.  He seemed moody, and somewhat restless; yet persisted in remaining in his kennel.  Before locking up, for the night, I moved his kennel out, away from the wall, so that I shall be able to watch it from the small window, tonight.  The thought came to me, to bring him into the house for the night; but consideration has decided me, to let him remain out.  I cannot say that the house is, in any degree, less to be feared than the gardens.  Pepper was in the house, and yet....

It is now two o’clock.  Since eight, I have watched the kennel, from the small, side window in my study.  Yet, nothing has occurred, and I am too tired to watch longer.  I will go to bed....

During the night, I was restless.  This is unusual for me; but, toward morning, I obtained a few hours’ sleep.

I rose early, and, after breakfast, visited the dog.  He was quiet; but morose, and refused to leave his kennel.  I wish there was some horse doctor near here; I would have the poor brute looked to.  All day, he has taken no food; but has shown an evident desire for water—­lapping it up, greedily.  I was relieved to observe this.