Page:Weird Tales volume 38 number 03 CAN.djvu/76

 this one. I took a step forward, and was halted by the pressure of Sally's hand on my arm.

"Clint, don't!"

I looked down at her. Her eyes were wide, and the little pulse in her temple throbbed furiously. I shivered. Sally is soft as a marshmallow when anything's hurt or needs her help. But I had never known her to shrink from a problem or lack some way of solving it. She's no coward, but her staring eyes and taut mouth revealed that now she was very much afraid.

"Don't accept that dog!" she whispered. "Send it right back!"

"Nonsense!" I forced a laugh.

"It—It's not a dog, it's a monster!" she breathed. "It hates me, and would like to kill me! Can't you feel it?"

Again the cold shivers ran up and down my spine and my lips were suddenly dry. So she felt it too, and perhaps more strongly than I since the dog's hate emanations seemed to be directed at her. But I still told myself that it was nonsense. Tsan-Lo might be a vicious dog, with a certain something about him that made his viciousness felt. He could be nothing else and I had handled vicious dogs before. Sometimes, if they're carefully trained and watched, they make the best hunters.

"What have you been eating?" I joked.

"Clint!" her fingers dug into my arms. "Do you know Ibellius Grut?"

"Why—He's a doctor."

"He's more than that, Clint! He's been in two insane asylums, and denounced by the Humane Society a dozen times for his cruel experiments on animals. He's been experimenting on Tsan-Lo. You'll be sorry if you take him!"

"But I can't refuse him. I make my living training dogs. The least I can do is accept this one, and tell Dr. Grut whether or not he's any good. After all, he's paying me fifty dollars a month to find that out."

She shook her head, "You're going to take him?"

"I must, Sally."

"Put him in a good strong run."

"Never fear. He won't get away from me."

I walked over to the crate and looked down at Tsan-Lo. He was a big yellow brute with a massive, strong-jawed head and bigger than a Chesapeake ordinarily is. In fact, he was so big that he looked even a little malformed. His eyes were wide and yellow, and when he swung his head to look at me I had to look away. For a moment I was a little bit nauseated, and again I thought back to the papier mache tyrranosaurustyrannosaurus [sic]. But aside from looking at me there was no response whatever from Tsan-Lo, no wag of the tail, no whine, none of the eager little manifestations with which crated dogs usually greet anyone who comes near them. I said:

"Hi, San!"

But still there was no response. The dog swung his great head to focus his baliskiskbasilisk [sic] eyes on Sally, and for one split second I was almost tempted to take her advice and return him to Grut. If only I had—

But I didn't. I backed the pick-up to the crate, swung it on, and put the tail-board up.

ALLY was silent beside me as we drove home. It was not the silence she had affected on the way to the station, when she hadn't wanted to talk because talking would have spoiled the