feminine　fashion。
  He　had　just　finished　this　feat　of　dexterity　when　he　chanced　to
  look　up　from　his　work　at　sound　of　fast…pattering　feet。　Not　thirty
  feet　away；　charging　head　on　at　him；　rushed　the　great　brown…and…
  white　collie　he　supposed　had　been　shot。
  With　a　jump　of　abject　terror；　Herr　Stolz　sprang　up。　Mingled　with
  his　normal　fear　of　the　dog　was　a　tinge　of　superstitious　dread。　He
  had　been　so　certain　the　beast　was　shot！　The　doctor　had　given　the
  order　for　his　killing。　The　doctor　was　a　commissioned　officer。
  Stolz's　German　mind　could　not　grasp　the　possibility　of　a　soldier
  disobeying　an　officer's　imperative　command。
  The　collie　was　upon　him　by　the　time　the　spy　gained　his　feet。
  Stolz　reached　frantically　under　his　dress…folds　for　the　deadly
  little　pistol　that　he　always　kept　there。　But　he　was　still　a
  novice　in　the　mysteries　of　feminine　apparel。　And；　before　his
  fingers　could　close　on　the　weapon；　Bruce's　bared　fangs　were
  gleaming　at　his　throat。
  Stolz　ceased　to　search　for　the　weapon。　And；　as　before；　he　threw
  up　both　frantic　hands　to　ward　off　the　furious　jaws。
  He　was　barely　in　time。　Bruce's　white　teeth　drove　deep　into　the
  spy's　forearm；　and　Bruce's　eighty　pounds　of　furry　muscular　bulk
  smote　Stolz　full　in　the　chest。　Down　went　the　spy；　under　the
  terrific　impact；　sprawling　wildly　on　his　back；　and　fighting　with
  both　bleeding　hands　to　push　back　the　dog。
  Bruce；　collie…fashion；　did　not　stick　to　one　grip；　but　bit　and
  slashed　a　dozen　times　in　three　seconds；　tearing　and　rending　his
  way　toward　the　throat…hold　he　craved；　driving　through　flesh　of
  hands　and　of　forearms　toward　his　goal。
  Like　many　another　German；　Stolz　was　far　more　adept　at　causing
  pain　than　at　enduring　it。　Also；　from　birth；　he　had　had　an
  unconquerable　fear　of　dogs。　His　nerves；　too；　were　not　yet
  recovered　from　Bruce's　attack　earlier　in　the　day。　All　this；　and
  the　spectral　suddenness　of　the　onslaught；　robbed　him　of　every
  atom　of　his　usual　stony　self…control。
  Sergeant　Mahan　was　a　good　soldier。　Yet　a　minute　earlier　he　had
  almost　ruined　his　reputation　as　such。　He　had　been　hard　put　to　it
  to　refrain　from　leaving　the　ranks　of　his　drilling　company；　a
  furlong　from　the　rocks；　and　running　at　record　speed　toward　the
  boulders。　For　he　had　seen　the　supposed　nurse　pass　that　way。　And
  almost　directly　afterward　he　had　seen　Bruce　follow　her　thither。
  And　he　could　guess　what　would　happen。
  Luckily　for　the　sake　of　discipline；　the　order　of　〃Break　ranks！〃
  was　given　before　Mahan　could　disgrace　himself　by　such　unmartial
  behavior。　And；　on　the　instant；　the　Sergeant　broke　into　a　run　in
  the　direction　of　the　rocks。
  Wondering　at　his　eccentric　action；　several　of　the　soldiers
  followed。　The　company　captain；　at　sight　of　a　knot　of　his　men
  dashing　at　breakneck　speed　toward　the　boulders；　started　at　a　more
  leisurely　pace　in　the　same　direction。
  Mahan　had　reached　the　edge　of　the　rocks　when　his　ears　were
  greeted　by　a　yell　of　mortal　fear。　The　captain　and　the　rest；
  catching　the　sound；　went　faster。　Screech　after　screech　rang　from
  the　rocky　enclosure。
  Mahan　rounded　the　big　boulder　at　the　crest　of　the　ridge　and　flung
  himself　upon　the　two　combatants；　as　they　thrashed　about　in　a
  tumultuous　dual　mass　on　the　ground。　And　just　then　Bruce　at　last
  found　his　grip　on　Stolz's　throat。
  A　stoical　German　signal…corps　officer；　on　a　hilltop　some　miles　to
  eastward；　laid　aside　his　fieldglass　and　calmly　remarked　to　a
  man　at　his　side
  〃We　have　lost　a　good　spy！〃
  Such　was　the　sole　epitaph　and　eulogy　of　Herr　Heinrich　Stolz；　from
  his　army。
  Meantime；　Sergeant　Mahan　was　prying　loose　the　collie's　ferocious
  jaws　from　their　prey　and　was　tugging　with　all　his　might　to　drag
  the　dog　off　the　shrieking　spy。　The　throat…hold；　he　noted；　was　a
  bare　inch　from　the　jugular。
  The　rest　of　the　soldiers；　rushing　up　pell…mell；　helped　him　pull
  the　infuriated　Bruce　from　his　victim。　The　spectacle　of　their
  admired　dog…hero；　so　murderously　mauling　a　woman　of　the　Red
  Cross；　dazed　them　with　horror。
  〃Take　him　AWAY！〃　bellowed　Stolz；　delirious　with　pain　and　fear。
  〃He's　KILLED　meder　gottverdammte　Teufelhund！〃
  And　now　the　crazed　victim's　unconscious　use　of　German　was　not
  needed　to　tell　every　one　within　hearing　just　who　and　what　he　was。
  For　the　quavering　tones　were　no　longer　a　rich　contralto。　They
  were　a　throaty　baritone。　And　the　accent　was　Teutonic。
  〃Bruce！〃　observed　Top…Sergeant　Mahan　next　morning；　〃I've　always
  said　a　man　who　kicks　a　dog　is　more　of　a　cur　than　the　dog　is。　But
  you'll　never　know　how　near　I　came　to　kicking　you　yesterday；　when
  I　caught　you　mangling　that　filthy　spy。　And　Brucie；　if　I　had
  kicked　you；　wellI'd　be　praying　at　this　minute　that　the　good
  Lord　would　grow　a　third　leg　on　me；　so　that　I　could　kick　myself
  all　the　way　from　here　to　Berlin！〃
  CHAPTER　VI。　The　Werewolf
  When　Bruce　left　the　quiet　peace　of　The　Place　for　the　hell　of　the
  Western　Front；　it　had　been　stipulated　by　the　Mistress　and　the
  Master　that　if　ever　he　were　disabled；　he　should　be　shipped　back
  to　The　Place；　at　their　expense。
  It　was　a　stipulation　made　rather　to　soothe　the　Mistress's　sorrow
  at　parting　from　her　loved　pet　than　in　any　hope　that　it　could　be
  fulfilled；　for　the　average　life　of　a　courierdog　on　the　battle…
  front　was　tragically　short。　And　his　fate　was　more　than　ordinarily
  certain。　If　the　boche　bullets　and　shrapnel　happened　to　miss　him；
  there　were　countless　diseasesbred　of　trench　and　of　hardship　and
  of　abominable　foodto　kill　him。
  The　Red　Cross　appeal　raised　countless　millions　of　dollars　and
  brought　rescue　to　innumerable　human　warriors。　But　in　caring　for
  humans；　the　generosity　of　most　givers　reached　its　limit；　and　the
  Blue　Cross〃for　the　relief　of　dogs　and　horses　injured　in　the
  service　of　the　Allies〃was　forced　to　take　what　it　could　get。　Yet
  many　a　man；　and　many　a　body　of　men；　owed　life　and　safety　to　the
  heroism　of　some　war…dog；　a　dog　which　surely　merited　special　care
  when　its　own　certain　hour　of　agony　struck。
  Bruce's　warmest　overseas　friends　were　to　be　found　in　the　ranks　of
  the　mixed　Franco…American　regiment；　nicknamed　the
  〃Here…We…Comes。〃　Right　gallantly；　in　more　than　one　tight　place；
  had　Bruce　been　of　use　to　the　〃Here…We…Comes。〃　On　his　official
  visits　to　the　regiment；　he　was　always　received　with　a　joyous
  welcome　that　would　have　turned　any　head　less　steady　than　a
  thoroughbred　collie's。
  Bruce　enjoyed　this　treatment。　He　enjoyed；　too；　the　food…dainties
  wherewith　the　〃Here…We…Comes〃　plied　him。　But　to　no　man　in　the
  army　would　he　give　the　adoring　personal　loyalty　he　had　left　at
  The　Place　with　the　Mistress　and　the　Master。　Those　two　were　still
  his　only　gods。　And　he　missed　them　and　his　sweet　life　at　The　Place
  most　bitterly。　Yet　he　was　too　good　a　soldier　to　mope。
  *　　　*　　　*　　　*　　　*　　　*　　　*　　　*　　　*　　　*　　　*
  For　months　the　〃Here…We…Comes〃　had　been　quartered　in　a
  〃quiet〃or　only　occasionally　tumultuoussector；　near
  Chateau…Thierry。　Then　the　comparative　quiet　all　at　once　turned　to
  pandemonium。
  A　lanky　and　degenerate　youth　（who　before　the　war　had　been
  unlovingly　known　throughout　Europe　as　the　〃White　Rabbit〃　and　who
  now　was　mentioned　in　dispatches　as　the　〃Crown　Prince〃）　had
  succeeded　in　leading　some　half…million　fellow…Germans　into　a
  〃pocket〃　that　had　lately　been　merely　a　salient。
  From　the　three　lower　sides　of　the　pocket；　the　Allies　ecstatically
  flung　themselves　upon　their　trapped　foes　in　a　laudable　effort　to
  crush　the　half…million　boches　and　their　rabbit…faced　princeling
  into　surrender　before　the　latter　could　get　out　of　the　snare；　and
  to　the　shelter　of　the　high　ground　and　the　reenforcements　that　lay
  behind　it。　The　Germans　objected　most　strenuously　to　this　crushing
  process。　And　the　three　beleaguered　edges　of　the　pocket　became　a
  triple…section　of　hell。
  It　was　a　period　when　no　one's　nerves　were　in　any　degree　normal
  least　of　all　the　nerves　of　the　eternally　hammered　Germans。　Even
  the　fiercely　advancing　Franco…Americans；　the　〃Here…We…Comes；〃　had
  lost　the　grimly　humorous　composure　that　had　been　theirs；　and
  waxed　sullen　and　ferocious　in　their　eagerness。
  Thus　it　was　that　Bruce　missed　his　wontedly　uproarious　welcome　as
  he　cantered；　at　sunset　one　July　day；　into　a　smashed　farmstead
  where　his　friends；　the　〃Here…We…Comes；〃　were　bivouacked　for　the
  night。　By　instinct；　the　big　dog　seemed　to　know　where　to　find　the
  temporary　regimental　headquarters。
  He　trotted　past　a　sentry；　into　an　unroofed　cattle…shed　where　the
  colonel　was　busily　scribbling　a　detailed　report　of　the　work　done
  by　the　〃Here…We…Comes〃　during　that　day's　drive。
  Coming　to　a　halt　by　the　colonel's　side；　Bruce　stood　expectantly
  wagging　his　plumy　tail　and　waiting　for　the　folded　message　from
  division　headquarters　to　be　taken　off　his　collar。
  Usually；　on　such　visits；　the　colonel　made　much　of　the　dog。　To…day
  he　merely　glanced　up　abstractedly　from　his　writing；　at　sight　of
  Bruce's　silken　head　at　his　side。　He　unfastened