[Dan De Quille, The Black Dog of the Bend, San Francisco Call, 19 May 1895]

 

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, MAY 19, 1895.             17

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THE BLACK DOG of the BEND.

By Dan De Quille.

            It was a good night for ghosts and ghost stories. A storm was raging that seemed to rock the world— a storm illuminated with vivid flashes of lightning and punctuated with terrific peals of thunder. It was the first big storm of the California winter season, then a little overdue. A dozen of us, prospectors, miners and teamsters, all men of the mountains, had taken shelter early in the evening from the impending storm at a huge barn-like wayside station or tavern a few miles below the Calaveras Big-tree Grove, on the road leading down to Murphys, then a considerable mining town.

            We were all glad to be comfortably housed, for the storm was a terror. The thunder seemed to shake the solid mountains; the wind roared in the surrounding pine forest like an angry sea; the rain came down in torrents, and frequent flashes of lightning came in at the uncurtained windows that paled the ineffectual light of the oil lamps.            

            After an excellent mountain supper we had assembled in the great barroom, and in the enjoyment of pipes and cigars all congratulated ourselves upon our safe harbor, as the rain dashed in sheets against the window-panes. Soon we were chatting like old friends about the big snow that must be falling above us in the high Sierra; about the outlook in the several camps from which we hailed, and about the mines in general, though only two or three of us had ever met before that evening.

            Presently, as this talk about the mountains and the mines began to lag, a man who was one of the last to reach the shelter of the station— a prospector who was traveling on foot with blankets on his back — said, addressing his nearest neighbor: "Rather a strange thing happened me this evening about a mile below this as I was hurrying to get up here to the station. I'm no believer in ghosts and goblins, 'damned' or otherwise, but this evening, for the first time in my life. I had an experience that was rather spooky."

            At once all eyes were turned upon the speaker: the hum of scattering conversation ceased, and every man in the room pricked up his ear.

            "What!" cried the man addressed, "do you mean to say you've had the luck to see a genuine, undoubted and undoubtable ghost ? If so, you are the man I've always wanted to find."

            "When you've heard what happened me this evening you may judge for yourself, sir," said the prospector. "But what I saw was not a ghost of the ordinary regulation kind. It was a spook of a different breed."

            The chairs of the men scattered about the big barroom at once began to hitch toward the prospector, and soon nearly all were gathered about him in a gaping circle. Only one man sat aloof unmoved. He was a man of middle age, and in appearance a miner. He sat and smoked his pipe at ease in a corner with half-closed eyes.

            "As I said." continued the prospector, "I was about a mile down the road. Some big drops of rain were beginning to fall and it was growing quite dark out among the pines, though in the roadway there was still light enough to make every object distinctly visible. I was walking rapidly — for the lightning seemed to hiss directly over my head and there were some startling peals of thunder — when suddenly, at a sharp bend in the road, I came fact to face with a big black dog. It was an immense brute of some short-haired breed — mastiff probably; at all events not a Newfoundland,

            "The huge beast showed his teeth and looked .dangerous, though he neither prowled nor snarled. He stood stock still before me, with every bristle on his back erect and eyes that glared red and fiery.  Finding the big brute so ugly and so little inclined to give way, I turned toward the other side of the road, thinking to pass round him. But as I moved he followed, with a sort of sidewise glide — was always before me, only two steps away, his bristles up, his white teeth gleaming and his savage eyes watching my every move.

            "Every moment I looked for the dog to spring at my throat. I drew and held my revolver cocked in my hand, ready to shoot in case it should become absolutely necessary. I would have shot at once had it not occurred to me that the dog had a master near who would probably soon come up. I thought perhaps the dog had been trotting along ahead of his master and was taken by surprise when he ran up against me at the bend of the road—probably he did not like the look of the roll of blankets on my back. I felt it would be a pity to shoot so fine an animal.

            "No master appearing and the rain coming down faster, I crossed back to the upper side of the road, hoping to get by the dog that way. But the fiery-eyed beast faced me every step of the way back across the road until I was up against the high bank alongside a big rock that stands on the point of the bend.

            "There I was obliged to halt, and the dog still holding me at bay, I lost all patience. I leveled my pistol at the head of the big brute and blazed away. At the instant of my firing there was a blinding flash of lightning and a fearful crash of thunder. A big pine, not fifty yards away, was struck and shivered.

            "Instead of finding the big dog stretched dead at my feet, as I expected, I saw nothing. In the twinkling of an eye he had vanished. Had the thing been a real live dog I must have lain him dead, for I am a crack shot and the muzzle of the pistol was not three feet from the creature's head.

            "At first I thought my pistol might have missed fire, as I had not heard the report of it in the clap of thunder that came just as I pulled the trigger, but a glance at the weapon showed one chamber empty, therefore I had fired right enough. I can assure you the business made me feel rather creepy. One moment there stood before me a big, threatening brute of a dog, the next — in the snap of a finger, in the wink of an eye — there was no dog. He was gone — vanished into thin air!"

            "But couldn't the dog have dodged out of sight somehow, behind the big rock you speak of, while your eyes were blinded by the flash of lightning?" asked a doubting listener.  

            "No," said the prospector, "it was for but a single wink that my eyes were blinded; I could see every object up and down the road for a hundred yards by the daylight that remained, and for the dog to have got behind the rock it would have been necessary for him to have bounded up the perpendicular bank— a bank as high as my head— close against which he stood broadside, not head to. Besides, what you call 'behind the rock' was the lighted side of it. A cat could not have hidden there."  

            "Hem," began the doubter, returning to the charge, "but wouldn't the dog have leaped past you when the lightning flash came and thus got to the dark side of the rock?"

            "Perhaps," said the prospector, testily, "and if he went there, there let him stay since you seem determined to have him hide himself in or about the rock. But about this time I saw a thing that caused me to lose interest in the dog," remarked the prospector turning from the doubter to the more tractable listeners.

            "Ah! What was that?" cried the unabashed doubter, with eyes like saucers.

            "It was a shadow," said the prospector turning his back squarely upon the doubting Thomas.

            "A shadow !" cried several listeners in chorus, and the circle about the prospector was narrowed by a general hitching forward of chairs.

            "Yes, a terrible, threatening shadow," said the prospector. "A thing so much more alarming than the dog that I thought nothing more about him."

            "What was there so very awful about this shadow ?" asked the fascinated doubter, pulling his chair forward.

            "Did you ever see a shadow with nothing in sight to make it?" roared the wrathful prospector, turning suddenly about upon the hungry unbeliever, who was annoying him.           "N— no," timidly answered the fellow.

            "Well, if you ever happen to see such a thing you will know what there is about it that is awful." Having thus squelched the eager doubter the prospector turned to the others and proceeded with his experience as follows: ""When the dog disappeared so astonishingly in the wink of an eye I was quite dumfounded. After glancing up and down the road and all about me I turned to the big rock with a flat and perfectly smooth face which stands on the east and upper side of the road. It is about 15 feet wide at the base and over 30 feet high, running up to a point. It is shaped like a big smoothing iron.

            "I thought there might be a hole in the base of this rock at the level of the road into which the dog had slipped, but I found it all smooth as a plastered wall. The face of the rock was by this time wet from the rain that had dashed against it. It glistened almost like a mirror in the peculiar light that fell upon it from the western sky.

            "As I stood before the rock, worried about the mysterious disappearance of the dog, my attention was attracted by a shadow that seemed to be forming on the smooth limestone. It showed dimly the shape of a man. At first I thought it was merely a stain on the rock, but as I watched it I found it growing more distinct and saw it was moving slowly forward upon the stone.

            "Naturally I turned and looked behind me, but the road was clear — nothing there. When I again faced the rock I was startled. I saw before me very clearly the shape of a man wearing a sombrero and holding in his uplifted hand a big knife. The shadow was gliding forward stealthily across the face of the rock and I was gazing at it with bulging eyes when from above the tops of the trees to the west there shot down a vivid flash of lightning that for a moment played upon and strongly illuminated the face of the rock. In that intense flood of light I saw upon the limestone for an instant a perfect life-size photograph of a murderous looking Mexican. He had a heavy black mustache and a big red scar extended from the bridge of his nose down across his left cheekbone. Although I saw the brutal face for but a moment I shall never forget it. I wheeled about instantly, thinking that 1 saw the reflection or shadow of a Mexican desperado creeping upon me from behind, but no living creature was in sight.

            "As I stood peering across the road I heard behind me a sound as of the fall of a man's body, followed by a deep groan, when came the growl of a dog that ended in a yelp of pain. Though I instantly faced about toward the rock, I saw nothing. The villainous shadow was gone and not a sound was to be heard save the dashing of the rain — which began to pour down in earnest and the roaring of the wind in the pines. Then suddenly my nerves gave way. I turned and fled from the spot. I actually took to my heels. I was ten times more frightened after all was over than I had been in the midst of the business, for then my mind was kept in a whirl, and from first to last the mysterious manifestations did not occupy five minutes."

            At the conclusion of the prospector's story, the proprietor of the station, who had been leaning over his bar, an interested listener, said: ''Do you know, stranger, that the thing that stopped you in the road was the ghost of a dog ? You saw a specter dog— the ' black dog of the bend,' as the people hereabout call the thing. All who live in this section know about the goblin dog and give the bend— Murderer's Bend — a wide berth on such a night as this. That dog has made the hair of many a man's head stand on end. He is only seen at this season, at the time of a big storm. At first I did not believe the stories about the thing, but now I'm well satisfied that it's no real live dog. In one night as many as five different men have rushed into this station white as ghosts with stories of their encounters with the big dog at the bend."

            "But," said the doubter, "the story of the spot being haunted having been spread abroad, may not men imagine they see the dog?

            "Horses are not supposed to have much imagination," said the station-keeper, "yet the thing frightens horses worse than it does men. They know at the first glance that the thing is no living dog, while men do not. It is almost impossible to get a team past the bend such a night as this, and I've known some bad runaways down there. Though I never saw the dog itself, I've had trouble there with a team on two or three occasions. My horses stared with terror in their eyes as though at some object just before them in the road, bracing themselves back in the harness and trembling in every joint. I had to take the animals by the bridles and drag and whip them past the spot. A dog has not much imagination, but let a real living dog see the goblin dog of the bend and he falls upon his belly and crawls and whines like a puppy."

            "Why does the dog appear at that particular spot?" asked the anxious doubter.         "Because he was killed there, and lies buried there alongside the rock," said the landlord. "About this time five years ago — in the fall of 1862— one morning after a terrible thunderstorm, the dead body of a young man was found by the rock with a huge dog lying dead beside him. The bodies of both were covered with knife wounds. It was always supposed that the young man was murdered and robbed by some greaser desperado, but no clew to the perpetrator of the bloody deed was ever obtained. It is supposed that the big dog did some good fighting in defense of his master, and probably gave the robber a hard battle."

            "Who was the young man that was killed down there?" asked the prospector.

            "All we ever found out about him," said the landlord, "was that his name was Edward Brooks and that he came in by the Big Tree road from Virginia City, Nev., where he had sold some mining claims, and was on his way to a mining camp down on the Tuolumne, where he had a brother living. The body of the young man lies buried alongside the big limestone rock, a rod or two above the road. On the rock was cut a cross and below it an inscription giving the name and age of the murdered man.

            "At the foot of the grave of the young man was buried the body of his big dog. As it was evident he had defended his master till cut to pieces it was decided that in death he should be placed on guard at his sudden the front door of the barroom was master's feet. I've noticed that some one, within the past year or two, has cut in the rock over the grave of the dog the name 'Pluto.'

            "Have you ever heard any one speak of seeing anything like a shadow or picture on the rock?" asked the prospector.  

            "No; that is something new. However, I have never heard of any man lingering  long at the rock after the big dog put in an appearance. You have unusual nerve, stranger.            "No nerve to boast of, landlord. You see, I all the time thought the dog alive, latch for a time as though trying to find That was why I shot at him. I was terribly upset when I saw that shadow appear on the rock and nothing in sight to make it. I am now confident that I saw the image of the murderer just as he appeared when creeping forward to leap upon his victim. As the murder occurred on such a night as this it may be that the lightning photographed an image of the murderer on the face of the rock. It is not impossible that every move the robber made is pictured on the limestone, and might be brought out and made visible could any one hit upon the right process. In the last vivid flash that played upon the face of the rock I had before me as perfect a photograph as I I have ever seen in my life. A more villainous face I never saw, nor a more fiendish expression — it was murder itself. The strong light must have brought out on the wet surface of the rock the image of the fellow just as he was in the act of striking his first blow. It was wonderful ! And do you know, I even saw that the fellow had only three fingers on his left hand. The whole of the little finger on that hand was gone."

            Here the middle-aged miner who had all the evening remained smoking and silent in his corner arose and came forward. Addressing the prospector he said: "Excuse me, my friend, but it has occurred to me from what I have heard you say this evening that you ought to be able to recognize the man whose image you saw so strangely depicted on the rock in case you should anywhere encounter him. Would you know him, think you?"           "Know him! I'd know him among ten thousand. He had the face of a devil. I've seen some bad greasers, but no other face that I have ever seen was quite so bad — brutally savage and cruel, yet cowardly. It was the face of a human coyote."

            "I am glad to hear yon say you would be able to recognize the Mexican devil. I am William Brooks, the brother to whose camp the young man was going when he met his death. For five years I have been trying to get some clew to the murderer of my young brother. I have all along felt that the murderer did not leave the country. Something has told me that he is still here, that he is occasionally attracted to the scene of his crime, particularly at this season, and that I have at times been near him. In some way this notion has so taken hold of me that I come up here every fall and linger about this neighborhood for a week or two at the time of the first storms. I become uneasy in mind and am almost forced to come, though thus far I have made no discovery of importance. However, I wait and watch.

            "Was any article taken by the robber that you would recognize?"

            "Yes, several, but one in particular. I will explain in regard to it. I came to California in 1852, and my youngest brother came out to me six years later— in 1858. I was born in 1829, and when my brother came he brought a silver quarter-dollar bearing that date. He said he had saved it to give me as a pocket piece. I took this piece and while looking at it a thought struck me. 'By George, said I, 'I'll tell you what we'll do; we'll just cut the quarter in two and each take half. I am now 29 years of age and you are 18; we'll cut the piece through the date and I'll take the 29 part and give you the half carrying the 18.'

            "Well, the piece was so divided and we hung the halves on our watchchains. Here you see on my watchchain the half containing the figures 29. From the body of my brother was taken a Waltham gold watch, of which I have the number, with a plain gold chain on which was his half of the coin. Now, I'm always watching for my murdered brother's half of the silver quarter, and some day I shall catch sight of it."

            "Not likely," said the prospector, then added as an afterthought, "however, the devil does at times put some fool kinks into the heads of his children when he gets ready to rake them in."

            "Never again will you see the other half of that quarter," said the doubter; "no murderer would be such an idiot as to carry it about."

            "Well, in some way I'll get a clew," said Brooks. ''Fool, fool that I was to let the boy go alone to the Washoe silver mines! I felt at the time that I ought to drop my own mines and go with him. He went in the spring of 1860, the time of the war with the Piute Indians— and I thought of no trouble except from skulking redskins. I gave him my brave dog Pluto as a guard and made him promise not to go far into the wilds. Alas! the trouble came in an unexpected shape, and here where he was almost at home. But he'll be avenged! I feel that I'll some time get the clew I need."

            "Mr. Brooks," said the prospector, "as sure as I am a living man, the image that the lightning showed me photographed on the rock was a picture of your brother's murderer. If you ever happen to see a greaser with the villainous face and the marks I have mentioned shoot him on sight and you'll have the right man."

            "I believe you are right, said Brooks, "and I've now got that face, scar, missing finger and all photographed upon my brain as distinctly as you saw the fellow pictured on the rock.

            "You'll never see him," said the doubter.

            All had again seated themselves after examining the half of the silver quarter carried by Brooks, and the landlord was relating the experience of some of his neighbors who had encountered the "Black Dog of the Bend," when on a sudden the front door of the barroom was flung wide open and a man sprang inside just as there came a vivid flash of lightning and a loud peal of thunder. At the same moment a big black dog thrust his head in at the door and uttered a savage growl.

            "The dog! There is the dog!" cried all in the room.

            The newcomer, who stood holding the door in a dazed way as though blinded by the lightning, peered out, and uttering a cry of alarm, closed the door with a tremendous bang. He then fumbled at the latch for a time, as though trying to find a bolt or other fastening.  When he faced about and advanced into the room in the direction of the bar, all present saw the villainous, scar-faced Greaser that the prospector had described a few minutes before. Had the devil himself appeared, the occupants of the barroom would not have been more astonished and dumfounded than they were at sight of the Mexican.

            "The man ! Here's the man !" was whispered.

            As the Mexican neared the bar the landlord for the first time caught sight of his face. He stared with goggling eyes, turned as white as a sheet and blurted out : '"The dog, too ! The dog was at the door !" Something of horror was visible in the ugly face of the Mexican.

            "Yes, de doga!" he cried. "De doga he come. Give me brandy. Oh, dat devil doga!"

            "Did he bite you?" asked the landlord as he set out the brandy bottle.

            "He come at me troat all time," said the Mexican, "but I no feel him bite. One devil doga!" and so saying he with shaking hand poured out and swallowed half a tumbler of brandy.

            Meanwhile Brooks had glided to the side of the prospector and whispered: "There is the man you described."

            "Yes, that is the man. Shall you go for him at once?"

            "Most assuredly — at once. The devil is done with him and has sent him to me at     "No, the dog drove him to you."

            "Well, be that as it may, he is here. Can I count on you to back me?"

            "Yes, and all others here," said the prospector. Then he whispered: "Boys, stand by to come in when we hold the fellow up." All present nodded assent.

            The Mexican was facing the bar talking to the landlord when Brooks and the prospector stepped up behind him with cooked and leveled revolvers.

            "A word with you, hombre," said Brooks. The Mexican turned and found two six-shooters looking him in the face. "Hold up your hands!" cried Brooks.

            The Mexican was so taken by surprise that he seemed hardly to understand the order. He turned as though to appeal to the landlord, and found a third revolver leveled at his head. Then up went his hands.

            While the landlord and the prospector covered the fellow with their pistols, Brooks disarmed him, taking from him a six-shooter, a pair of derringers and a murderous looking knife, "Now take off your coat," said Brooks. The fellow hesitated and asked why he was used in such a way. "You'll soon find out," cried Brooks. "Off with your coat!"

            The Mexican threw a glance around and finding himself hemmed in on all sides by armed men he took off the heavy coat he was wearing. Brooks at once searched the fellow's pockets, piling upon the counter a well-filled purse and various other articles. For a moment the man's face brightened. Brooks noticed the look of relief and renewed the search. Unbuttoning the fellow's vest and thrusting his hand into an inside pocket he drew out a gold watch to the chain of which was attached the half of the silver quarter of which he had spoken. "Ah!" cried he as he held it aloft, "at last!"

            "Aha! Oho!" echoed the men crowded about.

            "The half of any coin struck since the first of this century would begin with 18," remarked the doubter.

            "If this was my brother's watch it is numbered 29,692," said Brooks, handing the watch to the landlord.

            "That is the number," said the landlord when he had examined the watch.

            Brooks then took off his own watch and, placing the two halves of the coin together, held them before the eyes of the Mexican and said, "Now you know why we want you."

            "Me no do it! Me — me no kill de man," stammered the Mexican, trembling in every joint.

            "Don't lie!" cried Brooks. "Who said a man was killed?"

            The cowed Greaser made no reply, but cast an uneasy look toward the door as though contemplating a break.

            "What shall we do with him?" asked the prospector.

            "Tie him up and guard him till morning. Then take him down to Murphy's," said Brooks. "I don't want to shoot him in cold blood."

            "That's right. I'll get a rope," said the landlord. "I want no killing in my house."

            In a moment the landlord brought from another room a long riata.

            "Tie his legs first," said Brooks, "then we'll use up the remainder of the rope on his hands and arms."

            The landlord laid his pistol down on the counter, and stooping, began tying the Mexican's legs.

            "By the Lord, boys," cried a big teamster, "suppose we take him down to the bend, where the man was killed, tie him up there at the rock and let the big black dog eat him!"

            "That's it!" cried another; "we'll tie him up and let the dog at him !"

            "Hurrah! Let's take him down to the bend and give him to the black dog!" shouted the crowd.

            "No, No, no, no!" yelled the Mexican, his eyes starting from their sockets. "No give me to de devil doga ! Dat doga him run me in here. Him devil ! Take me to the jail. Me kill de man — take his watch, take his money. Take me jail — shoot me, hang me — no give me dat black doga!"

            "Oho, Brooks, he owns that he killed your brother," cried the big teamster. "Hanging's too good for him. Come on boys, we'll take him down to the black dog!"           "Hurrah ! Away with him to the black dog! " shouted the crowd.

            "No permiter eso!"— I won't have that — cried the Mexican. Lunging forward he managed to reach and grasp the landlord's pistol. His legs being tied together he fell to the floor when he made his forward plunge and before those near could move the muffled report of the pistol was heard.

            "He has shot himself!" was the general cry. "He's settled the business!"

            At the moment the long howl of a dog was heard outside.

            "By heaven, the dog was waiting for him," cried the prospector.

            A lamp was called for and brought, when it was found that the Mexican had placed the muzzle of the pistol just above his right ear and almost blew the top of his head off.

            Among others gathered about was the doubter. He squatted beside the Mexican's body, and, lifting an arm, said: "I don't believe he's dead. His arm is limber." At the instant there came a blinding flash of lightning and a rattling peal of thunder, which so startled the doubter that he fell over on his back crying out, "My God, he's shot me!"    

            "Served you right!" said the big teamster; "you had no business to lie about him."     "Well, for the fellow to kill himself is a good job done!" said the prospector.       

            "Yes," said Brooks, "and I am well satisfied with this ending of the business. It is better than a long trial, and then perhaps no hanging. Now, I see why I have for years been drawn to these mountains at this season. I've always expected something like this, except that I was to do the shooting."

            "And the devil must have impelled the Greaser to come and hang about that bend," said the landlord.

            "He must have had a fearful time with that specter dog," said the prospector. "He was more dead than alive when he got in here — was utterly demoralized. Evidently he thought all had been found out and gave himself up for lost when he was ordered to hold up his hands."  

            "My joke about taking him out and giving him up to the big dog frightened him worse than anything else," said the big teamster.  

            "The fellow must have had an awful experience," said Brooks, "for something tells me the dog's master was also abroad to-night. I felt it all the evening as I sat alone in my corner. When our prospecting friend here began his story I said to myself, 'It is coming ! The hour of vengeance draws near!' Now all is over. All is well ended and the slate wiped clean!"

            "Listen!" cried the landlord. Again there arose outside near at hand the long and doleful howl of a dog. Three times that awful howl rang through the room, while all there sat silent with awestricken faces. All felt that what they heard was the death howl of the Black Dog of the Bend.

            "Let me go out," said Brooks. "Let no one follow me," and rising he went out into the night and the storm.

            Half an hour passed, during which the lightning flashed and the thunder pealed. Then Brooks returned, dripping wet and white as a sheet. He seated himself without a word and his face dropped into his hands. After ten minutes he raised his head and, turning to the landlord, gasped out, "Brandy!"

            In a moment the station-keeper had poured out and brought him nearly half a tumbler of brandy. Brooks swallowed all at a gulp and handed back the glass, then again hid his face in his hands. The landlord stood nervously rolling the glass between his fingers. Several times he opened his mouth as though to speak; then at last he asked, in a voice little above a whisper, "Did you see the dog?"

            Brooks did not raise his head, but muttered between his hands, "Aye, the dog and — and the master!"

            The landlord turned and went behind his bar; we all looked at one another, but no man said a word.

            "The master!" — it was awful.

Dan De Quille.