White Ruff

By Glenn Balch

A classic children's story about a wonderful dog and his adventures.

“They're holding White Ruff for ransom,” Chet's father said. “They want a thousand dollars.”

Meanwhile the big collie awoke. Noise drummed against his ears, the roar of a motor and the rumble of rolling wheels. Suddenly there was a screeching sound! The box containing Ruff went flying through the air, crashed and rolled over and over. Ruff jumped clear of the blazing gasoline. He was free!

But where was he? Where were Chet and his father? How could he get home?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barakaldo Books
• Release date: May 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781839747199

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© Barakaldo Books 2020, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

WHITE RUFF

BY

GLENN BALCH

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 4

CHAPTER ONE 5

CHAPTER TWO 15

CHAPTER THREE 24

CHAPTER FOUR 29

CHAPTER FIVE 35

CHAPTER SIX 42

CHAPTER SEVEN 52

CHAPTER EIGHT 69

CHAPTER NINE 74

CHAPTER TEN 80

CHAPTER ELEVEN 87

CHAPTER TWELVE 92

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 101

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 108

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 112

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 112

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 112

CHAPTER ONE

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THE STARRY NIGHT above the little Salmon River mountain town echoed an re-echoed with Chet Foster’s shrill and anxious calling. White Ruff, his big golden collie, had disappeared. Minute after long minute passed, and there was no answer, no joyous bark, no bounding white-fronted shape in the dark.

The unwept tears in the piercing sound cut Ace Foster’s heart to the quick. White Ruff had come to them years before at their backwoods cabin, a lost and lonely puppy, and since that time had been Chet’s constant companion, loved with all the great love for a dog of which a boy’s heart is capable.

The minutes became a long anguished hour, then two—and finally Chet’s lips had no more pucker, no more whistling would come from his choking throat. He lowered his head and stumbled back through the night to the old hotel. The lobby was empty when he entered, and he went up the stairs to their room. His father was seated on the side of the bed, thoughtfully dangling a dusty boot from his brown forefinger.

Ruff had been sleeping in the stable with the horses, which were his special charge, and it was big Red’s loud and anxious neighing that had awakened Chet and his father. They had known immediately that something was wrong, and had hurried to the stable. The horses were all right in their rented stalls, but the big collie was gone, leaving only a round nest in the straw to show where he had been.

Might as well get some sleep, Chet, the man said regretfully. We can’t do anything more till daylight.

But what could have happened to him, Dad? the youth asked, his distress showing plainly in his gray eyes. He was there when I fed him, and he wouldn’t run away.

No, Ace Foster said firmly, he didn’t run away.

But...he’s gone.

The father nodded. Something’s happened. I don’t know just what, but something did. Maybe he will be there in the morning. He could be. Slide in bed now and get some sleep. We’ll look for him tomorrow.

Thirty minutes later, when the boy’s form had become still under the covers, the man softly put out the light, pulled his boots on and made his way downstairs and across the street to the stable. Whoever it was, he muttered to himself, might come back after the horses. Likely we’ve scared them away, but they might. I hope they do.

He moved along in the dark until he came to the stalls in which the two bay horses stood. An empty stall was near and he entered that and sank down in the darkness. There he remained, silent and watchful, until daylight, then he got up, stretched his stiff legs and went across to the hotel. He was eating breakfast when Chet entered the dining room. The boy came from the front door, and Ace knew he had already made a circle around the town.

How’d you sleep? the man asked.

All right, Chet answered, but he didn’t meet his father’s gaze.

Eat some breakfast, then we’ll go look for him, Ace said. He didn’t disappear without leaving any traces. We’ll find something.

Chet looked up then. If anybody’s hurt him, I’ll...I’ll...Gee, Dad...

Ace Foster nodded, his lean tanned face grim.

They went back to the stables as soon as Chet had finished eating. The stableman had arrived by this time, from his home nearby. He had heard the noise during the night, but did not know what had caused it. I looked out my window, but couldn’t see anything wrong, he said.

Ace Foster led the way through the barn, to the corral behind, where the early morning sun was slanting down across the tops of the hillside pines. His keen eyes picked up the tracks of two men in the dust almost immediately, the flat-heeled tracks of walking men. He saw, too, a long rectangular impression left by a box, a thing which caused his brow to furrow in puzzlement. Two sets of shoe prints led away from the place where the box had rested, one limping and the other deep and firm as though the man who had made it had been carrying a heavy weight. Ace and Chet quickly traced these tracks to the corral fence. There the sign divided, the limping trail turning to the right, toward the street. The other sign went along behind the wooden buildings. It was hard to follow in the beaten earth, but the Fosters kept at it, doggedly scrutinizing each foot of ground, and presently they determined that this man, after passing three alleyways between the buildings, had turned into the fourth and made his way to the wooden sidewalk.

Ace Foster raised his head and looked along the little street. It was still early in the morning and the place was deserted, except for a clerk opening Hinkle’s store on the other side of the rutted clay.

We can’t track him any farther, Chet said, his voice heavy with discouragement.

No, the man said. He paused, then went on, Let’s go back to the corral.

When they reached the place, the man began a careful scrutiny of the dust about the place where the box had been. Presently he moved forward, reached down and brushed the dirt from a bright object—a new screw, the kind that carpenters use in woodwork. It looks like they carried him away in a box, he said, his jaw muscles knotting angrily.

A box! Chet cried. Does that mean he was...?

No, his father said. If he had been dead, they wouldn’t have bothered with a box. I guess they were after the horses, and we scared them away.

But how did they get Ruff in a box? Chet wanted to know. What did they do with him?

The man shook his head. That’s something I can’t explain, at least not right now, Chet. But maybe we can find out something more. Come on. He led the way through the livery barn and down the street to the general store. Sell any screws like that? he asked the man behind the counter, showing him the bit of bright metal.

Sure, lots of them, the man said.

Who to—lately? Ace asked.

Oh...Brad Simmons, Earl Stander, Vic Dockley, Ferd Caswell—people around here are always buying nails and screws.

Any of them that might want to steal a couple of horses? Ace asked bluntly.

The storeman’s eyes widened. Why, no, not as I know of, he said. Some of your horses missing, Ace?

No, but they could have been, Chet’s father answered. Someone was fooling around the livery stable last night. And our dog is missing.

What’s the screw got to do with it? the man asked.

They could have dropped it, Ace told him. I found it near the back doorway.

Oh, the man said. He thought a minute, then added, Brad Simmons is the blacksmith; you know him. Ferd Caswell has a ranch on Deer Creek.

What about Stander? Ace asked.

Haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks. He’s placerin’ over on the South Fork somewhere.

Who’s this Dockley?

Oh, he’s a sheepherder—does a little carpenter work now and then.

Does he live in town?

Yes, he’s got a cabin back in the alders, over close to the creek.

Ace Foster was thoughtful for a few seconds, then he said, Maybe he’s the man we’re looking for. Thanks for the information. Come on, Chet.

They found the trail leading through the thick-growing alders and presently came to a little clearing that surrounded a small but well-built cabin. Chet’s father halted and looked at the place for several seconds. The door was closed and no smoke came from the chimney.

Ace Foster went on, along the path to the door. Hello, he called. Hello, Dockley?

There was no answer. After waiting a minute, Ace tried the latch handle. It lifted and the door swung open. Hello. Anybody here? Ace called again. He waited a few seconds, then went in, with Chet close behind him. The interior of the cabin was untidy, with bed tousled and dirty dishes on the table. Ace pointed to the coffee cups and said, Two of them, Chet. You keep a watch out the door while I take a look around.

A few minutes later the man joined the youth at the doorway.

Find anything? Chet asked. He was a tall slim boy in his waist overalls and high-heeled boots.

His father held out two screws for him to see and asked, Which is the one we found in the corral?

Chet shook his head. They look alike to me.

They do to me too, his father answered. There’s a sack of them in there, as well as a saw and a hammer. And there are board ends and fresh sawdust on the floor. It may not mean a thing, but we’ll have a talk with this man Dockley when we find him.

They didn’t find Vic Dockley, however, not that morning, although they returned to town and asked questions of everyone who might know anything about him. He had been there the day before, was seen on the street and in the pool hall; but no one knew where he was now and no one knew of any trips that he had expected to make.

Nor had anyone seen anything of a big red-gold collie with white rings about his neck.

The Fosters were silent and discouraged when they returned to the hotel at noon. They went into the dining room and sat at the long table. Mrs. Turner put an envelope by Ace Fosters plate. Letter for you, Ace, she said. It came in on the stage this morning.

The man glanced at the envelope, tore it open and unfolded the sheet of paper it contained. As he read, his eyes narrowed to angry slits and his lips drew across his tanned face in a hard grim line.

What is it, Dad? Chet asked anxiously.

They’re holding White Ruff for ransom, his father said. They want a thousand dollars.

A what— Chet cried.

They stole him, Ace said heatedly. They say we can have him back for a thousand dollars.

But—who? the boy asked.

I wish I knew, the man declared. The letter is signed: Captain Kidd.

Captain Kidd—

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a name, Ace said.

But gee! Where are they holding him? Where is he?

The man glanced at the envelope again. This letter was mailed down country—yesterday.

Then they’ve taken him out, Chet said.

Maybe, his father answered. Maybe they have. It looks like it.

Let’s go down there, Chet suggested eagerly. Maybe we can find him. If we ever get close enough for him to hear me whistle...

Ace shook his head. No, I think we had better stay here. This letter says to stay here and wait for more instructions about how to pay the money. We’ll do that, Chet; we’ll wait for the other instructions. I think that is the best thing for us to do.

Mrs. Turner brought a platter of meat. Ace took a piece and passed the platter to Chet.

But gee—Dad, Chet said, still shocked. A thousand dollars—

It was somebody who knows how much we like White Ruff, I guess, his father said slowly.

But...can we pay a thousand dollars? Chet asked, worried.

We can—if we have to, Ace replied. I’ll send down to the bank today after the money.

For a week the two Fosters stayed at the hotel, and all the people of Big Pine knew that the father was carrying a thousand dollars in five-, ten-and twenty-dollar bills, awaiting instructions from the men who had stolen the big collie. But the painful tormenting days passed, one after another, and the additional instructions did not come. The thieves, as well as the golden dog, seemed to have vanished in thin air. No further word came from them.

Finally, one morning, Ace said, Well, Chet, it looks like we’ve done all we can do. I can’t imagine what has happened.

Yes, sir, Chet said in dismal agreement, avoiding his father’s eyes.

We ought to be getting back to the ranch, Ace said gently.

Yes, sir, Chet answered. I’ll go and saddle the horses. He went quickly, hiding his face so his father could not see his tears.

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Ace Foster walked down the street, for one more call at the little post office, hoping against hope that there might be something there. There wasn’t any letter, but as Ace was coming back past the general store the storekeeper was standing in the doorway. Good morning, Ace, he said. Vic Dockley’s back in town. I saw him last night.

Ace halted. Good, he said. We’ll go and have a talk with him.

Ace and Chet rode to the clearing in the alders. A heavily-built man with a dark stubble of whiskers on his face came to the cabin door in answer to Ace’s call. His little eyes narrowed at the sight of the two horsemen.

You Vic Dockley? the elder Foster asked bluntly.

Yes, the man answered.

Ace swung down from his saddle, a