Jagger the Dog from Elsewhere by Alexander Key

ONE  He Is Transported             

When Jagger vanished during the earthquake, everyone mourned. The great white dog was the only casualty, and though he belonged to no one, he was as much a part of the community as the seven Elders, and far better loved. The Elders did little but give good advice, which no one likes to hear. But Jagger was a helper. He policed the gardens, looked after small children, found lost objects, and was always the first to arrive in any sort of emergency. It was not until he was gone that people suddenly realized that life without him would never be the same.

On the morning of the earthquake, just before dawn, Jagger heard the sudden bleating of the goats across the hills, and he went racing through the dark to find out what was wrong. He was very uneasy, and the feeling grew as he realized that the goats ahead were fleeing from some­thing—a something far more disturbing than one of the big cats that sometimes attacked them. But before he could reach them, thunder was roiling across the heavens, and all at once there came a blinding flash of lightning that seemed to cut the world in half. At the same moment the hill he had climbed jerked violently. The force of it sent him tumbling.

Just what happened afterward Jagger never knew. He decided later that the lightning must have stunned him and that he'd probably wandered about in a daze until long after daylight. But it was not until his head cleared and he finally paused to look around that he began to realize something was very wrong.

This wasn't one of the familiar hills where he'd spent his life. That fact was immediately evident. Everything around him was different, from the cold mist creeping down through the trees to the steady roar of a stream somewhere far, far, below. Even the smells were different.

His bewilderment turned to shock as it dawned on him that this was an awfully big hill as well as a strange one, and that he was completely lost upon it. For the first time in all his days he had no idea where he was or in what direction home lay. Worse, he had a terrible feeling that he might never get to see home again.

Jagger was so overcome by this desolate possibility that he could not help raising his head and giving a long mournful howl. It was really a dreadful sound, so haunt­ing that it was hair-raising, and because of his very bigness it carried a great distance. Other dogs on faraway farms heard it and shivered, and howled back in dismay. Birds cried out in fright, and small creatures froze in their bur­rows as if they had just been told that the end of the world was near.

Jagger heard the far-off dogs and stiffened with quick excitement. Dogs were very rare at home. To find so many of them here was almost unbelievable. Then his excite­ment rose as he became aware of the low voices of men somewhere down the slope. All humans were his friends. They would be able to tell him where he was and help him.

He gave a short, eager bark and began hurrying down through the mist. As he ran, he sent thoughts of greeting ahead. But when he was within sight of the men, he stopped abruptly. His greeting had not been returned, nor had they even sent forth a question to indicate they had picked up his thoughts.

Jagger found this quite astonishing. Some people could send and receive thoughts better than others, but he'd never heard of anyone who was unable to do it. Why, even little children could communicate this way before they learned to talk. What sort of men were these?

Through the thinning mist he studied the two men curiously. One was very tall and gaunt, standing head and shoulders above the other. Both were roughly dressed in boots and old clothing, and each carried what seemed to be a weapon. His gaze swung from the grim features of the tall man to the wizened face of the second, who was peer­ing about uneasily.

The small man was muttering, "I tell you it was a wolf we heard, Big Joe. What else could have howled like that?"

"A banshee, mebbe," Big Joe growled, in a voice full of gravel.

"Aw, you know there ain't no such a thing as a banshee around here."

"There ain't no wolves, neither."

"Used to be some, years ago. One mighta come back."

"That weren't no wolf, Curly"

"Then what in tarnation was it?"

"Dunno, but I sure don't like it."

Though the language was strange to Jagger, the thoughts and feelings behind the spoken words were clear enough. Everything about them was upsetting. He hadn't known that men like these existed. Realizing he could expect little help from them, he began moving quietly away. But at this moment a puff of wind ruffled the leaves overhead, and the thin curtain of mist hiding him was swept aside.

With a sudden sharp awareness of danger, he gave a great leap that carried him into the misty woods on the right. He was an instant too late. As his feet touched the ground he heard the small man's gasp and Big Joe's startled oath. Then both men began firing.

A numbing blow on his foreleg almost threw him. Somehow he managed to stifle his cry and run on, keeping to the misty trees while he angled down the slope. Long later, more bewildered than he had ever been and trem­bling from shock and growing pain, he crawled into a thicket to rest and lick his wound while he sought vainly to understand the incredible things that had happened.

It was shattering enough to wake up in a totally strange land after being struck down by lightning—but it was far worse to discover that the people here were his enemies. Why, those men had tried to kill him! It was hard to believe, for men had always been his friends. Yet those two men were different. They couldn't even communicate with him. Was everyone here that way?

As he studied his wound he realized it was much worse than it had appeared at first. Though he had never seen a firearm before, it was easy to guess—from what he'd learned in Elder Norfo's classes—that he'd been struck by some sort of projectile from a gun. The thing had gone on a long, slanting course through his foreleg, making a wound that could cripple him for weeks. No bone seemed to be broken, but he'd lost a lot of blood and he knew he was bound to lose more unless he could lie here motionless for at least a day or so. It might take several days.

It was a dismaying thought. Food, of course, he could do without for a while. After all, fasting was supposed to be good for the mind. But water you had to have.

Jagger's throat had been dry for some time, but only now did he realize the extent of his thirst. He raised his great head, listening for the rush of the stream he had been aware of earlier. It was faint in the distance, much too faint to be worth the effort of going back to find it. But close on his right he could hear the soft splash of a spring coming down between the rocks.

Pain shot through his leg as he lurched to his feet. Limping carefully over to the trickle of water, he began lapping at a small pool beside a boulder. But he had hardly tasted the cool sweetness of it when all his senses became alert at the sudden barking of approaching dogs. At the same instant the inner ear of his mind caught the anguish of a creature in peril, and its silent plea for help.

Jagger forgot his thirst and his lameness. He whirled to face the open glade on his left, beyond which he could hear the dogs. He was of the ancient breed of guardians, whose every instinct is to protect. No hunter, a guardian, but a protector of the hunted. Jagger's shaggy white coat hid the scars of many battles, mostly with the big spotted cats that came to prey on his people's flocks and especially on the deer that were the children's pets. The only outward sign of these conflicts was in the droop of his right ear. It would not stand up as straight as the other when he raised his ears to hear better, but flopped a little, giving him a droll expression when he cocked his head to one side to listen.

All his attention at this moment was on the frightened creature approaching. His mind had reached out to it, probing. He was not surprised to learn it was a doe, fleeing to save a fawn she had hidden from her pursuers. She was exhausted now and the end seemed near.

Though Jagger had realized from the very start what was happening, it was hard for him to accept the evidence of his senses. Back home dogs did not pursue the helpless. It was unthinkable. What sort of place was this where dogs ran wild, and even the humans killed?

Suddenly there was movement in the misty woods across the glade. Jagger sprang forward just as the doe stumbled into the open.

At the sight of him she stopped short and stood swaying with fatigue while she stared at him bleakly. But already he was thrusting comforting thoughts toward her, urging her not to be afraid. As he sped past, all his attention went to the oncoming dogs, now howling in a frenzy as they rushed in for the kill.

Jagger barked a warning and ordered them to halt. He might as well have ordered the earth to stop its turning.

The dogs, led by a huge wolflike mongrel, howled into the glade. Seeing Jagger, they hesitated hardly a second, then fanned out around him, too excited to heed his warn­ing, too close to blood to stop. Only the leader, feeling himself challenged, and suddenly infuriated at finding the way blocked at the final moment, whirled to fight. He quickly paid for his mistake by being flung away with a broken neck, for the great white newcomer was twice his size and many times as strong.

It was not Jagger's intention to kill, but he had no choice. Only speed could save the doe. There were five more dogs in the pack, and already the first was leaping for her throat. He caught the dog in midair and flung it away as he had the leader, then sprang for the next. These swift executions were too much for the remainder of the pack. When he whirled to them, they backed away, cring­ing. Abruptly they turned and fled.

There was something like wonder in the doe's eyes as she looked at Jagger. Slowly she moved over and touched her nose to his in the ancient gesture of trust and friend­ship. A moment later a distant sound caught her attention. All at once she trotted across the glade and faded into the shadows.

Once more Jagger found himself listening to the voices of men. They were approaching, hurrying, and they seemed excited. They were not the same men he had en­countered earlier, but it made no difference. Man, in this strange and dreadful place, was not to be trusted. He quickly followed the doe's example and crept into the forest.

It was almost dark before he found another thicket that seemed safe to hide in. The early dark surprised him. Surely he hadn't really spent a full day wandering about on this strange hillside. Still, maybe he had. He'd been pretty dazed at first. A lot of time could have passed.

His leg was bleeding again and it had become very painful. After he had made himself as comfortable as pos­sible, he tried pressing dried leaves about the wound, but it did little good. If only he'd been born with hands instead of paws, he could have managed it easily, for it would have been nothing to bind the leaves in place with some of the little creepers that grew all around the thicket. But when you have paws as big as lily pads . . .

Jagger sighed and tried to resign himself to the ordeal of lying perfectly still until his leg healed enough to check the bleeding. He'd have to go without food, probably for days, but that wasn't what bothered him. After all, he and Elder Norfo had often fasted together. "Fasting," the El­der was fond of saying, "is not only good for both soul and body, but it sharpens the mind. Ah, how one gains men­tally!"

Jagger hadn't noticed that it did much for him, either mentally or otherwise. But he'd never minded so long as the Elder had a huge bowl of his special porridge ready for him afterward. But who, here, was going to give him a bowl of anything? He didn't like to think about it, but he couldn't remember having seen a thing all day that looked edible. Not a thing.

A family of rabbits occupied the other side of the thicket, and though Jagger was very much aware of them and could have caught one easily—It had always been great fun to play tag with rabbits at home—he would have been outraged at the thought of killing and eating one. He had never eaten meat in his life.

His gloom increased as black dark closed down, and it grew worse during the night. Pain kept him awake, and a cold mist added to his misery. He finally dozed away, only to be awakened at dawn by the uneasy calls of birds and the sudden banging of guns somewhere down the slope. The air was almost frosty.

He worried over the gunfire, and at last questioned the rabbits about it.

He was told that it was the sound of death. The time of greatest danger had come, and all creatures should stay hidden.

Jagger did not immediately understand. Then the truth jolted him. This was the season when humans liked to kill.

It was the beginning of another bad day, which only seemed to worsen as the hours passed. He had not eaten since the evening before the lightning struck him. Now he was suddenly tormented by visions of his favorite bowl filled with porridge—the Elder's very special porridge made of beans and whole grains. But an even greater torment was a growing thirst. His last drink had been taken from a muddy pool some distance from the thicket, and he dreaded the ordeal of going back to it.

By midday his thirst had become intolerable. He forced himself out of the thicket and managed to limp to the pool, leaving a trail of blood, but after he had lapped his fill, his strength deserted him. Long later the deadly sound of nearby guns drove him to his feet again, and he managed to totter back to his hiding place.

Jagger had hardly settled down in the thicket when the mist, which had been hanging low all day, turned to a chill drizzle. By dark it was raining steadily, and he was colder and more miserable than he had ever been in his life.

Longingly that night he thought of home. He visioned the spry little Elder who had raised him and taught him all he knew, and he thought of the many others who depended on him and loved him—specially the small children like Anda and Lillet and Ereen, who rode every­where on his back, laughing and singing. Oh, where, where was home now?

Jagger moaned in anguish, and a great wave of homesickness swept over him. In his loneliness and despair he sent a great silent cry into the void.

Oh, Elder, where am? Can you hear me? LiIlet?Anda? Oh, please hear me!

He waited, hardly daring to hope. There was no answer. In his extremity he sent forth a final, despairing call.

Is there anyone, anywhere, who can hear me?

It was now, suddenly, that a small clear voice said hesitantly, "I-I hear you! Who are you?"

TWO  He Becomes a Banshee

The voice was so startlingly clear that for a moment Jag­ger was sure the owner of it must be in the thicket, close beside him in the dark. But of course this was impossible, as he realized almost instantly. He was aware of every living thing around him, from the rabbits on one side to the family of white-footed mice in their burrow on the right. Nor could anyone or anything have crept near him unnoticed.

He had heard the voice only in his mind. But why was it so clear? Still, there were some people. . .

I am called Jagger. he replied. Who are you?

"Jagger?" the voice repeated. "What an odd name!" Then it exclaimed delightedly, "Oh, this is wonderful! You're the first person I've ever been able to talk to this way. I can talk to owls and horses and foxes and crows—the crows are the smartest things—but you're the first real person-“

I'm not exactly a person. Jagger interrupted.

"Oh, but you must be!" the voice insisted. "A grown­up, I mean. That's how you sound, sort of deep and gruffy, like a man. You are a man, aren't you?" But before he could reply the voice hastened on. “When I first heard you I had the awfullest feeling you were in trouble. Maybe hurt or something. Are you hurt?"

Yes. he said. I've been wounded in the leg

              "Oh, dear! What happened?"             

Men tried to kill me.

"But—but I don't understand! Why would anyone want to do that?"

I don 't know—except that this seems to be the time when men kill And I may have frightened them. All this is very strange to me. Why do the humans here kill? I've never heard of such a thing!

"You—you've never beard of hunting season before?"

No.

"Why, I—I just can't imagine—Jagger, what sort of person are you?"

I told you I wasn't exactly a person, although I have the status of one in my community.  I am a dog.

To the inner ear of his mind now came what sounded like a squeal of delight. It was just the sort of squeal that tiny Ereen back home might have made, and he suddenly realized it must be a small girl he was talking to—and a very remarkable small girl at that. She could send forth her thoughts better than anyone he'd ever known.

"A dog!" she was saying happily. "Oh, I'm so glad! I used to have a little dog named Dandy, and I loved him so, but Aunt Tess hated him, so she—But let's not talk about that. Let's talk about you. Is it raining where you are?"

Yes, Jagger told her, trying not too successfully to hide his misery.

"Oh, how awful!" she exclaimed. "It's just starting here, but I had a feeling it was pouring where you are. You must be soaked through and shaking with the cold, and hungry besides. You are hungry, aren't you?"

Somewhat, he admitted. Rut that's the least of it.  I've lost so much blood And still the wound bleeds.

"Then we’ll have to stop it right away," she said hastily. “Peter will know how. He's my brother. He's three grades ahead of me, so he's terribly old and smart. I'll go wake him.”

Wait. Jagger ordered. You Can't do anything tonight And you've no business being in the woods in the dark in this kind of weather Don't you realize—

"Oh, pooh! We're not afraid of the dark, or the woods either. The only real friends we have are in the woods, and that includes old Mr. Rush, the bee man. Anyway, Aunt Tess is away and we're all alone here, so there's nobody to stop us if we want to go looking for you. Just tell me about where you are, and we'll-"

But I don't know where lam! Jagger shot back misera­bly. I never saw this place before. I don't even know how I got here.

"Honest?"

He could feel the shock in her. All I know, he added quickly, is that there was a storm of some kind, and I believe I was struck by lightning. When I woke up everything was different Everything—the trees, the air, the peo­ple, the language.

"But—but you're still in America, because—"

I never heard of America before.

"But—but you must have! This is Alabama, and you can't be far away, because you're coming in so strong, and anyhow we're both speaking English."

Jagger sighed. Just because we understand each other doesn't mean we speak the same language. We don't. Yours is strange to me, and I'm sure you don't know mine.

"B-but-"

It's thought we are communicating with, not language. When I send you a thought, you hear it in your mind in whatever language you happen to know. If you don't know a language, then your mind receives feelings. That's why you can talk to owls and crows and things.

"Oh! Oh, my goodness! I—I didn't realize . . .”

And that's not all. Jagger hastened to add. I hate to tell you this, but I know I'm not from this country, wherever it is.  I'm from a different place entirely, and I'm beginning to believe it's on another planet.

It was a fact he hadn't wanted to admit before, even to himself. But it was out at last, and he had to face it. He could never hope to see home again. It was gone forever. And the Elder was gone, and Anda and Lillet and Ereen and all the others he loved.

There was a long shocked silence from the unknown girl who had been talking to him. Suddenly she stammered, "F-from another planet? Well, I'll be a speckled-blue monkey! Wait'll I tell Peter about you!"

Jagger waited, shivering in the cold rain, and tried to keep his mind on the girl. Puzzling over her made it easier to forget himself and his growing misery. She'd forgotten to give her name, although that hardly mattered, for he'd already guessed a lot just by listening to her. A remarkable little person who wasn't really as happy as she sounded. He'd caught shadows of thoughts that told him there was trouble in her life. A great deal of it.

"Jagger," she broke in suddenly, worriedly. "I woke Peter and told him all about you. But-but he doesn't believe me!"

Does he know you talk to owls and crows? He replied.

"He's seen me do it, for I always talk aloud when I send thoughts out—like I'm doing to you now—only he says anybody can talk to a crow. Maybe he's just putting me on—I can't read his mind like I can other people's. But he says I’m really making it up when I tell him about you—that there's no such thing as a telepathic dog from outer space! Jagger, what can I do?"

We'll think of something But first, haven't you a name?

"Oh, didn't I tell you? It's Nan. Nan Thornberry. We're at Thornberry Farm. It's more of a ranch, really—a sort of small one, that is—but now that Pop's gone. . .”

He was aware of a sudden deep sadness in her, then she went on brightly, "Jagger, what about those men that shot you? Maybe Peter knows them. Can you tell me what they were like?"

He described them carefully, then added, Curly was the little man's name. He called the tall one Big Joe.

There was a short silence. He was trying to see her clearer in his mind when she said, "Oh, I've met them. And Peter knows all about them. The little one's Curly Brice, and his son, Billy, is in Peter's class at school. Peter says that this morning he heard Billy say that his father and another man were hunting yesterday up on Long Creek Ridge when they heard something awful howling in the mist. Mr. Brice thought it was a wolf at first, but the other man—he's Mr. Joe Tanner—said there were no wolves around, and, to sound so terrible, it couldn't be anything but a banshee."

I did howl, Jagger admitted, and I heard them say that, but I'm not acquainted with the creature. Just what is a banshee?

"Oh, it's supposed to be a perfectly ghastly sort of ghost found in Ireland, but people like Mr. Tanner believe they're found here, too. Anyway, Billy Brice says his fa­ther told him they'd hardly decided it really was a banshee when they saw it coming at them through the mist. It was

white and big as an elephant and absolutely horrible. Jag­ger, please don't tell me you're horrible and big as an I elephant!"

I don't know how big an elephant is, but I do seem to be larger than the dogs you have here.

"You-you've met some dogs?"

Jagger told her about the pack he had been forced to fight. I didn't know my kind could be so bloodthirsty.  I hate to kill, but I had to do it to save the doe.

Nan was silent a moment. Abruptly she said, "I told Peter what you did, and he says he's heard about the three dogs being killed, and that people are already saying it was done by the banshee. Most of them don't think it's a real banshee, that it's just a dangerous animal which ought to be tracked down and shot. So Peter thinks we'd better start looking for you right away."

No! he told her quickly. I've already warned you about going out in the woods on a night like this.  Anything can happen, and I'm too weak to protect you. If you'll wait till daylight-

"Aw, don't be an old silly!" she retorted. "Peter and I know what we're doing. Anyhow, if we wait till morning, it may be too late. The hunters are bound to find you!"

There was a short pause, then her voice came again. "We'll be on our way in a minute. Peter's getting his first-aid kit and the flashlights, and I'm down at the refrig­erator packing a lunch. I hope you like raw hamburger, because it's the only meat we have except some canned stuff."

No! said Jagger, revolted. Then, in sudden awful com­prehension, he added, The humans here—they are flesh eaters?

"Of course! What's wrong with that?" Without waiting for a reply she hastened on, "Stars alive! I never heard of a dog that didn't like meat! But what in the world can I bring you? Macaroni and cheese? That'll have to be it, 'cause it's all we have, and I'll put in a big can of beans to splice out. Here comes Peter with the raincoats, so we're leaving now. . .”

How do you expect to find me? he asked presently, when he learned that his searchers had gained the woods.

"Oh, that won't be hard," Nan told him, with far more confidence than he knew she felt. "We know you're somewhere on this side of Long Creek Ridge, and that's right back of our farm. All we have to do is follow the old logging road up to the clearing, then take one of the trails. Peter wants to know if you remember crossing a road or a trail after you fought the dog pack?"

In spite of his weakness and all that had happened, Jagger's more-than-ordinary memory was still in good working order. He could recall every yard of the route he had taken since being wounded. Given the chance, he knew he could probably even retrace his way back to the unknown spot where he had begun his wanderings after the lightning flash, nor would the passage of time make any difference.

I did not cross a road, he said. After leaving the doe, I followed a path made by deer for a while. Then I angled down the slope, crossed a small open place with a puddle of muddy water in it, and went straight on through the woods to the thicket where I am now.

Jagger paused, trying to think. With the cold and his weakness, it was becoming increasingly hard to keep his thoughts together. He could only guess at directions, for he had not seen the sun since leaving home.

Does the ridge run north and south? he asked finally.

"Yes, and the creek follows it on the east But not all I the way," she added. "About halfway along it sort of turns aside and goes winding away into the low country. Peter wants to know if it sounds very loud where you are?"

No. It seems to be a long way from here.

"Then Peter thinks you must be 'way south on the ridge, and it shouldn't take us any time to find you."

Jagger had his doubts that Peter would be able to locate him without trouble, but he managed to wait patiently, listening. He had acquired a great store of patience from living with Elder Norfo, and considerable philosophy as well, but he could not help worrying about his searchers. They were much too young to be stumbling around in such wild country on a ni8ht like this.

Occasionally, at Nan's suggestion, he gave a series of short barks which she answered with a shout. They were able presently to hear each other, but the rain and the thick forest muffled sound and played tricks with it, so that even Jagger found it hard to guess the direction of it. But gradually the rain lessened, and in slow time he saw the wavering gleams of his searchers' flashlights ...