Young Van Bibber had been staying with some people at Southampton, L.I., where, the fall before, his friend Travers made his reputation as a cross-country rider.  He did this, it may be remembered, by shutting his eyes and holding on by the horse’s mane and letting the horse go as it pleased.  His recklessness and courage are still spoken of with awe; and the place where he cleared the water jump that every one else avoided is pointed out as Travers’s Leap to visiting horsemen, who look at it gloomily and shake their heads.  Miss Arnett, whose mother was giving the house-party, was an attractive young woman, with an admiring retinue of youths who gave attention without intention, and for none of whom Miss Arnett showed particular preference.  Her whole interest, indeed, was centred in a dog, a Scotch collie called Duncan.  She allowed this dog every liberty, and made a decided nuisance of him for every one around her.  He always went with her when she walked, or trotted beside her horse when she rode.  He stretched himself before the fire in the dining-room, and startled people at table by placing his cold nose against their hands or putting his paws on their gowns.  He was generally voted a most annoying adjunct to the Arnett household; but no one dared hint so to Miss Arnett, as she only loved those who loved the dog, or pretended to do it.  On the morning of the afternoon on which Van Bibber and his bag arrived, the dog disappeared and could not be recovered.  Van Bibber found the household in a state of much excitement in consequence, and his welcome was necessarily brief.  The arriving guest was not to be considered at all with the departed dog.  The men told Van Bibber, in confidence, that the general relief among the guests was something ecstatic, but this was marred later by the gloom of Miss Arnett and her inability to think of anything else but the finding of the lost collie.  Things became so feverish that for the sake of rest and peace the house-party proposed to contribute to a joint purse for the return of the dog, as even, nuisance as it was, it was not so bad as having their visit spoiled by Miss Arnett’s abandonment to grief and crossness.

“I think,” said the young woman, after luncheon, “that some of you men might be civil enough to offer to look for him.  I’m sure he can’t have gone far, or, if he has been stolen, the men who took him couldn’t have gone very far away either.  Now which of you will volunteer?  I’m sure you’ll do it to please me.  Mr. Van Bibber, now:  you say you’re so clever.  We’re all the time hearing of your adventures.  Why don’t you show how full of expedients you are and rise to the occasion?” The suggestion of scorn in this speech nettled Van Bibber.

“I’m sure I never posed as being clever,” he said, “and finding a lost dog with all Long Island to pick and choose from isn’t a particularly easy thing to pull off successfully, I should think.”

“I didn’t suppose you’d take a dare like that, Van Bibber,” said one of the men.  “Why, it’s just the sort of thing you do so well.”

“Yes,” said another, “I’ll back you to find him if you try.”

“Thanks,” said Van Bibber, dryly.  “There seems to be a disposition on the part of the young men present to turn me into a dog-catcher.  I doubt whether this is altogether unselfish.  I do not say that they would rather remain indoors and teach the girls how to play billiards, but I quite appreciate their reasons for not wishing to roam about in the snow and whistle for a dog.  However, to oblige the despondent mistress of this valuable member of the household, I will risk pneumonia, and I will, at the same time, in order to make the event interesting to all concerned, back myself to bring that dog back by eight o’clock.  Now, then, if any of you unselfish youths have any sporting blood, you will just name the sum.”

They named one hundred dollars, and arranged that Van Bibber was to have the dog back by eight o’clock, or just in time for dinner; for Van Bibber said he wouldn’t miss his dinner for all the dogs in the two hemispheres, unless the dogs happened to be his own.

Van Bibber put on his great-coat and told the man to bring around the dog-cart; then he filled his pockets with cigars and placed a flask of brandy under the seat, and wrapped the robes around his knees.

“I feel just like a relief expedition to the North Pole.  I think I ought to have some lieutenants,” he suggested.

“Well,” cried one of the men, “suppose we make a pool and each chip in fifty dollars, and the man who brings the dog back in time gets the whole of it?”

“That bet of mine stands, doesn’t it?” asked Van Bibber.

The men said it did, and went off to put on their riding things, and four horses were saddled and brought around from the stable.  Each of the four explorers was furnished with a long rope to tie to Duncan’s collar, and with which he was to be led back if they found him.  They were cheered ironically by the maidens they had deserted on compulsion, and were smiled upon severally by Miss Arnett.  Then they separated and took different roads.  It was snowing gently, and was very cold.  Van Bibber drove aimlessly ahead, looking to the right and left and scanning each back yard and side street.  Every now and then he hailed some passing farm wagon and asked the driver if he had seen a stray collie dog, but the answer was invariably in the negative.  He soon left the village in the rear, and plunged out over the downs.  The wind was bitter cold, and swept from the water with a chill that cut through his clothes.

“Oh, this is great,” said Van Bibber to the patient horse in front of him; “this is sport, this is.  The next time I come to this part of the world I’ll be dragged here with a rope.  Nice, hospitable people those Arnetts, aren’t they?  Ask you to make yourself at home chasing dogs over an ice fjord.  Don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself so much.”  Every now and then he stood up and looked all over the hills and valleys to see if he could not distinguish a black object running over the white surface of the snow, but he saw nothing like a dog, not even the track of one.

Twice he came across one of the other men, shivering and swearing from his saddle, and with teeth chattering.

“Well,” said one of them, shuddering, “you haven’t found that dog yet, I see.”

“No,” said Van Bibber.  “Oh, no.  I’ve given up looking for the dog.  I’m just driving around enjoying myself.  The air’s so invigorating, and I like to feel the snow settling between my collar and the back of my neck.”

At four o’clock Van Bibber was about as nearly frozen as a man could be after he had swallowed half a bottle of brandy.  It was so cold that the ice formed on his cigar when he took it from his lips, and his feet and the dashboard seemed to have become stuck together.

“I think I’ll give it up,” he said, finally, as he turned the horse’s head towards Southampton.  “I hate to lose three hundred and fifty dollars as much as any man; but I love my fair young life, and I’m not going to turn into an equestrian statue in ice for anybody’s collie dog.”

He drove the cart to the stable and unharnessed the horse himself, as all the grooms were out scouring the country, and then went upstairs unobserved and locked himself in his room, for he did not care to have the others know that he had given out so early in the chase.  There was a big open fire in his room, and he put on his warm things and stretched out before it in a great easy-chair, and smoked and sipped the brandy and chuckled with delight as he thought of the four other men racing around in the snow.

“They may have more nerve than I,” he soliloquized, “and I don’t say they have not; but they can have all the credit and rewards they want, and I’ll be satisfied to stay just where I am.”

At seven he saw the four riders coming back dejectedly, and without the dog.  As they passed his room he heard one of the men ask if Van Bibber had got back yet, and another say yes, he had, as he had left the cart in the stable, but that one of the servants had said that he had started out again on foot.

“He has, has he?” said the voice.  “Well, he’s got sporting blood, and he’ll need to keep it at fever heat if he expects to live.  I’m frozen so that I can’t bend my fingers.”

Van Bibber smiled, and moved comfortably in the big chair; he had dozed a little, and was feeling very contented.  At half-past seven he began to dress, and at five minutes to eight he was ready for dinner and stood looking out of the window at the moonlight on the white lawn below.  The snow had stopped falling, and everything lay quiet and still as though it were cut in marble.  And then suddenly, across the lawn, came a black, bedraggled object on four legs, limping painfully, and lifting its feet as though there were lead on them.

“Great heavens!” cried Van Bibber, “it’s the dog!” He was out of the room in a moment and down into the hall.  He heard the murmur of voices in the drawing-room, and the sympathetic tones of the women who were pitying the men.  Van Bibber pulled on his overshoes and a great-coat that covered him from his ears to his ankles, and dashed out into the snow.  The dog had just enough spirit left to try and dodge him, and with a leap to one side went off again across the lawn.  It was, as Van Bibber knew, but three minutes to eight o’clock, and have the dog he must and would.  The collie sprang first to one side and then to the other, and snarled and snapped; but Van Bibber was keen with the excitement of the chase, so he plunged forward recklessly and tackled the dog around the body, and they both rolled over and over together.  Then Van Bibber scrambled to his feet and dashed up the steps and into the drawing-room just as the people were in line for dinner, and while the minute-hand stood at a minute to eight o’clock.

“How is this?” shouted Van Bibber, holding up one hand and clasping the dog under his other arm.

Miss Arnett flew at the collie and embraced it, wet as it was, and ruined her gown, and all the men glanced instinctively at the clock and said: 

“You’ve won, Van.”

“But you must be frozen to death,” said Miss Arnett, looking up at him with gratitude in her eyes.

“Yes, yes,” said Van Bibber, beginning to shiver.  “I’ve had a terrible long walk, and I had to carry him all the way.  If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go change my things.”

He reappeared again in a suspiciously short time for one who had to change outright, and the men admired his endurance and paid up the bet.

“Where did you find him, Van?” one of them asked.

“Oh, yes,” they all chorused.  “Where was he?”

“That,” said Mr. Van Bibber, “is a thing known to only two beings, Duncan and myself.  Duncan can’t tell, and I won’t.  If I did, you’d say I was trying to make myself out clever, and I never boast about the things I do.”