“I’ll phone the pound and then send word to the police to keep their eyes open for him,” said the reporter, genuinely touched by the ghastly face of his companion. “And we’ll advertise, too. Oh, we’ll find him, all right! You mustn’t worry.”
Joel did not answer. Joel did not hear. All his days, he had lived in the open spaces and far from the peopled haunts of life. To him there was terror in the sight of such crowds as now moved past the armory. There was double terror in the spectacle of the thick-built city which harbored the crowds. He had a born and reared countryman’s distrust and dislike for populous streets. To him they held mystery—sinister mystery.
Somewhere in these unfriendly and confusing and perilous streets his beautiful collie chum was wandering in search of the master who was responsible for his misfortune;—was seeking Fenno, wistfully and in vain, amid a million dangers.
A score of whizzing automobiles, flashing in and out, in front of Joel—the clang of trolley cars and the onrush of a passing fire-engine—all these were possible instruments of death to the ranch-raised collie who was straying out yonder, perplexed and aimless, hunting for the man who was his god.
Treve had crowded into two brief minutes more agonizing excitement and drama than had been his in the past two years.
He had met and attacked his olden tyrant. He had seen his master in life-and-death battle with that tyrant. Fifty-fold worse than all else, he had seen that cherished master overpowered and dragged away; and had had no power to fly to his assistance.
Small wonder the frenzied dog had hurled himself with all his might against the collar that held him back from battling for his master’s release! Then, at last, the collar had broken; leaving Treve free to follow and to rescue the captured man. Down the aisle he tore; and out through the gateway and down the steps. It was in this direction they had taken Fenno. Treve had seen him go. And he ran by eye and not by scent.
But, when he reached the sidewalk and saw no trace of Joel, he reverted to first principles; and dropped his muzzle earthward.
Hundreds of people had traversed that stone pavement during the past minutes. But through the welter of scents Treve’s keen nostrils had scant difficulty in picking up Joel Fenno’s long-familiar trail. Rapidly he followed it;—but only for a yard or so. It led to the curb. There the policeman had bundled Joel into the car that was to bear him to the mile-off station. There, of course, the trail ceased. And there the dog paused, wholly checkmated.