He had claimed it to be a gift from a friend just returned from Europe, who had brought over the famous litter of pups of which it was one.
Wacker had estimated its value at five hundred dollars. Next day he cut the price in half. New Year's day, being hard up, he confidentially offered to sell it for five dollars.
After that it went begging for fifty cents and trade, and no takers. Lem kicked the poor animal around as "an ornery, no-good brute," and had to keep it tied up on his own premises all of the time to evade paying for a license tag.
Meeting the dog now, gave a new animation to Bart's thoughts.
The sequence of its appearance, here, ten miles away from home, was easy to pursue. It had broken away from its new owners—Buck and Hank Tolliver—and they were somewhere further up the road.
Christmas was making for home. It was hardly possible that the animal knew Bart, for, although he had seen it several times, he had never spoken to it before. The call of its name, however, had checked the animal, and now as Bart drew a cracker from his pocket and extended it, the dog began to advance slowly and cautiously towards him.
Bart saw the importance of making a friend of the animal. He stood perfectly still, talking in a gentle, persuasive tone.
Christmas came up to him timorously, sniffed all about his feet, and suddenly wagged its tail and put its feet up on him in a friendly manifestation of delight.
Its keen sense of scent had apparently recognized that Bart had been a visitor to the Wacker home that day. It now took the cracker from Bart's hand, then another, and as Bart sat down again stretched itself placidly and contentedly at his side.
"This looks all right," ruminated Bart speculatively. "If I can only get Christmas to go back the way he came, I feel I have found the right trail."