“Swimming isn’t going to do any good—not in this weather,” murmured Bert, buttoning his mackinaw tighter about him, and beating his arms at his sides, for they all had been standing still, and were rather chilled.
“I could talk hog-Latin,” Jack said with a smile, “but I don’t believe that is any good for a dog. Call him back, Tom. You seem to have more influence over him than anyone else, and he’s getting too far ahead. I wonder where he’s going, anyhow?”
“I don’t much care—Camp one, two, or three will suit me just about now,” Tom remarked, as he turned his face to avoid a stinging blast of snowflakes. “Surely the dog knows his way to all three of them, and, if they are too far, he may lead us to Sam’s farm. That wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Nothing would be bad where there was a warm fire and plenty of grub,” commented Bert. “But call that dog back, Tom, or we’ll lose him again. He’s off there somewhere, barking to beat the band!”
Tom whistled shrilly. A series of barks came in answer, and, a little later the dog himself came bounding through the snow. His muzzle was all whitened where he had been burrowing, perhaps after some luckless rabbit. But his bright eyes were glowing as the boys could see in the half-darkness that had fallen, and Towser, as they continued to call him, for want of a better name, seemed delighted at something or another. Whether it was the storm, the fun he had had trailing the bear, or whether he was just glad to be with the boys, and happy over the prospect of adventures to come, no one could say.
The dog barked, wagged his tail, ran on a little way, came back, barked some more, ran on again, and then repeated the performance over and over, getting more and more excited all the while.
“He wants us to follow him,” decided Tom. “All right, old man, I’m with you,” he said. “Come on, boys. We’ll see what comes of it.”
Together the four hunters set off with the dog in the lead. Truth to tell they did not feel very much like hunters that day, nor had they had any luck. Matters seemed to be going against them. And in the storm and darkness there was a distinct feeling of depression over everyone. The dog was really the only cheerful creature there, and he had spirits enough for all of them, could they but be transferred.
“Whew! This is a storm!” cried Tom, as he bent his head to the blast.
It did seem to be getting worse. The wind had a keener cut and whirled the sharp flakes of snow into one’s face with stinging force.