“Unless the dog could lead me to them, or them to me,” he mused. “I wonder where Towser is, anyhow?”
Tom’s last view of the animal had been when it darted into a bush, after some rabbit, perhaps. Then had come the sudden attack. If the dog had returned, Tom did not know of it. He only hoped the animal would “raise some sort of row,” as he put it.
But there was no evidence of Towser. Tom could hear only the now low-voiced talk of two men, and the rush of the wind. That it was still snowing he was quite sure, and he wondered what his companions were doing.
Suddenly he became aware of some new element that entered into his predicament. One of the men exclaimed:
“Here he comes now!”
“That’s good!” responded the other, and there seemed to be relief in his tones.
“I didn’t see anything of him,” called the newcomer. “I saw the others—they’ve separated, all right, but Fairfield——”
“He’s here! We’ve got him!” was the triumphant rejoinder of one of the men near Tom. “Got him good and proper!”
“You have! That’s the ticket. Now we’ll see what the old man has to say. I guess he’ll pony up all right.”