Hinter laughed. "Well, hardly," he returned. "They are thoroughbred Great Danes, although Sphinx and Dexter both have wolf natures, I fear."
"Is that why people don't go near your place, 'cause they're scared of the dogs?" Billy asked.
Hinter's face grew grave. "Perhaps," he answered. "I hope it is."
"Then why don't you get rid of 'em?"
Hinter shook his head. "Nobody would have them, they're too savage; and I haven't the heart to make away with them, because they are fond of me. I've had those dogs a long time, Billy."
"I understan'," said Billy, sympathetically.
Hinter put his hand in his coat pocket and drew out an ivory dog-whistle. "Would you like to know them, Billy?" he asked, his keen eyes on the boy's face.
"I wouldn't mind," said Billy.
Hinter put the whistle to his lips and sent a warbling call through the woods. "Stand perfectly still," he said, as he placed the whistle back in his pocket. "I won't let them hurt you. Here they come now."
The next instant two great dogs plunged from the thicket, their heavy jaws open and dripping and their deep eyes searching for their master and the reason for his call.