Our hero paused, and Possum rubbed himself against him and looked up whimpering in his face. “Never mind, old boy,” said Harry. “Even if this is the very castle of Giant Fog, we have Duty with us. On, Possum, on.”
The kangaroo hound drew back. The boy pressed forward, and in a moment he felt he was falling rapidly through the air.
How long poor Harry lay at the base of those cruel crags he could not say, but when he recovered consciousness the dog’s cold nose was against his cheek. When he attempted to rise from the ground he found one of his little arms hung useless at his side and sharp pains darted through every limb. The tears started to his eyes, for he was but a little fellow.
“Giant Fog has done us a bad turn, Possum; [[182]]yet Giant Duty will help us all right,” he muttered, and fell back with a groan of pain.
The dark night fell o’er the mountains. Patiently the mother waited and watched for the return of her son. In her anxiety she was about to issue forth in quest of him when the doctor made his appearance.
“Where is Harry?” he inquired eagerly.
“Not come back yet.”
“No, I made all haste to overtake him, but the fog is so thick I have missed him on the way.”
While they were talking Possum dashed into the house, and without more ado began to tug at the dress of the woman with might and main, and with whines and barkings asked as plain as dog could ask for them to follow him.
The woman understood the mute appeal. Accompanied by the doctor they hastened after Possum, who led them over spurs and ridges to where lay his insensible boy-master.