Sandy was the big Airedale dog owned by Garry, a canine that possessed almost as much sense as some humans. When they had gone on their mission to the border to capture the smugglers, they had left the dog in Nate’s keeping, as they were afraid that the sight of the dog would bring to mind who they were to any of their enemies, and they had made several in the course of their sojourn in the Maine woods.
To speak was to act with Garry, and he promptly made his way to the desk where the familiar blue lettered lamp was aglow.
The work of writing the message was short and then they went to their rooms, first stopping in to say good night to Mr. Boone, and advising him to see the motion picture the next day so that he could see them in their small parts.
This Mr. Boone promised to do, and soon all were sleeping the sound sleep of healthy boys with never a worry or care.
Morning came, and with it the boys arose and hastened to the dining room to make the most of the brief opportunity that they would have for the excellent hotel fare. They spent a part of the forenoon in overhauling and looking over their radio-phone equipment to see that it was all in perfect condition, for they had a hunch that it would come in very useful when they arrived at the cutting tract. This was to be proven true at a later date.
About ten o’clock they received a wire from Nate saying that he would arrive in Bangor about noon and would bring the Airedale with him. True to his promise in the telegram, the old guide appeared at the hotel shortly after the noon hour set in and with him was Sandy. The boys were seated in some of the arm chairs that dotted the lobby, and in less than a moment the dog had found his friends, and nearly knocked over half a dozen people in his haste and eagerness to reach the trio, for despite the fact that an Airedale is called a one man dog, he distributed his friendship equally among the three chums.
The boys were fully as glad to see their four-footed friend as he was to welcome them, and they cuffed and patted him strenuously.
“Wall, boys, there’s your pup, safe and sound as the day I took charge of him. And let me tell you, he is some dog. Saved me a considerable sum of money tother day, too,” announced Nate.
“Tell us about it,” asked Garry, as the three crowded around the old “State of Mainer” and shook hands with him heartily.
“There ain’t a whole lot to tell, ’cepting that a few days ago I sold a small tract of land that I had to a queer old codger who doesn’t believe in banks, and who paid me in bills. I believe in banks myself, but it was late when I made the deal so I had to stow the money away in the house. I locked it up as well as I could in a small desk in the sitting room, and went on to bed. ’Bout twelve o’clock I heard a tearing around downstairs and Sandy barking fit to raise the dead. I hopped downstairs as soon as I could reach for a rifle that stood in the corner of my bedroom, just in time to see Sandy going through an open window. I chased out after him, but someone was just driving away in an automobile as I got out of the window. Sandy ran the car down the road a piece, but came back beaten and tuckered out. He was fast, but not quite fast enough to catch the car, going at the rate it was. Well, I got back in through the window and looked around. The window had been forced open, and the burglar was just evidently about to force open the desk, for there were scratches about the lock and a heavy screwdriver was laying on the floor. I figure Sandy heard him from the kitchen, where he generally slept, and came in and drove him off just in time to save my money. So that’s all there is to that, but he is a mighty fine dog, and I hate to let go of him, even to his owner.”