“He has a remarkable voice,” said Scout Master Hall; “I never heard the like.”
Mike Murphy, who had been one of the most absorbed of listeners and was seated near the guest, rose to his feet and emitted a cry which, so far as the listeners could tell, was an absolutely perfect imitation of that of the dog.
“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Burton; “it would deceive any one except the dog himself.”
“And why not him?” asked Alvin Landon.
“Because he does not answer—there he comes!”
In the dim moonlight, as every eye was turned in the direction of the beach leading toward Uncle Elk’s cabin, the Scouts saw a black, medium sized dog approaching at full speed, his sturdy figure rapidly assuming definite form. It was to be noted that Burton had come through the wood itself, whereas the animal was traversing the beach, where the way was more open, yet he was keeping to the trail as unerringly as an arrow driven from the bow.
“Hide yourself,” whispered Mr. Hall.
“There is no place where I can hide from him.”
The next instant the hound with undiminished speed bounded up the steps at the end of the porch, dashed between the boys, and impinged with such force against his standing master that he was knocked backward for a pace or two. Bending over, Burton patted the big head, and Zip in his excess of delight bounded round the youth and wagged his tail so hard that it swayed his haunches correspondingly, and it really seemed an instance of the tail wagging the dog.
“Don’t you think Zip will appreciate something in the form of a meal?” asked Mr. Hall.