“Who’d have thought that? I didn’t dream of anything of the kind—where did you come from?”
This angry question was addressed to Zip, who thrust his muzzle against Hoke’s knee, looked up and wagged his tail.
“I’d like to know what led you here, when you hadn’t any scent to follow.”
“It was his nose,” remarked young Burton some time later, when Hoke having exchanged his wet clothing told his story to the laughing group on the piazza.
“I left no scent when I stepped into the brook,” replied Hoke.
“Therefore he knew you were in the brook; and set out to find where you had left it.”
“He had to follow both sides in turn.”
“Not at all; from one bank he could detect, without the least difficulty, the scent on the other side. He failed to take it up, and therefore knew you had still kept to the stream. If you had not been in sight when he reached the pond, he would have circled around it and nothing could have prevented his discovering your trail within the next few minutes. But he saw you feeling your way across, and the direction in which your face was turned told him where you would come out,—so he trotted around to welcome you when you reached land.”
“Why didn’t he jump in to help me out of the hole?”
“The bloodhound is content to leave that kind of work to his brother the Newfoundland, and a few others. You are ready to admit, Hoke, that there are bigger fools than Zip.”