From this moment, as Tom trotted quickly over the fir-needles at the dog’s heels, the poor brute went steadily on, uttering a low, muffled bark every now and then as it threaded its way in and out among the fir-trees as if bound for some particular spot.
This began to impress Tom now, and he wondered why his companion did not begin to hunt about; then this wonder increased as first one and then another rabbit was put up, to dart away, eliciting low growls from the dog, but that was all. It showed not the slightest disposition to dash after them.
“Can dogs think?” said Tom to himself, with a new interest now in his pursuit. “He must mean something. Is it an adder? I’ll be bound to say he is going right away to that open place where he was stung, to show me the dead viper that he has killed.”
The farther they went on, the more convinced Tom felt that this was the case, for they were going right in the direction, and making good progress too, the dog never stopping for a moment, but just swinging its ugly head round to see if it was followed before settling to its steady trot once more.
This went on for quite half-an-hour, and Tom was pretty well breathless as he stopped to have a bit of rest, while the dog halted, dropped its bone, turned up its head, and howled again dismally.
“I can’t help it, old chap,” cried Tom; “I haven’t got four legs to run with; I must walk now.”
As the dog saw him advance it barked joyously again, and trotted on once more, but more slowly as it found that it was not followed so swiftly.
Then all at once a fresh idea flashed through Tom’s brain, and he fell a-wondering whether he could be right. He had never been across the wood this way before, but it was undoubtedly in the direction of Pete’s lurking-place under the great pine-tree, and it seemed possible that the dog was making for there.
But why? For what reason?
Tom felt uneasy, and involuntarily, in spite of a slight sensation of shrinking, began to trot once more, while the dog seemed to gladly increase its pace after a look back.