“Is he dead, Dal?” said Abel hoarsely.
His cousin bent over the dog and laid his hand upon his throat, with the result that there was a low growling snarl and the eyes opened to look up, but only to close again, and the bushy tale tapped the floor a few times.
“Knows he is with friends, poor fellow!” said Dallas. “But he did not show much sense in coming to Starvation Hall.”
“It was the fire that attracted him.”
“Perhaps,” said Dallas. “But I have a sort of fancy that we have met before.”
“What!” cried Abel, brightening up, “you don’t think—”
“Yes, I do. Did you notice that the poor brute limped with one of his hind-legs?”
“Yes, but—oh, impossible. A dog would not know you again like that. You mean the one you saved from the ice.”
“Yes, I do; but we shall see by daylight, such as it is. I say, though, if we do get home again, you and I, after our experience of this Arctic place, ought to volunteer for the next North Pole expedition.”
Abel heaved a deep sigh.