“Back again, then? I was coming to see. But I say, what’s the meaning of this—is it a trap?”
“Is what a trap?” said Dallas.
“Putting this bag out yonder with the dog to watch it and snap at any one who touches it. Is the bag yours?”
“Yes, of course,” exclaimed Dallas excitedly; “but where was it?”
“Outside, I tell you; but it’s a failure if it’s a trap, for the dog’s dead.”
Dallas rushed out, followed by his visitor, and there in the dim light lay the dog, stretched out upon the snow, perfectly stiff and motionless.
“I see how it was now,” cried Dallas excitedly; and as their neighbour helped him carry the dog in, he told him in a few words of how he had found matters on his return.
“Poor brute! Was he in the place, then?”
“I suppose so, and he must have attacked the scoundrel, and made him drop the bag.”
“And then lay down to watch it, dying at his post. If he had lived I’d have given something for that dog.”