"Come here, laddie," he called, "and let me see what you've got there."
The cur, however, kept at a safe distance, but showed a degree of friendliness by short jerks of his tail.
"Perhaps a piece of bacon will bring him," and Keith held a portion temptingly before his view.
The dog pricked up his ears, advanced, drew back, and looked around. Then, squatting down upon his haunches, he lifted his nose into the air and gave vent to a most doleful howl.
"Come on, old boy," encouraged Keith, still holding the bacon between his fingers.
Little by little the dog approached, and with much coaxing was induced to draw near, and after a time nestled by the man's side, where he quickly devoured the coveted morsel of food.
"Now, let's see what you've got here," and Keith examined the object attached to the collar.
It was a piece of brown paper, old and soiled, and evidently it had seen hard usage. It was carefully folded, and tied with twine made up of several short pieces. With the point of his hunting knife, Keith cut the string, and when he had opened the paper he beheld a number of words, scrawled with some red material, which looked much like blood. By the flickering camp fire he managed with difficulty to decipher the following startling message:
"For God's sake, help. I'm dying."
That was all, and for some time Keith held the paper in his hand and gazed steadily into the fire.