When it seemed to him that he had lain there on the snow for hours, he heard a noise, and looking along the trail he saw a little red dog bounding straight toward him. How often had he spurned just such a cur with his foot, on the city streets, but never did any creature seem so good to Sinclair as did that lean canine specimen before him.
"Good doggie," he called. "Come here, doggie."
But the animal remained at a safe distance, barking furiously, at the same time casting glances back along the trail as if expecting some one from that quarter. Soon a sturdy figure appeared in sight with a rabbit over his shoulder. He stopped in amazement at the scene before him, unable to comprehend its meaning.
"Come here, sonny," Sinclair called out, fearing the boy would take fright and disappear.
But the lad stood perfectly still as if turned to stone.
"For heaven's sake!" Sinclair continued, "come and help a poor stricken man who can't walk."
At this appeal the boy drew nearer, and seeing that it was only a man lying in the snow, the startled expression faded from his face.
"What's the matter, and watcher want?" he asked.
"I've sprained my ankle and can't walk," was the reply. "Is there any house near? Can't you bring some one to help me?"
At this the lad became electrified into new life. His senses returned, and he grasped the situation in an instant.