Along the road they hurried, for it was getting late and Rick's mother had told him to come back home before dark. The highway turned around a clump of trees, where the brook ran close to the road. After that there was a straight stretch for some distance. Reaching this, and looking down it, Rick and his chums saw no junk wagon, and no sight of any dog.
"Maybe he didn't come here at all!" murmured Rick, who was much disappointed.
"We'll ask at the next house," suggested Chot. "If the junk wagon came along here the man would ask to buy old rags or bottles. We'll ask, at the next house, if anybody saw him."
And there they received news which showed them that they were on the right track.
"Yep, a junk peddler was here," said the man who was watering his horse in the barnyard back of the house. "He wanted to buy stuff but I didn't have anything to sell. Sold it all last week."
"Did you see a dog—a sort of reddish-brown dog?" asked Rick eagerly.
"No, I can't say I did," answered the man, who ran a small truck farm. "There was another fellow sitting out in the wagon. But I didn't see any dog."
"Did you hear one?" asked Chot, for he was trying to remember what a Boy Scout would do, and to ask questions that would bring the kind of information needed.
"Did I hear a dog—that's so, I did hear one!" exclaimed the farmer. "Come to think of it I did hear a dog whining and whimpering in the junk wagon. I didn't pay much attention then—though it was only half an hour ago—maybe a little more. But I did hear a dog!"
