“Yes,” agreed Dick. “That tail-wagging business shows he doesn’t want to bite.”
“But whose dog is it?” asked Joe. “Gosh! It’s almost as big as the deer we’re chasing.”
Hardly had Joe stopped talking than from the shadows of some little hillocks beyond the cold campfire came a voice saying:
“It’s all right, Hopper—those are the boys I’m looking for—you found ’em—this is fine—now you can lie down—hello over there—I’m here!”
In a moment the boys knew who was speaking—Fatty Nolan. But how he had managed to reach their camp and what he was doing with the big dog was more than Teddy and his chums could guess. They must find out, however, so Teddy called:
“Is that you, Fatty?”
“Sure!”
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for you. I heard you were on the trail of the deer so I followed. You don’t mind, do you? I’ve brought my father’s deer hound—Clodhopper my mother calls him on account of he’s so big and clumsy—but he’s got another name—Rex. He’s a good dog for hunting deer—maybe he can help us—I came anyhow—had hard work finding you—guess I couldn’t have only for Hopper—that’s the dog—I call him Hopper for short. Can I come over there?” All this Fatty spoke in his usual fast style.
“Sure! Come on over and bring your dog,” Teddy invited. “Maybe he will help us in the morning. Come on and join us.”