The hound yawned and wagged his tail, as though he understood the words.
Ross Douglas continued:
“Yes, my faithful friend, together we have braved the numerous perils of the trackless forest. But we’re free—free at last! True, you are footsore and weary; so am I. And both of us are hungry. But our journey’s over. Soon we’ll eat and sleep—sleep as we haven’t slept in days.”
The dog whined plaintively. Then he stiffly arose and looked beseechingly into his master’s face.
“You’re telling me it’s time to be moving,” Douglas remarked, a smile lighting his handsome features. “You’re a knowing animal, Duke.”
Then to himself:
“I must find some way to cross the river—I must see Amy to-night. But I don’t want anyone to know of my return, until I know how affairs have gone in my absence. Therefore, I can’t go to the village for a canoe. But I know where one of the settlers used to keep one hidden in the bushes.”
Shouldering his rifle, he set out along the bank, Duke following him. He was not long in finding the canoe and launching it.
“Jump in and lie down, Duke,” he commanded.
The intelligent brute obeyed. Ross seized the light paddle and pushed off. A few rapid and vigorous strokes carried the boat to the opposite side of the stream. Man and dog leaped ashore. Douglas beached the dugout, and set off along the path leading to the Larkin homestead—the path he knew so well.