His friend struggled on, and at last reached the hospice, where he told the story of his lost fellow traveler.
At once the monks called Barry and sent him forth to find the man.
Through the heavy storm the great dog made his way to where the traveler lay unconscious in the snow.
Barry pulled and pushed and tugged, and at last aroused him from his drunken stupor.
The man, dazed by cold and drink, thought that a wild beast had fallen upon him.
With his little remaining strength, he drew his knife from his pocket and plunged it into Barry’s neck.
But the faithful dog, undaunted, kept at his task. Too late, the traveler realized that he had been found by one of the St. Bernard dogs which had been sent to rescue him.
He struggled to his feet. Half leaning on the dog, whose blood stained every step of the way, he reached the door of the hospice.
On its threshold Barry fell exhausted. He had given his life in fidelity to the trust reposed in him.