“But he’s getting better, isn’t he?”
“Some, but heap slow.”
“Suppose he’d track that thing?”
Kernertok shook his head: “We try um. Here, Sicum, you smell um track.”
But the dog only whined, and with his tail between his legs, slunk away from the tracks.
“Never mind, old fellow. We understand that it isn’t your fault,” and Bob, kneeling down, took the dog’s head between his hands and looked into his eyes.
The dog whined and eagerly licked his hand, as if fully appreciating the sympathy.
“He’ll come around in time,” Bob assured them. “Remember, he saved our lives once,” he added with a glance toward Jack.
“And he deserves our thanks and care if he never does another thing so long as he lives,” Jack declared, but Kernertok only shook his head sadly.
It was midafternoon when Rex, who at the time, was paddling in the bow, lifted his paddle and asked: