She did not heed this mute appeal.
He turned again and going up to her, took hold of her dress with his teeth and pulled it quietly.
“Why, Death, old fellow!” she said, caressing the sagacious brute again. “What is the matter? Where is your master?”
When she mentioned her father the dog pulled harder at her dress, almost pulling her along toward the door.
A wild fear seemed suddenly to force its way to her heart. There was only one way in which she could account for the strange demeanor of the dog.
Surely something must have happened to her father!
She was sure of this when she remembered a story that he had told her once, about the blood-hound’s saving her life when she was a child of five or six.
The chill wind was blowing harder than when the hunter set out from the cabin, and the black, angry clouds, hanging low in the sky, threatened momentarily to open and shower down the cold, half-frozen November rain over the earth.
Suddenly, while Vinnie looked out, there came a fierce gust of wind tearing through the great oaks and rattling their heavy leafless branches against the walls of the cabin.
Twigs and leaves were flying in wild confusion through the air, and it was growing darker every moment.