Don was now so encouraged, so thankful that his shot had been true, that, as he raised his gun a second time, he scarcely realized his danger, and was almost as cool as if firing at the target on the range, although the dog was now barely a dozen feet away. This was the last chance. The flash leaped from his rifle, and at the same moment Donald sprang up and ran for the tree as fast as his legs could carry him. But, before the smoke had cleared, a happy cry came from the girls in the tree. He glanced back, to see the dog lying motionless upon the ground.
Quickly reloading his gun, and never taking his finger from the trigger, he cautiously made his way back to the spot. But there was nothing to fear now. He found the poor brute quite dead, its hours of agony over.
The group that soon gathered around looked at it and at one another without saying a word. Then Dorry spoke: "Stand back, everybody! It's dangerous to go too near. I've often heard that."
A hint was sufficient. Indeed, the shuddering girls already had turned away, and the boys now drew aside, though with rather an incredulous air.
"It ought to be buried deep, just where it lies," suggested Ed; and Donald, nodding a silent assent, added, aloud: "Poor fellow! Whose dog can he be?"
"Why it's our General!" cried one of the boys. "As sure as I live it is! He was well yesterday." Then, turning pale, he added: "Oh, I must go right home—"
"Go with him, some of you fellows," Don said, gravely; "and Dot, suppose you run and let Uncle know. Ask him if we shall bury it right here."
"He will say 'yes,' of course," cried Dot, excitedly, as she started off. "I'll send Jack right back with spades."
"Yes; but tell Uncle!" Don shouted after her.