“Is that so!” cried Piper resentfully. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten my remarkable work in the Ben Stone-Bern Hayden case? I received the unqualified and flattering approval of the judge for that.”
“Oh, it was accidental; you just happened to guess right once in your life. I’m going down town to see if I can get trace of Silver Tongue. Come on with me.”
But barely had they started when Sleuth Piper uttered a cry and pointed: “There’s your dog now! What’s the matter with him? He’s hurt.”
The young hound had appeared, and he was barely dragging himself along as he crept staggering toward the stable, an occasional low, moaning whine coming from his lips.
Barker uttered a shout and ran toward the dog. As he approached he saw that Silver Tongue was leaving a bloody trail behind him, and also that there was a shocking gory wound in the animal’s side. At Bern’s feet the creature sank on the snow, uttering a mournful, quavering, heart-piercing howl.
Three agitated, sickened boys gazed down at the stricken dog. Barker’s face was ghastly white, and he choked as he cried:
“Somebody has shot him! Oh, the whelp—the wretch!”
CHAPTER XXIII.
FOLLOWING THE TRAIL.