But the dog refused to move.
Planting himself squarely in the lad's pathway he began to bark furiously.
Then he raced to the gate, sniffed, and struggled to get out.
"What on earth has struck you, you giant?" inquired Walter, regarding the great creature in bewilderment. "Don't you want your dinner?"
It was plain in an instant that no matter what the lure of a bone might ordinarily be to-day, it held no charms for the big police dog. He had one wish and only one, and that was to be released from the wire enclosure in which he was penned and left free to follow some plan of his own which evidently absorbed him. So insistent was his demand that it was not to be denied and Walter slipped the bolt and allowed him to race away. Then the boy turned his attention to feeding the other dogs.
"Achilles probably has a bone buried somewhere," he muttered to himself, "and is going to dig it up. Just why he prefers stale food to fresh I can't see; but apparently he does."
Nevertheless His Highness had scarcely finished giving the dogs their dinner before Achilles was back again, and with no bone, either. On the contrary he was hot, breathless, and panting from what had obviously been a long run through the woods. Pine needles clinging to his furry coat attested that he had been over in the grove that flanked the estate on the west.
"Couldn't find your hidden treasure, eh, old boy?" commented Walter. "Gone, was it? Some other dog taken it?"
But Achilles failed to accept the jest with the cordiality such jokes commonly evoked. He neither wagged his tail nor stretched his jaws into a grin. Instead he began to yelp and bound back and forth upon the lawn.
"You act possessed. What on earth is the matter?" asked the boy, coming toward the gate and starting to open it.