Jim proved to be so far recovered that he was able to hobble about a little on three legs, the fourth being skilfully bandaged so that he could not put his foot to the ground. It was obvious, however, that he could not make a journey through the woods and be any use whatever at the end of it. Blackstock, therefore, knocked together a handy litter for his benefit. And with very ill grace Jim submitted to being borne upon it.
Some twenty paces from that solitary boot-print which marked the end of Black Dan's trail, Jim was set free from his litter and his attention directed to a bruised tuft of moss.
"Seek him," said Blackstock.
The dog gave one sniff, and then with a growl of anger the hair lifted along his back, and he limped forward hurriedly.
"He's got it in for Black Dan now," remarked MacDonald. And the whole party followed with hopeful expectation, so great was their faith in Jim's sagacity.
The dog, in his haste, overshot the end of the trail. He stopped abruptly, whined, sniffed about, and came back to the deep boot-print. All about it he circled, whimpering with impatience, but never going more than a dozen feet away from it. Then he returned, sniffed long and earnestly, and stood over it with drooping tail, evidently quite nonplussed.
"He don't appear to make no more of it than you did, Tug," said Long Jackson, much disappointed.
"Oh, give him time, Long," retorted Blackstock. Then——
"Seek him! Seek him, good boy," he repeated, waving Jim to the front.
Running with amazing briskness on his three sound legs, the dog began to quarter the undergrowth in ever-widening half-circles, while the men stood waiting and watching. At last, at a distance of several hundred yards, he gave a yelp and a growl, and sprang forward.