Part 12 (2/2)

All the time the boys had been speaking Don had stood with his head c.o.c.ked knowingly on one side, watching their every action. When they started to go he looked up into Tom's face, mutely asking to be allowed to go too. And Tom answered heartily, ”You just bet you can come along, Don. We couldn't do without you.”

Then the boys began to scour the woods in good earnest. For half an hour they worked hard with a dull, aching sensation at their hearts. They looked behind rocks, pulled aside dense underbrush, gazed down deep ravines with the awful fear that they might see their comrade lying at the bottom. They were coming now into the most dangerous part of the country and they were forced to work slowly and with the utmost care.

When they paused, weary and discouraged, to consult on what course was best to follow, Don's short bark reached their ears and in a minute the dog himself rushed up to them. Then, running back and forth between them and the direction from which he had come, he plainly showed them that he wished them to follow him.

”We'd better go,” Tom said. ”He may have found him, or at least some trace of him.”

So, with Don in the lead the boys started once more. As they went they called Arthur's name, but at first nothing but the echoes answered them.

They were so torn by thorns and briers and so wearied by the long search, that nothing but the thought that their poor comrade was in a much worse plight than they, could have kept them to their task. Finally, when they were beginning to think that Don was leading them on a wrong scent, they heard a faint cry. Joyfully, they called out again and again and each time the answer came nearer. When they came upon the runaway at last they were so happy that they didn't notice his condition at once. When they did realize how badly he was hurt, they forgot how tired they were and set about at once to relieve him.

The poor boy had tried to drag himself along on his hands but had not been able to get very far. The boys bandaged the ankle and then began making a litter. It wasn't very long before they had Arthur fairly comfortable on the improvised bed. With light hearts the procession started for camp, Don proudly taking the lead. The boys thought it was best not to question Arthur until he had had time to recover from the shock.

It was nearly dark, when, tired and hungry, the ”bug squad” reached camp. It is a well known fact that boys are not worth much when they are hungry. Mr. Hollis, who was a good judge of human nature, hurried the troop into supper, declaring that curiosity could be much better satisfied on a full stomach than an empty one.

After supper the boys made the usual camp fire and made the wounded hero of the day comfortable before it. When the preliminaries were over the boys called for the story of the ”bug squad's” adventures.

Tom told as much of the story as he knew and then, turning to Arthur, asked, ”Did Don really find you there? We weren't sure but that he might just have struck the trail.”

”He did both,” Arthur replied. ”He struck my trail and followed it until he found me. I don't think I was ever so glad in my life as I was to see our Don come trotting up ready for some petting. He saw that I was hurt, though, and started away like a streak of lightning to bring you to my help. At first I thought that he was deserting me, but even as the thought came to me I knew it was unjust. Think of our gallant Don deserting anyone in distress. Then in a few minutes I heard you hail and answered as well as I could. I will always carry a picture of you fellows as you came into sight, with Don in the lead. Believe me, it was the finest I ever saw or expect to see. And now, fellows, I want you to give three cheers for the hero of the day and the finest dog that ever lived. Come on, now----

”HOORAY-HOORAY-HOORAY--Now let 'er out fellows--HOORAY,” and in spite of his sprained ankle, Arthur led the cheers that echoed and re-echoed through the trees for rods around.

All the time the cause of all the enthusiasm was lying with his head on Bert's knee, watching the boys contentedly. When they all crowded around, he took the praises they showered on him as a true gentleman should--with courtesy and dignity, only those speaking eyes of his telling of the love in his heart for the boys that would have made him die for any one of them.

If ever a dog was glad and happy, his name was Don that night. Although he didn't understand what it was all about, he knew that he was being honored and showed that he appreciated it.

The happiest moment in the whole day for Don came when Bert put both arms lovingly around his neck and whispered, ”You're a trump, old man.”

And so the four-legged recruit went happily to sleep to dream that he was rescuing all the boys in camp.

CHAPTER XII

THE YOUNGSTERS' GREAT DAY

”Say, fellows,” said Bert, as he lay stretched out lazily beneath the limbs of a spreading beech, ”isn't this the finest day ever?”

”You bet it is,” said Tom, ”the mould was broken when this day was made.”

It was, indeed, one of the perfect days that come sometimes to break the heat of sweltering midsummer. A brisk wind stirred the branches through which the sunlight, flecking lazily the ground beneath, played over the group of boys, who lay in all sorts of abandoned att.i.tudes on a bit of rising ground a little removed from the camp. They had had a splendid morning's sport. The coolness of the day and the fine condition of the roads and meadows had suggested to them the game of Hare and Hounds. Up hill and down dale they had raced with occasional intervals of rest.

When the hares had successfully shaken off their pursuers, still the bewildered hounds had nosed about, so to speak, seeking to pick up the lost trail. Bert and Tom had been the hares and their escape from capture had added to the delight occasioned by the day and the game itself. It was only after the rice that they had carried in their pouches to make a trail had been almost exhausted, that they thought of doubling on their tracks and making for camp.

The hounds had trailed in a little later on, looking a bit discomfited but not disheartened. As Pete Hart, one of the hounds, said ”though slightly disfigured they were still in the ring.” And, oh, how that dinner tasted and how impossible it was almost for the famished boys to wait while the fish s.n.a.t.c.hed from the brook that morning were frizzling in the pan and came in tantalizing whiffs to the nostrils of the boys.

Something more substantial than whiffs, however, did quickly follow, and now like gorged anacondas full to the brim, they lay stretched out upon the gra.s.s and talked over the events of the morning.

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