"If I can only get
Christmas to go back the way he came, I feel I have found the right
trail."
Bart finally arose, and the dog, too. The animal turned its face east,
wagged its tail expectantly, and eagerly studied Bart's face and
movements.
As he took a step up the road the animal's tail went down, nerveless,
and its eyes regarded him beseechingly.
"Come on, old fellow!" hailed Bart encouragingly, patting the dog. It
followed him reluctantly. Then he made a rollic of it, jumping the
ditch, racing the animal, stopping abruptly, leaping over it, apparently
making Christmas forget everything except that it had a friendly
companion.
At length Bart induced the dog to go ahead. It led the way with evident
reluctance. It would stop and eye Bart with a decidedly serious eye. He
urged it forward, and finally it got down to a slow trot, sniffing the
road and looking altogether out of harmony with its forced course.
Christmas was about twenty yards ahead of Bart at the end of a two
miles' jaunt, when he shied to the extreme edge of the road and drew to
his haunches.
Here wagon tracks led into the timber. The road had been used lately,
Bart soon discerned.
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