"but that call seems to do for the dog, all right."

The Great Dane was tearing across lots in answer to the trill
of a woman's voice.

"She is safe now. But what does it all mean? Is there a wayside
tragedy here that calls for my unraveling?"

Attracted by some subtle force beyond his power to check,
he turned toward the river and looked steadily at the still
overhanging shrubbery. Just below him, where the current turns,
the quiet waters were lapping about a ledge of rock.
Between that ledge and himself a tangle of bushes clutched
the steep bank. He looked straight into the tangle.
just plain twig and brown leaf, giving place as he stared,
for two still black human eyes looking balefully at him as a snake
at its prey. Lloyd Fenneben could not withdraw his gaze.
The two eyes--no other human token visible--just two
cruel human eyes full of human hate were fixed on him.
And the fascination of the thing was paralyzing, horrible. He could
not move nor utter a sound. Bug Buler woke with a little cry.
The bushes by the riverside just rippled--one quiver of motion--
and the eyes were not there. Then Fenneben knew that his heart,
which had been still for an age, had begun to beat again.
Bug stared up into his face, dazed from sleep.

"Where's my Vic? Who's dot me?" he cried.

"We came to hunt the bunny. He's gone away again. Shall we go back home?"
The gentle voice and strong hand soothed the little one.