is the head dog on the Roman shore. There is no other dog like him."

"I daresay not," assented the Chief of Police, looking at Nino. "In
fact, he is not like any animal I ever saw."

The detectives laughed at this.

"There is no other," said Ercole without a smile. "He is the only son of
a widowed mother. I am his family, and he is my family, and we live in
good understanding in this desert. If there were no fever we should be
like the saints in paradise--eating our corn meal together. And I will
tell you another thing. If the young gentleman had been wounded anywhere
near here, Nino would have found the blood even after three days. As for
a dead man, he would make a point for him and howl half a mile off,
unless the wind was the wrong way."

"Would he really?" asked Corbario with a little interest.

Ercole looked at him and nodded, but said no more, and presently the
whole party of men went back to Rome, leaving him to the loneliness of
the sand-banks and the sea.

Then Ercole came back to the gap and stood still a little while, and
his dog sat bolt upright beside him.

"Nino," he said at last, in a rather regretful tone, "I gave you a good
character. What could I say before those gentlemen? But I tell you this,
you are growing old. And don't answer that I am getting old too, for
that is my business. If your nose were what it was once, we should know
the truth by this time. Smell that!"