Bates went in and found one of her frocks, and, bringing it out, tried
to put the animal on the scent of her track. He stooped, and held the
garment under the dog's nose. The dog sniffed it, laid his nose
contentedly on Bates's arm, looked up in his face, and wagged his tail
with most annoying cheerfulness.

"Where is she?" jerked Bates. "Where is she? Seek her, good dog."

The dog, all alert, bounded off a little way and returned again with an
inconsequent lightness in tail and eye. One of his ears had been torn in
a battle with the strange dogs, but he was more elated by the conflict
than depressed by the wound. When he came back, he seemed to Bates
almost to smile as if he said: "It pleases me that you should pay me so
much attention, but as for the girl, I know her to be satisfactorily
disposed of." Bates did not swear at the animal; he was a Scotchman, and
he would have considered it a sin to swear: he did not strike the dog
either, which he would not have considered a sin at all. He was actually
afraid to offend the only living creature who could befriend and help
him in his search. Very patiently he bent the dog's nose to the frock
and to the ground, begging and commanding him to seek. At length the dog
trotted off by a circuitous route up the clearing, and Bates followed.
He hoped the dog was really seeking, but feared he was merely following
some fancy that by thus running he would be rid of his master's
solicitude.

Bates felt it an odd thing that he should be wandering about with a
girl's frock in his hands. It was old, but he did not remember that he
had ever touched it before or noticed its material or pattern. He looked
at it fondly now, as he held it ready to renew the dog's memory if his