Hazen had done nothing original or new in depositing the luckless
collie pup in one of these wheeled receptacles. He was but
following an old-established custom, familiar to many in his
line of life. There was no novelty to it,--except to Lass.

The car was dark and cold and smelly. Lass hated it. She ran to
its door. Here she found a gleam of hope for escape and for
return to the home where every one that day had been so kind to
her. Hazen had shut the door with such vehemence that it had
rebounded. The hasp was down, and so the catch had not done its
duty. The door had slid open a few inches from the impetus of
Hazen's shove.

It was not wide enough open to let Lass jump out, but it was wide
enough for her to push her nose through. And by vigorous
thrusting, with her triangular head as a wedge, she was able to
widen the aperture, inch by inch. In less than three minutes she
had broadened it far enough for her to wriggle out of the car and
leap to the side of the track. There she stood bewildered.

A spring snow was drifting down from the sulky sky. The air was
damp and penetrating. By reason of the new snow the scent of
Hazen's departing footsteps was blotted out. Hazen himself was no
longer in sight. As Lass had made the journey from house to
tracks with her head tucked confidingly under her kidnaper's arm,
she had not noted the direction. She was lost.

A little way down the track the station lights were shining with
misty warmth through the snow. Toward these lights the puppy
trotted.