suddenly sick at the stomach, sure signs of terror. He showed no
desire to follow up or know more of the matter, but returned to the
house, and half an hour afterward his mane was still bristling and
his expression one of hate or fear.

I studied the dreaded track and learned that in Bingo's language the
half-terrified, deep-gurgled 'grr-wff' means 'timber wolf.'

These were among the things that Bingo taught me. And in the
after time when I might chance to see him arouse from his frosty
nest by the stable door, and after stre.tching himself and shaking
the snow from his shaggy coat, disappear into the gloom at a
steady trot, trot, trot, I used to think:

"Ahh! old dog, I know where you are off to, and why you eschew
the shelter of the shanty. Now I know why your nightly trips over
the country are so well timed, and how you know just where to go
for what you want, and when and how to seek it."

V

In the autumn of 1884, the shanty at De Winton farm was closed
and Bingo changed his home to the establishment--that is, to the
stable, not the house--of Gordon Wright, our most intimate
neighbor.

Since the winter of his puppyhood he had declined to enter a house
at any time excepting during a thunderstorm. Of thunder and guns
he had a deep dread--no doubt the fear of the first originated in the
second, and that arose from some unpleasant shot-gun experiences,