Time after time she would stop and turn her head this way and that.
I knew she couldn’t scent or see anything. Instinct alone was guiding her.
Over a winding and twisting trail, we followed. Coming out of the bottoms, she led us into a thick canebrake.
The tall stalks sheltered us from the storm. The roaring of the wind didn’t seem as loud.
Like ghostly figures, large trees loomed out of the almost solid mass.
Falling and stumbling, we kept pushing on. Grandpa shouted, “Hold up a minute. I’m just about all in.” We stopped.
“Do you think that hound knows what she’s doing?” the judge asked.
“Maybe we’re just running around in circles.” Looking at me, Papa said, “I hope she does.
Some of these canebrakes cover miles. If we get lost in here, we’ll be in bad shape.”
Grandpa said, “I think we’ve gone too far. The last time I heard Old Dan, he sounded quite close.”
“That was because the wind carried the sound,” I said.
The judge spoke up, “Fellows, no dog is worth the lives of three men. Now let’s do the smart thing and get out of here while we can.
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