Just before another blast, clear as a foghorn on a stormy sea, Old Dan’s voice rang loud and clear.
It seemed louder than the roar of the wind or the skeleton-like rustling of the tall swaying cane.
I jumped to my feet. My heart did a complete flip-flop.
The knot in my throat felt as big as an apple. I tried to whoop, but it was no use.
Little Ann bawled and tugged on the rope. There was no mistaking the direction.
We knew that Little Ann had been right all along. Straight as an arrow, she had led us to him.
Old Dan was treed down in a deep gully. I slid off the bank and ran to him.
His back was covered with a layer of frozen sleet. His frost-covered whiskers stood out straight as porcupine quills.
I worked the wedges of ice from between his toes, and scraped the sleet from his body with my hands.
Little Ann came over and tried to wash his face. He didn’t like it.
Jerking loose from me, he ran over to the tree, reared up on it, and started bawling.
Hearing shouting from the bank above me, I looked up. I could dimly see Papa and the judge through the driving sleet.
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