I called to him. In a stiff-legged trot he came to me. I caught hold of his collar and gave him another inspection.
In the lantern light I could see the mud-caked wounds clearly. The bleeding had almost stopped. I felt much better.
Little Ann came over. I knelt down and put my arms around them.
I knew that if it hadn’t been for their loyalty and unselfish courage I would have probably been killed by the slashing claws of the devil cat.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever pay you back for what you’ve done,” I said, “but I’ll never forget it.”
Getting up, I said, “Come on, let’s go home so I can take care of those wounds.”
I hadn’t gone far when I heard a cry. At first I thought it was a bird, or a night hawk.
I stood still and listened. I glanced at Little Ann. She was looking behind me.
I turned around and looked for Old Dan. He was nowhere in sight.
The cry came again, low and pitiful. Instantly Little Ann started back the way we had come.
I followed as fast as I could run. I found Old Dan lying on his side, pleading for help.
What I saw was almost more than I could stand. There, tangled in the low branches of a huckleberry bush, were the entrails of my dog.
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