"Everything scared away now," remarked Caleb. "We might try the other
side of the pond." Once or twice the dog became interested, but
decided that there was nothing in it, and returned to pant by his
master's feet.
They had now travelled so far toward home that a very short cut across
fields would bring them into their own woods.
The moon arose as they got there, and after their long groping in the
murky darkness this made the night seem very bright and clear.
They had crossed the brook below Granny de Neuville's, and were
following the old timber trail that went near the stream, when Turk
stopped to sniff, ran back and forth two or three times, then stirred
the echoes with a full-toned bugle blast and led toward the water.
"_Bow--bow--bow--bow_," he bawled for forty yards and came to a
stop. The baying was exactly the same that he gave on the Fox trail,
but the course of the animal was crooked, and now there was a break.
They could hear the dog beating about close at hand and far away, but
silent so far as tongue was concerned.
"What is it, Caleb?" said Sam with calm assurance, forgetting how
recent was their acquaintance.
"Dunno," was the short reply.
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