himself with all his
wiry strength for a tug which should lift Ferris to the surface.

This added leverage barely made Link's own struggle a success. The
half-drowned man regained his footing. Floundering waist-deep in water,
he clambered up the steeply shelving bank to shore. There at the road's
edge he lay, gasping and sputtering and fighting for breath.

Chum had been pulled under and out of his depth by Link's exertions.
Now, coming to the surface, he swam to shore and trotted up the bank to
the road. Absurdly lank and small, with his soaking coat plastered
close to his slim body, he stood over his prostrate master.

The dog's quick glare up and down the road told him his foes were gone.
His incredible sense of hearing registered the far-off pad-pad-pad of
fast-retreating human feet, and showed him the course the two men were
taking. He would have liked to give chase. It had been a good
fight--lively and exciting withal--and Chum wished he might carry it
into the enemies' own country.

But his god was lying helpless at his feet and making queer sounds of
distress. The dog's place was here. The joy of battle must be foregone.

Solicitously Chum leaned over Ferris and sought to lick the sufferer's
face. As he did so his supersensitive nostrils were smitten by an odor
which caused the collie to shrink back in visible disgust. The sickly,
pungent smell of whisky on Ferris's labored breath nauseated Chum. He
stood, head recoiled, looking down at Link in bewilderment.

There were many things, this night, which Chum did not understand.
First of all, he had been grieved and offended that Ferris should have
locked him in the kitchen instead of taking him along as usual on his
evening stroll. It had been lonely in the unlighted kitchen. Link had
not ordered the dog to stay there. He had simply shut Chum in and left
him.

So, tiring at last of solitude, the collie had leaped lightly out of
the nearest window. The window had been open. Its thin mosquito net
covering had not served in the least as a deterrent to the departing
Chum.

To pick up his master's trail--and to hold to it even when it merged
with a score of others at the edge of the village--had been absurdly
simple. The trail had led to a house with closed doors. So, after
circling the tavern to find if his master had gone out by any other
exit, Chum had curled himself patiently on the doorstep and had waited
for Link to emerge.

Several people had come in