escended to the river's edge, and, kneeling
beside the leaping waters, he plunged his bruised, aching hands and face
into them gratefully.

As he stood up again at last, his ears caught faintly above the river's
tumult the distant crack of a rifle, followed immediately by another
sound nearer at hand on the bank above him.

It was the agonized yelp of pain from a dog. Donald sprang erect, his
heart seeming to lift with a convulsive action, and crowd his throat. He
well knew that canine cry, now filled with mortal agony.

Almost blind with reborn rage and fear, Donald sprang up the steep bank,
scrambling, stumbling, heedless of boughs which lashed across his face,
and rocks which bruised his legs. He reached the top, and, parting the
bushes, found what he had sought--and feared to find. On the stubbly
grass lay little Mike, whining and biting at a spot on his side where
the tawny hair was already matted and dark with flowing blood.

Made speechless by the clutching pressure in his throat, and suddenly
dizzy from a mist which rose before his eyes, the man bent and lifted
the panting animal--his bosom friend and faithful companion through many
days and nights--in his trembling arms.

Mike painfully turned his head and licked his master's drawn face. The
next instant came the sound of crashing underbrush, and, through
vistas, Donald saw a man approaching them on a lumbering run. It was Big
Jerry. His beard and clothing were dishevelled, and, as he drew near,
his deep, gasping breaths became audible. From his ghastly gray and
working face his deep eyes looked forth with an expression which spelt
pain of body and wrack of mind.

Donald stood up, with the dog clasped to his breast, and a terrible
expression on his countenance.

"Mike ... my friend ... shot ... he is dying," came his words, in an
unnatural voice. "God have mercy on the man who did it. I shall not!"

The giant's frame seemed to collapse visibly; two big tears started from
his eyes and ran down the furrows of his cheeks as he moved closer and
laid his big, shaking hand on the dog's head.

"_I_ done hit," he answered dully.

Mike licked the wrinkled hand which moved in slow caress over his jaws.

"You?" whispered Donald in amazed unbelief.

"Gawd help me, yes. I shot him ... I wish hit hed er been myself,"
returned the old man, between breaths which came in deep, body-shaking
gasps.

Slowly the doctor bent, laid his chum back on the ground, and knel