s a short
two hundred feet from the tree there came to his nose the smell, not of
a trail itself, but of the man who made the trail. He stopped and lifted
his head. A moment he stared. Then he raised his grizzled muzzle to the
sky and poured out to high heaven the announcement that here in the
woods at the end of the trail, standing beside a tree, was a man!

Then he started back, amazed, for this man, instead of climbing the
tree, as all men did when he bayed them, was coming straight toward him.
His hand was outstretched, his eyes were blazing, and there was a smile
on his face. "Old Whiskers!" he was saying. "Hush, now, hush! Hush!" The
man had stooped down, his hand still extended. "Come here!" he
commanded.

The great hound began to tremble. Those terrible eyes were looking deep
into his. They were commanding him, they were pleading, too. He had seen
them before, back there in the camp, and he had not forgotten.

He heard behind him another yell. He tried to look back, but the eyes
held him. "No!" the man cried sternly--then, "Old boy--old Whiskers!" He
began to pant; the bay he would have uttered died in his throat. Another
yell and another, still he did not reply. His tail was tucked now. He
was looking at the man wonderingly, beseechingly. His universe was
changing, was centring in that man before him, that man who understood.

Again the yells, and now, beyond the opening behind, the faint crash of
running footsteps. His hair rose on his back with rage. His world had
turned about. Those were his enemies coming. All the loyalty of his
dog's soul had gone out to this man who understood, all his hatred to
those who never had. He started to turn about. He would meet them in the
opening. He would rush at them.

"No!" cried the man who understood.

When he looked at Tom once more the miracle of ages past had been
repeated; the man saw in the eyes of the dog, trust, humility, undying
devotion. His voice trembled for the first time.

"Old Whiskers," he said gently. "Old Gray Whiskers! Quick now!"

The pursuing guards never knew why the woods ahead of them grew suddenly
silent, why the tree-bay of the bloodhound that had sounded once clear
and unmistakable sounded no more, though as they ran they filled the
morning with their yells. They did not see the great hound go trembling
to the man. They did not see the old man for just a second catch the
massive head between his hands.

They did not see the two turn and