Two hundred and fifty yards downstream the creek made a bend, and it was there that Tom left his sheltering ledge to take Smoky back into the evergreen forest. The tawny hound still walked unsteadily, and at frequent intervals shook his head in an effort to dispel the shock that lingered. Even though the bullet had apparently only creased him, it had struck with terrific force, and Smoky remained partly dazed. When they came to an icy spring that bubbled out of the hillside, Smoky drank thirstily, and Tom bathed the hound’s head with cold water.
That seemed to provide some relief. Smoky walked more steadily, and now did not stumble at all. Tom climbed a few hundred feet and then let the dog stop to rest. He looked down into the valley out of which they had come.
Save for the fact that th
