Sam sternly directed the attention of Bowser to the trail, and ordered
him to "look into the matter."
The hound sniffed the ground, ran back and forth several times, and then
gazed up at his master, as if awaiting further orders.
"I won't stand any such nonsense as that," said his impatient master,
grasping him by the baggy skin at the back of the neck and giving him
several sharp blows with a switch.
Bowser yelped and kicked lustily, and, when released, placed his nose to
the ground, emitted several more cries, and then trotted off, taking a
direction leading almost directly back over the path Herbert had
followed the day before.
"He's on the trail _this_ time," said Sam, with restored admiration for
the hound, "and if he does well, I'll consider him a great deal better
hunting dog than he has shown himself yet."
In fact, Bowser acted as if anxious to redeem his tainted reputation,
and, trotting quite briskly, was soon out of sight among the trees, the
lads hurrying after him.
A few minutes later, the yelping of the hound ceased, but the young
hunters kept up their pursuit, the fresh trail made by the dog being
easily followed, as he turned over and rumpled the abundant leaves on
the ground, so that it was plainly discernible.
"I wonder why he has stopped barking," said Sam.
"I guess he has got tired," was the rather original reply of Herbert,
who was ready to give information, whether reliable or not.
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