The Master lumbered along, through the rising drifts, as fast as
he could. But the way was rough and the night was as black dark
as it was cold. In a few rods, the dog had far outdistanced him.
And, knowing how hard must be the trail to follow by sense of
smell, he forbore to call back the questing collie, lest Lad lose
the clew altogether. He knew the dog was certain to bark the
tidings when he should come up with the fugitive.
The Master by this time began to share his wife's worry. For the
trail Lad was following led out of the grounds and across the
highway, toward the forest.
The newborn snowstorm was developing into a very promising little
blizzard. And the icy lash of the wind proved the fallacy of the
old theory, "too cold to snow." Even by daylight it would have
been no light task to steer a true course through the whirling
and blinding storm. In the darkness, the man found himself
stumbling along with drunkenly zigzag steps; his buffeted ears
strained, through the noise of the wind for sound of Lad's bark.
But no such sound came to him.
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