On the way back, stop at the
lean-to and catch me that bag of cookin' things I left there.
The's just room for 'em, under the seat. Chase!"
Woefully, the boy limped off; his hand clinched in the fur of
Lad's ruff. The dog, ordinarily, would have resented such
familiarity. But, still seeking to comfort the victim's manifest
unhappiness, he suffered himself to be led along. Which was Lad's
way. The sight of sorrow or of pain always made him ridiculously
gentle and sympathetic.
The boy's bruises hurt cruelly. The distance to the truck was a
full hundred yards. The distance to the lean-to (a permanent
shed, back of the camp-site) was about the same, and in almost
the opposite direction. The prospect of the double journey was
not alluring. The youth hit on a scheme to shorten it. First
glancing back to see that his father was not looking, he climbed
the bare stony hillock, toward the lean-to; Lad pacing
courteously along beside him.
Arrived at the shed, he took from a nail a rope-length; tied it
around Lad's neck; fastened the dog to one of the uprights;
shouldered the cooking-utensil bag; and started back toward the
car.
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