And a collie, more perhaps than any other
dog, needs plenty of fresh, cool water to drink; at any and all
times. The hot wind and the smoke were parching his throat. His
thirst was intolerable.
Behind him, not very many yards away, was the ice-cold mountain
lakelet in which so often he had bathed and drunk. The thought of
it made him hate the stout rope.
But he made no serious effort to free himself. He had been tied
there,--supposedly by the Master's command. And, as a
well-trained dog, it was his place to stay where he was, until
the Master should free him. So, apart from an instinctive tug or
two at his moorings, he submitted to his fate.
But, in mid-evening, something occurred, to change his viewpoint,
in this matter of nonresistance.
The line of fire, climbing the mountain toward him, had
encountered a marshy stretch; where, in normal weather, water
stood inches deep. Despite the drought, there was still enough
moisture to stay the advance of the red line until the dampness
could be turned to dust and tindery vegetation. And, in the
meanwhile, after the custom of its kind, the fire had sought to
spread to either side.
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