hadn't gone into this game. It's too risky, not only at bein' caught, but I don't like the way this dorg looks at my legs. He looks hungry."
Indeed, Grit was in no amiable frame of mind. He consented to be led along because he recognized his old leash, and the man leading him had the familiar smell of horses, which Grit loved so well. The dog was a little suspicious, but once before Dick had sent a stranger for him and the man had smelled of horses, so Grit, though he had grave doubts, was willing to go along. But he was getting anxious to see his master, as his uneasy growls from time to time indicated, to the no small alarm of the somewhat ragged youth leading him.
"Easy now, old boy," he said. "That's a good dorg. We'll soon be there," he added, as he cast an uneasy look around. "The wagon must be waiting somewheres about here."
He cut through a little clump of trees and emerged upon an unfrequented road that led to Leonardville, a distant settlement.
"There's the rig!" he exclaimed, as he caught sight of a wagon and a horse hitched to the fence. "The worst of it's over."
"Did you get 'im?" asked a man in the wagon.
"Yep, an' I'll be glad to git rid of 'im. He's a little too anxious to see what my legs is made of."
Grit was led toward the wagon. He seemed to think something was not just right, for he growled menacingly and hung back.
