It was a great thing to have found Pretty-Heart, but that was not all. Now we had to look for the dogs.
It was day now and easy for us to see what had happened. In the snow we read the death of our dogs. We followed their footprints for thirty yards. They had come out of the hut, one behind the other, Dulcie following Zerbino. Then we saw other footprints. On one side there were signs of a struggle where the wolves had sprung upon the dogs, and on the other sides were the footprints of the wolves where they trotted off, carrying their prey with them, to be devoured at their leisure. There was no trace of the dogs except a red trail of blood which here and there stained the snow.
The two poor dogs had gone to their death while I slept!
We had to get busy as quickly as possible with warming Pretty-Heart. We hurried back to the hut. While Vitalis held out the little creature's feet and hands to the fire, as one holds a tiny baby, I warmed his coverlets and we rolled him up in them. But he needed more than the coverlets; he needed a warm drink. My master and I sat by the fire, silent, watching the wood burn.
"Poor Zerbino; poor Dulcie!"
Each of us murmured these words; first he, then I.
The dogs had been our friends, our companions, in good and bad fortune, and to me in my loneliness they had meant so much. How deeply I
