"We'll have to investigate," said Dick, and to this the others agreed. With all possible haste the launch was run to the shore and Sam, Tom, and Dick got out, followed by Harold Bird. The dog came also, limping along painfully.
"Find him, Dandy, find him!" said the young Southerner, in a low tone, and the dog seemed to understand. He put his nose to the ground, ran around for several minutes, and then started off through the bushes.
"Do you think he has struck the trail?" asked Tom.
"I am sure of it," was Harold Bird's positive reply.
The young Southerner called to the dog, and Dandy went forward more slowly, so that they could keep him in sight. They passed through one patch of bushes and then came to a clear space, beyond which was a field of wild sugarcane.
Hardly had the dog struck the cleared spot when from a distance came the report of a pistol. Dandy leaped up in the air, came down in a heap, and lay still.
"Somebody has shot the dog!" cried Sam. "What a shame!"
Harold Bird said nothing, but ran to where the canine lay. Dandy was breathing his last, and in a minute it was all over.
