It was a dangerous moment, had a breeze from the north been stirring, for one whiff of strange flesh might have brought on a death struggle. With an automatic forty-five silencer drawn along at his right side, and a pistol in holster for close quarters, Carver drew a "bead" on the dog and awaited further developments. He watched the big brute with the eyes of a hawk, and noted through his glasses that the animal slept uneasily. It might have been the cold of early morning, but a wolf hound had never been known to shiver in less than zero weather. Carver was well posted on dogs. He was that type of man at whom dogs never snapped or offered to bite. So, with silencer in readiness, he puckered his lips and gave a low whistle. At once the big brute arose to his haunches and whined. Something wrong about the premises was Carver's first thought. A dog of that breed would not bid for friendship with a stranger unless actuated by an instinct that a friend was near by. But it was no time to take chances. The first thing he thought of was that Parkins had not returned and the dog had been left without water or food. On the other hand a wolf hound invariably fought the stranger at its gate. They were never allowed to roam at large except in forest camps, or on extensive estates. The situation was altogether strange, and, to prove it, Carver rose to his knees. He expected a wild lunge on the part of the dog but the brute rose to all fours and wagged his tail, whining the while, as he strained at his chain. That seemed full evidence that Parkins was not in the hut, and forthwith he stood up and walked toward the dog, now manifesting great joy. At the length of his chain Carver reached out his hand, but with one eye on the hut--then he patted the dog on its head. That settled the friendship between them. Carver then pulled out a chocolate bar and tearing off the wrapper reached out his hand. One sniff and the big brute took it into his mouth and practically swallowed it whole. He was starving--further evidence that the master was still at large. After parting with his last piece of chocolate Carver walked to the front of the hut and tried the door. It was locked. He then took out a bunch of keys and tried to fit one in the lock, but none of them would enter. Then he reached for his electric torch and peered into the keyhole--there was a key inside that obstructed! Carver dropped to the ground, on his stomach, and with his automatic reached far up on the door and gave it a thump. There was no response, whereupon Carver shouted--"Parkins" in a voice both harsh and loud. "Wake up, you scoundrel, and open this door! You can't play any tricks on us! We've got you surrounded! Make one bad move and we'll kill you!" There was no answer--except the whining of the dog in the rear.