Ghond whistled softly, the call of all hunters of all ages no matter in what country. It meant "Lead." And the dog led. He skirted all the bivouacs of the German soldiers as deftly as a stag slips by a tiger's den. After hours of wandering, they reached their destination. There was no mistake about it; Ghond had found the very depôt not only of munitions but also of German food supplies. His leader, the wild dog, went through a secret hole in the ground, then after half an hour emerged with a large leg of veal between his jaws. That it was bovine meat Ghond could tell by its odour. The dog sat down to his dinner on the frosty ground, while the man put on his boots, which he had carried slung over his shoulder all night long, and then looked up and took observations. By the position of the stars he could tell where he was. He waited there some time. Slowly the day began to break. He took out a compass from his pocket. Yes, he felt quite sure that he could draw a map of the place. Just then the dog jumped up and grabbed Ghond's coat with his teeth. There was no doubt in his mind that the dog wanted to lead him on again. He ran ahead, and Ghond followed as fast. Soon they reached a spot so thickly covered with thorns and frozen vines that passage through it was possible only for an animal. The dog crawled under a lot of sharp thorns and disappeared. Now Ghond drew a diagram showing the position of the stars, and the exact position of his compass, and tied both to Gay-Neck's foot, and let him go. He watched the pigeon fly from tree to tree, resting on each for a minute or so, and preening his wings. Then he struck the message tied to his foot with his beak--probably he was making sure that it was securely tied, flew up to the top of the tallest tree, and sat there examining the lay of the land. That moment Ghond, who was looking up, felt something pull him. He looked down at his feet; the dog was dragging him to a hole under the thorns. He bent low, low enough to follow his mentor's direction, but at that moment he heard the flutter of wings overhead, then the barking of rifles. He had no desire to get up and investigate whether Gay-Neck had been killed or not. He crawled down under the thorns till he felt as if his stomach were glued against his backbone, and both sewed tightly to the ground. He pushed and crawled till suddenly he slid down, falling about eight feet into a dark hole. It was pitch dark, but Ghond hardly noticed that at first, for he was occupied in rubbing his bruised head.