“Well, sir,” said Mr. Locke, heaving a sigh of relief, “I thought it was a gone case, but the nigger's been here, and we've got him.” “May be the dog is trailing somebody else,” Joe Maxwell suggested. Mr. Locke laughed softly and pityingly. “Why, I tell you what, buddy,” he exclaimed, “if all the niggers in the country had tramped around here that dog wouldn't track none of 'em but the special nigger we're after. Look at that puppy, how he's working!” And truly it was an interesting if not a beautiful sight to see the dog untangling the tangle of scent. More than once he seemed to be dissatisfied with himself and made little excursions in search of a fresher clew, but he always returned to the point where he had left off, taking up the faint thread of scent and carrying it farther away from the hog-pen. The patience and industry of the dog were marvelous. Mr. Locke himself was patient. He encouraged the hound with his voice, but made no effort to urge him on. “It's colder than a gravestone,” said Mr. Locke, finally. “It's been a long time sence that nigger stepped around here. And the ground's high and dry. If we can work the trail to the branch yonder, he's our meat.--Try for 'im, Sound! Try for 'im.” Gradually the dog worked out the problem of the trail. Across the hill he went, with many turnings and twistings, until finally he struck into the path that led from the negro quarters to the spring where the washing was done. Down this path the hound ran without deigning to put his nose to the ground. At the branch he lapped his fill of water, and then took up his problem again. A half-dozen wash-pots were scattered around, and under the largest a fire was smoldering. On a bench, side by side, three tubs were sitting, and it was at this bench that Sound picked up the trail again. Evidently Mink had paused to chat with the woman who was washing. The ground was moist, and the dog had little trouble. As he recovered the trail he expressed his gratification by a little whimper. The trail led down the spring branch and into a plantation road, then over a fence and across a “new ground” until it struck a bypath that led to an arbor near a church, where the negroes had been holding a revival meeting. At this point there was another problem for the dog. A hundred or two negroes had been gathered here, and it was evident that Mink had been one of the crowd, mingling with the others and walking about with them. Young Gaither called Mr. Locke's attention to this. “You'll never get the trail away from here in the world,” said he. “Why don't you take the dog and circle round with him?” “That dog,” said Mr. Locke, watching the hound anxiously, “has got notions of his own, and he's bound to carry 'em out. He won't be fooled with. Don't say nothing. Just stand off and watch him. He's been in worse places than this here.”