By this time they were well into the forest. They were climbing through a notch over the first range of mountains. When they reached the valley beyond, they had to turn to their left and go up the valley two or three miles, until they struck a fire trail. This trail led straight over the second mountain, which was really the knob at the head of the burned valley. It was on this knob that they had found the rude watch-tower after their meeting with the ranger, Mr. Morton. Beyond this knob they had still to traverse a wide valley and climb a third mountain before they reached their camp site. But there was a good fire trail almost the entire distance. Traveling with such heavy packs on their backs, the two lads made but slow progress. Every little while they had to stop to rest. During one of these pauses they heard a low, whining sound. "Listen! What is that?" asked Charley, who loved animals and was keenly sensitive to their sufferings. "It sounds like a dog." They stood motionless. Faint but distinct came the unmistakable cry of a dog in distress. Charley dropped his pack instantly. "There's a dog in trouble," he said, "and we've got to help him." He began to whistle. Then he called, "Here, boy! Here, boy!" From somewhere ahead of them came a joyous bark, followed by a painful whine. Charley picked up his pack. "Come on," he said, and hastened toward the sound. But he did not go far. Soon he caught sight of a dog, painfully limping toward him. Charley ran up to the animal, which wagged its tail violently and barked with joy. "He's only a half grown pup," said Charley, noticing the big paws. "Isn't he a fine young fellow?" The animal leaped up against Charley and licked his hand. "Come here, boy," said Charley, taking the dog in his arms. "Let's see what's wrong." Charley began to examine the animal's paws. The dog submitted patiently. "Nothing wrong with that one," commented Charley, dropping a fore paw. But when he began to feel the other front foot the dog whined with pain. "No wonder," said Charley with sympathy. "Look here, Lew," and he pointed to an enormous thorn that had embedded itself in the paw. "Hold him tight while I take it out," said Charley as he drew forth his knife, opened the small blade, slit the skin slightly, and carefully dug the thorn out. The foot was festered and swollen. Charley squeezed out the pus. "Don't let him get that paw in the dirt," he said, and ran to his pack. He fished out the first-aid kit and got some absorbent cotton and a disinfectant. He wrapped a tiny bit of cotton around the end of a twig, wet it with water from the canteen and swabbed out the little wound. Then he soaked another bit of cotton with the disinfectant and stuffed it into the foot. "We'll let that stay there a while," he said. "The dog is probably lost. We'll keep him until we find his owner."