Treve was of two minds as to the advisability of waking the echoes with a salvo of barking by way of farewell insult to the intruder, or to go around and get the delicious-smelling meat that had rolled so provokingly out of his reach. The man was gone. His horse’s light hoofbeats were dying away, up the coulée. The logical thing to do now was to get that generously-given meat and devour it. Already, Nellie was beside the palings, thrusting her slender nose through the gap, in quest of the food she could smell but could not get. Being blind, she could not know, as did Treve, the futility of pushing her nose through one paling-gap after another in the hope of finding a space wide enough to let her jaws close on the meat. But as Treve set off, along the inner side of the fence, on his errand of retrieving the fragment of cooked food, she seemed to understand his purpose. For she trotted eagerly alongside him; her shoulder as ever touching his, in order to guide her steps. Treve had not gone twenty feet when he felt her swing away from him, in a lurch that almost upset her. Halting to let her catch up with him after her supposed stumble, he saw Nellie stagger sideways a step or two, then curl back her lips from her teeth and come to a shivering stop. She moaned once in stifled agony; then collapsed in a furry heap on the ground. Full of keen solicitude, Treve ran over to where she lay. As he gazed worriedly down upon the pitifully still little body, a trembling shook him from crown to toes. Not for the first time was the great collie looking upon Death. His adored little mate was dead;--stone dead. How or why she had been stricken down so suddenly--she who just now had been so full of life and of pretty, loving ways--was beyond his knowledge. But grief smote him to the depths of his soul. Long he stood there above her; now and then touching her still little body or face with his nose, as if entreating her to come back to him. Then, whimpering as no physical pain could have made him whimper, he turned and fled to the house. Even as man in dire distress turns to his God for aid, so did the heartbroken collie turn now to his two human gods. Bounding up on the porch, he scratched imperiously at the locked door; whining and sobbing in stark anguish of heart. Perhaps these humans could bring back to life the dear mate who had meant so much to him. Fiercely impatient in his grief, he scratched the harder at the door panel; crying under his breath and quivering as in a death-chill. After an eternity came a slumbrous and cross voice from Royce Mack’s room. “Shut up there, Treve!” commanded Royce, angry at being wakened. “Shut up, you fool! No, you can’t come in! You’re spoiled--pampered--just as Joel said. You’ll stay outside, as I told you to. Shut up!” Mack rolled over, as he finished shouting his peevish order, and sank again into slumber, worn out by his long day in the open.