"I have a reason for wanting to go," the man said.
Joe's heart throbbed. A reason for going. His throat was husky again.
"Right away, Uncle David? A policeman has to get there while the trail is
hot, doesn't he?"
"There are some trails," Dr. Stone said in his slow drawl, "that do not
grow cold."
Out on the porch he filled a pipe and smoked quietly. Joe, watching that
lion head topped by crisp, unruly white hair, wondered if his uncle ever
became excited. He fidgeted and watched a clock; and by and by Dr. Stone
knocked the ashes from his pipe, stood up, and took a dog's harness down
from a nail.
The dog stretched its great body and held out its head. A stiff leash
rose from either side of the harness and joined a wide, hard handle-grip
at the top.
"Lady, forward!"
Slowly, protectingly, the massive animal took Dr. Stone down the steps
and along the concrete walk to the road.
"Lady, right."
Without hesitation the dog turned right, the tawny body pressed almost
against the man's left leg. They were off now, and Dr. Stone's body bent
slightly from the waist toward the dog, while his right hand lightly
swung a cane. He might have been gifted with sight, so rapidly did he
walk, so complete was his confidence in his four-footed guide. Joe had to
stretch his legs to keep up with them. They went past fields and
orchards, fences and tangles of wild grape. The doctor's cane, swinging
along, came in contact at last, with a wall of hedge.
"Kent's place, Joe?"
"Yes, sir." Joe's throat throbbed with a twitching pulse.
A telephone repair truck was in the driveway. The dog slowed, and swung
aside, pulling on the leash and changing his course. Without hesitation
Dr. Stone followed the pull, and the dog led him around and past the
truck. They appeared, in their movements, to be one.