He saw the dog disappear, heard him running to and fro among the willows, getting farther and farther away, till all sound from him ceased.
"Thar's Rover," called a voice from the bluff-side.

"He's been through thet black patch." "Nary a rabbit in there," replied another.
"Bah! Thet pup's no good," scornfully growled another man.

"Put a hound at thet clump of willows." "Fire's the game.

Burn the brake before the rain comes." The voices droned off as their owners evidently walked up the ridge.
Then upon Duane fell the crushing burden of the old waiting, watching, listening spell.

After all, it was not to end just now.