The unmistakable smell of a black was in his nostrils.

Further, it was a strange black, for he did not identify it with the many he possessed filed away in the pigeon-holes of his brain.
Forgotten was the stale wood-rat as he followed the new trail.

Curiosity and play impelled him.

He had no thought of apprehension for Villa and Harley--not even when he reached the spot where the black, evidently startled by bearing their voices, had stood and debated, and so left a very strong scent.

From this point the trail swerved off toward the pool.