Little Warhorse 
It was slower than before, but still it came— 
“tramp, tramp, tramp.” 
Jack awoke, but sat still. The man tramped 
by on the trail one hundred yards in front of 
him, and as he went on, Jack sprang out un- 
seen, realizing that this was an unusual occa- 
sion needing a special effort. They had gone 
in a vast circle around the home range of the 
Warhorse and now were less than a mile from 
the farm-house of the black Dog. There was 
that wonderful board fence with the happily 
planned hen-hole. It was a place of good 
memory—here more than once he had won, 
here especially he had baffled the Greyhound. 
These doubtless were the motive thoughts 
rather than any plan of playing one enemy 
against another, and Warhorse bounded openly 
across the snow to the fence of the big black 
Dog. 
The hen-hole was shut, and Warhorse, not a 
little puzzled, sneaked around to find another, 
without success, until, around the front, here 
was the gate wide open, and inside lying on 
some boards was the big Dog, fast asleep. 
The Hens were sitting hunched up in the warm- 
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