He felt the fierceness of the wind fighting to break in, and the broken mist of it filled his nostrils.

But there came no scent of Jolly Roger McKay.

For a moment he struggled at the crack with his paws.

Then he flopped himself down, his heart beating fast, and fixed his eyes inquiringly on Nada and the Missioner.
His four and a half months of life in the big wilderness, and his weeks of constant comradeship with Jolly Roger, had developed in him a brain that was older than his body.

No process of reasoning could impinge upon him the fact that his master was an outlaw, but with the swift experiences of tragedy and hiding and never-ceasing caution had come instinctive processes which told him almost as much as reason.