He was sick and tired, and the futility of going farther oppressed him.

He looked again down into the strip of plain, and whined.
Then, suddenly, he smelled something that was not the musty fog-mist that hung between the ridges.

It was smoke.

Peter's heart beat faster, and he pulled himself to his feet, and went in its direction.
Hidden in a little grassy cup between two great boulders that thrust themselves out from the face of the ridge, he found Jolly Roger.

First he saw the smouldering embers of a fire that was almost out--and then his master.