Herman, with that one ear pricked to attention, whined more insistently and bumped my leg with his nose. I reached out to pat him and once again he clamped his huge jaws around my arm and pulled. My heart began to pound.
Opie put one hand on her service weapon. "Constancy?"
"No. It's ok. He's not hurting me. I think he's trying to tell me something. Last time he did this, he led me to Woody. Will you come with us, wherever he wants to go?"
"You bet!" She turned her head and called to another officer, "Spence, over here."
Once Herman was convinced we were going with him, he let go of my arm. The four of us made our way across the tracks and down the hill on the other side. Herman seemed to be heading straight for the river on the same path the cavers had taken. But he didn't go all the way down to the old Foggy Bend landing. We were nearly there when he suddenly left the path and headed straight south through a thicket of weeds and blackberry briars.
"Glad it's not summer," Opie muttered, as she flicked on her flashlight and followed us into the thicket. "Ow! These briars are bad enough, but if it was summer, we'd never get all the chiggers and ticks off us."
"And just think of all the snakes we'd have to dodge through here in the dark," Spence added, cheerfully.
Herman picked up speed. We followed as best we could, but in a minute he'd left us behind.
"Where's that dog gone?" Opie gasped. "Herman? Herman!"
The quiet winter evening resounded with a colossal splash.
"Oh, mercy, he's gone for a swim. He'll turn into an icicle. Herman, get out of that river!"
We broke through the brush a few seconds later. My blood suddenly went as cold as that super-chilled river. Herman hadn't had recreational swimming on his mind. He was pulling with all his might on the arm of a motionless, water-logged body. Even in the near dark, I recognized him. And time--and my heart--stopped.