The dog barked wildly, whining and scraping at the ice with his claws. He wanted to help his owner, but he couldn’t reach him.
The seconds that stood between Frank and death kept slipping away. His strength was almost gone, and he was starting to sink lower into the freezing water.
Then the dog stopped short, as if something clicked.
Instinct gave him the only answer available. Fog looked once more at his struggling owner, let out a sharp, desperate whine, then turned and bolted toward town.
He ran flat out through the snow without slowing. Bursting onto the main street of Mill Creek, he started barking hard, trying to get somebody’s attention.
He rushed at people, grabbed at their coats with his teeth, ran a few yards toward the river, then came back and did it again. At first the neighbors were startled. The behavior was so unlike him that some thought the dog had gone bad.
A few people tried to wave him off and shouted at him to get back. But then they recognized the big gray dog that belonged to quiet old Frank Miller and took a closer look.
There was such urgency in the animal’s eyes that the truth hit them fast. A few local men understood right away that something had gone badly wrong out on the river.
Without wasting time, several of them dropped what they were doing, grabbed ropes, and followed the dog. Fog ran ahead of them through the snow, leading them straight back the way he had come.
