Timmy watched them dismount. He hung his head, panting, his tail down. His head was hurting him very much, and he felt decidedly queer and giddy. But he must get to George, he must!

He led the way to the opening in the hill. William and Henry were most astonished. They followed Timmy through the maze of passages, wondering how he knew the way so surely. But Timmy didn’t falter. He only needed to go somewhere once, and after that he never forgot the way!

He was going very slowly now, and his legs felt queer and shaky. He wanted to lie down and put his aching head on his paws. But no, he must find George. He must find George.

George and Anne were lying in the little cave, asleep. They were uncomfortable, and the cave was hot, so they were restless, waking up every few minutes. But both were asleep when Timmy walked slowly into the cave, and flopped down beside George.

George awoke when she heard William and Henry come into the cave. She thought it might be Sniffer’s father coming back, and she hastily put the ropes round her waist so that she would look as if she were still tied up. Then she heard Timmy panting, and switched on her torch eagerly.

It showed her Timmy, and Henry and William!

Henry was full of amazement when she saw George and Anne with ropes round their waists. She gaped at them.

“Oh Timmy darling, you fetched help!” said George, putting her arms round his neck. “Oh Henry, I’m so glad you’ve come. But didn’t you bring Captain Johnson too?”

“No. He’s away,” said Henry. “But William’s here. We rode, and Timmy guided us. Whatever’s happened, George?”

Anne awoke just then, and couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the visitors! There was a hasty discussion, and then William spoke firmly.

“If you want to escape, you’d better come now, while the gypsy camp is asleep. Timmy can guide us out of this rabbit-warren of a hill. We’d never be able to find our way out alone. Come on!”

“Come on, Tim,” said George, shaking him gently. But poor old Timmy was feeling very peculiar. He couldn’t see things properly. George’s voice sounded blurred to him. His head felt as heavy as lead, and somehow his legs wouldn’t carry him, The blow on his head was taking real effect now, and the hurried journey over the moor and back was making it worse.

“He’s ill!” said George, in a panic. “He can’t get up! Oh Timmy, what’s the matter?”

“It’s that cut on his head,” said William. “Its pretty bad, and he’s worn out with coming to fetch us and running all the way back again. He can’t possibly guide us back, George. We’ll have to do the best we can by ourselves.”

“Oh, poor, poor Timmy!” said Anne, horrified at seeing the dog stretched out quite limp, on the floor of the cave. “George, can you carry him?”