After more than half an hour of struggle, both men and dogs were exhausted.
Zhao Jun crouched in front of Daqing, one arm around its waist, the other hand stroking its neck back and forth to soothe it.
Meanwhile, Li Baoyu pulled a cloth pouch from his pocket, grabbed a handful of tobacco dust from inside, crushed it in his hand, and applied it to the wound on the Yellow Dog's back.
The wound on the Yellow Dog's back wasn't large or deep and wouldn't affect its ability to keep going at all.
But it seemed a little dejected now, lying at Li Baoyu's feet with its chin resting on its front paws, its mouth open and tongue out, panting puffs of white breath.
Not far away, Hua Xiao'Er stood on a large, flat rock, craning its neck to gaze into the distance.
"Sigh!" Zhao Jun let out a soft sigh and shook his head. He whistled, signaling for Li Baoyu to head back with the three dogs.
