“Well, I hardly know whether I want to run up against a real woods’ fire, or not,” Thad declared. “Of course, I’ve always wanted to see what one looked like, because I’ve heard so much about them; we’re on a new test now, for the Silver Fox Patrol; being assistant fire wardens of the state of Maine; and as such none of us should wish a fire to occur. So I’ll just forget all about it. If one happens to come along, I guess there’s no harm in my looking at it.”
Jim laughed at this quaint philosophy.
“I jest reckons naow, yeou’ll be doin’ a heap more’n jest lookin’ at hit,” he took occasion to remark, with a sage shake of his head.
Thad laughed outright.
“I can guess what you mean, Jim,” he remarked. “You think that about that time the fire will take to chasing after me, and I’ll have all I want to do in skipping out. Well, let’s forget all about that, now, and talk of something else. For one thing, this is a splendid crisp fall morning. I saw pretty good ice on the edge of the lake. And say, I’d like to be up here a month or two from now. I warrant you there’s some mighty fine skating on that sheet of water.”
“Thet they be, sumtimes,” replied the other, with a nod. “I’ve seen hit jest as slick as a big pane o’ glass fur miles an’ miles. With ther wind ablowin’ great guns I’ve jest opened my coat, an’ been blown like a thistle-down from one end tew t’other, in less time than yew cud think. My dad, which is long gone, onct had an adventure with a pack o’ wolves on thet same smooth ice, I kin remember him tellin’ ’bout.”
“I’d like to hear it, Jim,” said the scout, eagerly.
“Wall, I’m a pore hand at tellin’ a story,” the guide admitted. “Seems like he war askatin’ home, arter killin’ a deer, an’ hed sum o’ ther meat on his back, when ther wolves took arter him. They chased him right fast, and ther on’y way dad he cud ’scape ther fangs war by making a sharp turn every time they gut too clost. Yer see ther critters cudn’t swerve fast enuff, an’d slide a long ways on ther ice ’cause it war so smooth. An’ in that way he kept goin’ till he gut nigh home; when sum o’ ther neighbors, they kim out, an’ knocked spots outen ther wolves.”
“Whew! I can just imagine it,” declared Thad, “and I wager, now, it must have been some exciting while it lasted.”
Chatting in this way they tramped on through the pine woods, heading in a direct line for the distant cabin of Cale Martin, whose wife had long since been dead, so that with Little Lina also gone, the old woodsman had lived alone for more than a year, always nursing his grievance against Jim Hasty.