The friends exchanged glances.
“I see he isn’t,” groaned the man.
“How long has he been missin’?” questioned Paisley.
“Two days afore this awful winter sot in he left hum,” replied the brother, “an’ none of us has seen him since. He’s allars been a lot o’ worry to us. It’s like him to hole up and freeze like a silly rabbit, and I guess he’s done it.”
“Maybe he’s on the Point,” suggested Declute hopefully. “Maybe he’s winterin’ with the Injuns, Hank.”
Hank turned his heavy eyes on the speaker.
“He’s made even the Injuns hate him,” he murmured. “No, he’s not there.”
He arose, threw off his furs, and sat down to the bread and cold meat Boy had placed on the table. After he had eaten he sat back, lit his pipe, and gazed into the fire.
“Boys,” he said, clenching his hands, “flesh is flesh an’ blood is blood when it comes to—to a time like this. Amos has allars been a lot o’ trouble to us, an’ I—I’ve quarreled with him and fought with him an’ thort I hated him; but, boys, I guess I was wrong. I’m huntin’ for him now. Dad an’ th’ other boys is huntin’ for him too. Why? I’ll tell you why—it’s ’cause flesh is flesh an’ blood is blood when it comes to a time like this.”
“Oh, he’s likely all safe and sound somewheres,” encouraged Declute. “Old Amos knows the weather too well to be caught in a blizzard.”