The brother shook his head.
“Amos was gettin’ whiskey somewheres,” he said. “It’s likely the sleep come on him—he’s out thar, I tell you,” pointing out at the cold, moon-kissed wood, “unless the wolves——”
He broke off with a shudder and, springing up, reached for his furs.
“You’re not goin’ out again to-night,” insisted Boy. “See here, Hank, you mus’n’t. Stay with me, like a good feller, and I’ll help you look for Amos to-morrow.”
Broadcrook turned and looked at Boy. His face was twitching and his voice was not quite steady when he said:
“You and Big Mac and all have been mighty good to us all clean through everythin’, an’ when I guess we didn’t deserve it. It’s like you to wanter help us now, but you can’t do nuthin’, Boy; you can’t do nuthin’ any more than I kin. But I’ve gotter keep huntin’, huntin’. It’s hell t’ be like this, but blood’s blood, an’ Amos is out thar somewheres——”
He shook off Boy’s hand and passed out. Paisley snatched his coat and rifle from the hooks.
“He mus’n’t strike the back trail fagged like he is,” he said. “Come on, Jim and Ander; we’ll coax him over to my place and put him to bed.”
“Yes, make him stay with you, Bill,” said Boy. “I guess there’s somethin’ in what he said about flesh bein’ flesh at a time like this.”
He stood in the open doorway until he saw Paisley, Declute, and Peeler overtake Broadcrook far down the snow-packed path. Then he turned into the house, blew out the candle, and sat down before the fire. By and by dreams came to him: they always came to him when the night was late and he was alone by the dying fire. Sweet and restful dreams they were, too, at times, when they were of the wide wood playground of used-to-be; and he roamed its forest aisles with Gloss, and they were just “boy and girl,” and the world was theirs. But there were other dreams—dreams that brought a shadow to his eyes as unreadable and ununderstandable as the shadow that sometimes dipped across the ridges, whose spirit he had caught and held.