Proutt said uneasily: “Hell, there’s a deer nearer than Sheepscot.”
“Where?” Westley asked.
“Everywhere.”
“We ain’t got time to cover that much territory to-day,” the hunter said mildly. “If the Sheepscot suits, I’ll go along. I’m most sure well pick up deer.”
Westley asked: “Do you think I’m testing Reck fair?”
Saladine spat. “Yes, I’d say so,” he agreed.
“I’ve got work to do,” Proutt still objected. “Sheepscot’s a danged long way.”
“I want you to come,” said Westley.
So Proutt assented at last; and they set off in his team. He and Westley in the front seat, Saladine and Reck behind. A five-mile drive over the Sheepscot Ridge. “Past Mac’s Corner,” Saladine told them; and they went that way.
The road took them by Proutt’s house; and old Dan, Proutt’s hound, came out to bark at them, and saw Proutt, and tried to get into the buggy. Proutt bade him back to the house; then, as an afterthought, got out and shut the hound indoors. “Don’t want him following,” he said.