“It was that scowlin’, grumblin’ Disbrow,” averred Hi. “I know it. Ma says she feels it in her bones, and so do I, and Kitchell bones is simply great for givin’ pointers. I say, what’s the use in you and me loafin’ ’round here while that mis’able, sneakin’ houn’ gets off with Annie Laurie’s money? Ain’t we her friends and as nigh kin as she’s got? What say to you and me hikin’ out after that thar Disbrow an’ findin’ him and bringin’ him back to justice?”
Hi’s sharp black eyes sparkled with the high intent of protecting the friendless. The bright light of adventure shone round about him, and Jim thrilled to it. Here was a friend worth having—a friend like those knights of old of whom Azalea read to him, one who would go out and conquer. Jim stared off across the purple valley, rejoicing in his good fortune at living in days when there was still a man’s work to do in the world.
“Hi,” he breathed after a time, “I’m with you.”
“Then,” said Hi, with something of the air of an Arctic explorer about to embark on his hazardous voyage, “we must make ready. Thar’s no use in waitin’ around here, dreamin’ and sighin’ the way the rest of the town is doin’. Let’s get our grub together and be on our way.”
“I wish I could take Peter,” said Jim wistfully. Peter was his hound. “But he’s got such a sore foot I don’t dast. Ma, she doctors it up every morning and she says we’ll have to be mighty careful or we won’t have no dog at all—he’ll die from blood poisonin’.”
“It’s too bad,” agreed Hi, “but we-all ken take Bike.” Bike, Hi’s hound, wagged his tail in recognition of the attention paid him.
“It will make me feel awful bad for you to take Bike and me to be goin’ along without no dog at all,” mused Jim.
There seemed to be no limit to Hi’s chivalry to-day.
“Well then, by gum, I won’t take Bike,” he declared, his face lighting with the glow of sacrifice. Jim was not unappreciative.
“Honest, Hi!”