And miserable is the true word for Dad’s pipe, for it was miserable indeed, and miserable the smell that came out of it, going there full steam on a hot afternoon of early autumn. Dad always carefully reamed out the first speck of carbon that formed in his pipe, and kept it reamed out with boring blade of his pocket knife. He wanted no insulation against nicotine, and the strength thereof; he was not satisfied unless the fire burned into the wood, and drew the infiltrations of strong juice therefrom. When his charge of tobacco burned out, and the fire came down to this frying, sizzling abomination of smells at last, Dad beamed, enjoying it as a sort of dessert to a delightful repast of strong smoke.
Dad was enjoying his domestic felicity to the full these days of Mackenzie’s convalescence. Rabbit was out with the sheep, being needed no longer to attend the patient, leaving Dad to idle as he pleased. His regret for the one-eyed widow seemed to have passed, leaving no scar behind.
“Tim don’t take no stock in it that Swan planned before to do you out of a lot of your sheep. He was by here this morning while you was wanderin’ around somewhere.”
“He was by, was he?”
“Yeah; he was over to see Reid––he’s sent him a new wagon over there. Tim says you and Swan must both ’a’ been asleep and let the two bands stray together, and of course it was human for Swan to want to take away more than he brought. Well, it was sheepman, anyhow, if it wasn’t human.”
“Did Sullivan say that?”
“No, that’s what I say. I know ’em; I know ’em to the bone. Reid knew how many sheep him and you had, and he stuck out for ’em like a little man. More to that feller than I ever thought he had in him.”
“Yes,” Mackenzie agreed. He lay stretched on his back, squinting at the calm-weather clouds.
“Yeah; Tim says both of you fellers must ’a’ been asleep.”