"No—back up toward the Feather."
They were in midstream, the scow advancing with a tremulous motion, spray springing across its low edges and showering the men. The dog, who had come to a standstill, his forepaws on the gunnel, his face toward Garland, suddenly broke into a furious barking. Garland shifted in his saddle.
"What's got your dog?" he said gruffly. "He ain't afraid, is he?"
"Afraid? Don't know the meanin' of the word. Don't mind him—it's his way; lived so long with me he acts sort of notional. Some days he'll bark like now at a passenger and then again he won't take no notice. Just somethin' about you, can't tell what, but he scents somethin' that makes him act unfriendly."
"What do you suppose it is?" growled the other.
The ferryman laughed.
"Oh, you can't ever tell about them animals—they got a thinkin' outfit of their own. Goin' far?"
"To Angels."
"Well, hope you'll get there all right. Sort of black weather to be traveling specially if you got money on you. Knapp and Garland's bound to get busy soon."
It was the passenger's turn to laugh.