Will was not afraid—oh, no, not he! It was simply mighty lonesome. He trudged away, all the same, and began to whistle.
Presently he stopped whistling. He wondered why the supply-team did not come along. Had he made a mistake—was it to-morrow noon they had been going to start? Pincher had certainly told him they would be off within the hour. Probably they were only waiting for Diane to put up the cold beef and bottle the coffee. He expected to hear the bells every moment.
How surprised Old Uncle would be when he saw him come into the camp with Pincher and Jo! How angry, too, perhaps, at first! But the fact that Aunt Susan was along would counterbalance that. Will could see her sweet serene face in the white fur hood. Well, Old Uncle would understand how impossible it was to drive a boy out of his bent. Yes, he would, sir! Will reflected with pride that now he had taken things into his own hands, and walked on with great resolution. For a fellow who had taken things into his own hands could not afford to be down-hearted because the road was lonely, long, or dark. If he was—he would not say the word “afraid” even to himself. Well, if he was, what would he be in the deep woods of the caribou and the catamount? Thereat a picture came before his eyes of a huge caribou plunging down the forest-depths with great bounds, his nostrils dilating, his black eyes burning, his mighty horns laid back along his shoulders; and if ever any one was glad it was Will when he heard a far-off tinkle, and presently a peal of sledge-bells, and turned about and stood still to meet the supply-team with Pincher and Jo.
“Wal, he’s a chap of speerit, I vum!” cried Pincher, when the boy in the middle of the way raised his hand to halt the horses. “I do’ ’no’s we got anythin’ ter du but ter take him on. But I guess we’ll cure him!”
“Ol’ man’ll be mad,” suggested Jo—Old Uncle wearing that appellation on account of his mastership, by no means on account of his years.
“Can’t leave the boy here in this woodsy place, and night comin’ on, if he is,” said Pincher. “Pretty kittle o’ fish! Up with ye, youngster!”
Tucked under a lot of horse-blankets on top of the load, Will knew but little more till late the next morning. Then he found they were still jogging on. He had a vague, delightful memory of a misty scene of swinging lanterns and shouting voices, and of their changing horses in the middle of the night at the remote half-way house.
Feeling a little stiff and sore, he stretched himself, and got down to walk a bit and limber up with Pincher. And he found the cold beef and sausage and biscuit and bottled coffee as good as nectar and ambrosia.
So they plodded on through the day, with a bite here and a sup there. Just at dusk they stopped in a sheltered spot where they were to camp for the night in a rude hut built there for the logging-parties.
“Well, this is great,” said Will, standing with his legs far apart in front of the fire that Pincher had snapping outside and sending up whirls of sparks. Pincher was cooking some squirrels he had shot.