Nat picked up his valises again and left the store. It seemed now that Benny was a hindrance to him rather than a success, and for a minute or two he did not know but he would prefer to give him up than keep him. It did not seem possible that he could walk all the way to St Louis and carry his treasure besides, and he looked down at Benny who gazed back at him, and wagged his tail in a forlorn sort of way as if the man had given him a bad reputation.
“No, I won’t do it Benny,” said Nat, putting one of his valises on the ground long enough to pat the dog on the head. “I’ll keep you with me until the time comes for you to show what you are made of; then if you fail me, I will know what to do with you.”
Perhaps, when Nat came to think about it, it was better after all to keep the dog and trust to luck. There were plenty of persons who met him on the road who would have been glad to snatch his valises and make off with them, if they only knew how much was in them; and with Benny there to protect him he did not think they would attempt it. So Benny was accepted on sufferance.
Nat had not proceeded very far on his road before he heard the sound of wheels behind him, and in a few minutes a man drove by in a lumber wagon. The man looked down at Nat and then pulled up his team.
“Soger, would you work?” said he, with a laugh. “You have a heavy load there. Are you going fur?”
“I am going down to Bridgeport,” said Nat. “If you have a place for me I shall be glad to get in.”
“You are as welcome as the flowers in May,” said the man. “Climb in. Gosh! What an ugly looking dog you have. Will he bite?”
“He has never bitten anybody since I had him,” said Nat, lifting his carpet sacks one after the other and putting them into the wagon with a good deal of trouble. “He won’t bite if he is let alone.”
“Well, you just bet your bottom dollar that I won’t interfere with him. What you got in there? It seems mighty heavy.”
“Yes. It is some tools that I work with. Do you know anybody in Bridgeport?”