“Goin’ to tote me to ‘Fifteen-Two,’ ain’t you?” queried Smeaton, as Swickey went for the sleigh.
“Nope. Lost Farm. Fifteen ain’t no place fur you. Who’s a-goin’ to set thet leg?”
“That’s your fur in the bag,” said Smeaton.
“I knowed thet—afore I seed ye. Them’s Canady snowshoes. I know them tracks,” replied Avery, with a sweep of his arm toward Smeaton’s raquettes. “I was layin’ fur you,” he continued; “howcome I didn’t calc’late to find you layin’ fur me, so handy like.”
“Damn your ole whiskers, Hoss Avery, I ain’t scared of you!”
“Thet so?” said the old man, grinning. “Wal, I reckon you ain’t got no call to be sca’d. I reckon your breakin’ thet leg has saved me breakin’ the rest of ye what ain’t bruk a’ready; but it’s Christmas to our house—and seein’ it do be Christmas, and not thet I’m pityin’ ye any—you’re a-comin’ ’long with me and Swickey.”
CHAPTER XXII—“RED” SMEATON’S LOVE AFFAIR
Avery rather enjoyed having Smeaton at his camp. It gave him some one to talk to during the long weeks of winter and early spring that followed. “Red” sulked at first, but the old man overcame this by his unwavering kindness and good humor.
Fisty Harrigan had waited anxiously for Smeaton’s return. Finally, he sent a man to Tramworth, suspecting that “Red” had sold the pelts and was dissipating the proceeds in riotous living. Upon ascertaining Smeaton’s whereabouts, Harrigan, mistrusting his informant, came to Lost Farm himself just after Swickey had left for her final term at the Tramworth school. What Avery said to Harrigan before he allowed him to see his partner was in part overheard by the latter, as he lay bolstered up in the old man’s bed. He grinned as Avery drove home some picturesque suggestions of what might happen in the way of physical violence, “to folks ketched stealin’ other folkses’ fur.” Avery intimated that a broken leg was a mere incident compared with the overwhelming results should he undertake to assist Providence in administering justice.
Harrigan listened with poorly dissembled hate, which was not appreciably overcome by Smeaton’s attitude of apparent satisfaction with his host and his surroundings. The Irishman licked his lips nervously while he talked with “Red” and seemed ill at ease, possibly on account of the proximity of Smoke, who lay crouched near the box stove in an attitude of alert patience.