David spoke to the dog. With an almost shamefaced expression the big terrier got up and followed his master out, across the cool grass, and into still another abode.
To him the man-thing was a peculiar animal. He had one place to eat in, another to sleep in. The man-thing also protected impudent, furry, disconcerting kittens that it wouldn’t do to kill—
CHAPTER VIII—SMOKE FINDS EMPLOYMENT
September drifted imperceptibly into October, and even then there were days when coats were shed and sleeves rolled up as the noon sun burned down on the tawny gold and scarlet of the woodside. It was not until the sedges grew brittle on the river edges and the grasses withered that November sent forth its true harbingers of winter—small fluttering white flakes that covered the ground sparsely.
With the keen tang of the first snow stirring his blood, David swung down the river-trail toward Tramworth, Smoke padding at his heels. With Avery’s help he had built a snug winter camp near the three cabins, and although not in the best location available, it reflected some Celtic astuteness on David’s part, as it was centred on the prospective right-of-way of the new road. His present errand involved the purchase of a stove, cooking utensils, and the other essentials to independent housekeeping. He found out, early in his undertaking to teach Swickey, that he could not maintain the prestige necessary, in her continual presence.
He felt pleased with himself that brisk November morning. He had his own cabin, neat, new, fragrant. He had learned to swing an axe during its construction. He had not missed the first deer he hunted, and thereby had earned Swickey’s condescending approval. She had killed a “b’ar.” In the setting of traps and dead-falls he won Avery’s appreciation by a certain deftness and mechanical ability. But, above all, was the keen joy he felt when he thought of the Bascombs’ recent offer of twenty-five thousand dollars for Lost Farm tract.
“There is something behind it,” he muttered. “Avery gave five thousand for the land. But why don’t they appraise it and sell it from under us. They could. By Jove, I have it! The Great Western Lumber Company is back of the N. M. & Q., and they want the pine. Why didn’t I think of that before.”
Unused to observing signs on the trail, he failed to notice the moccasin tracks in the light snow ahead of him, but Smoke picked up a scent and trotted along, sniffing and blowing. Then he came to heel again, evidently satisfied. The man-thing he followed ought to know that the people who made the tracks were not far ahead, and that one of them had turned off in a clump of firs they were just passing.
He noted the dog’s actions subconsciously, his mind busy with the problem of how to get the best results from the sale which he knew must come eventually, despite Avery’s assertion that “No blamed railrud would come snortin’ across his front yard, if he knew it.”
He had about decided to advise his partner to sell and avoid complications, but only the right-of-way and retain the stumpage—