"Anyhow he didn't make me go first," thought the latter.
Bela faced them with her most scornful air. "You are foolish! Both foolish! Lak dogs that growl. Go home!"
Somewhat sheepishly they went to their respective teams. Bela turned back into the house. As they drove out side by side they looked at each other again. Sam laughed suddenly at Joe's melodramatic scowl.
"Well, ta-ta, old scout!" he said mockingly.
"Damn you!" said Joe thickly. "Keep away from me! If you tread on my toes you're going to get hurt! I've a hard fist for them I don't like!"
Sam jeered. "Keep your toes out of my path if you don't want them trodden on. As for fists, I'll match you any time you want."
Joe drove off around the bay, and Sam headed for Grier's Point, whistling.
Next morning he awoke smiling at the sun. Somehow since yesterday the world was made over. As usual he had Grier's Point to himself. His bed was upon spruce-boughs at the edge of the stony beach. Stripping, he plunged into the icy lake, and emerged pink and gasping.
After dressing and feeding his horses, upon surveying his own grub-box—salt pork and cold bannock!—it took him about five seconds to decide to breakfast at Bela's. This meant the hard work of loading his wagon on an empty stomach. Unlocking the little warehouse, he set to work with a will.