“What are you stopping for?” asked Sneak.
“Because”—Joe hesitated, positively ashamed to tell the reason; and after a moment’s reflection he was impressed with a thorough conviction that his apprehensions and scruples were ridiculous.
“Don’t you hear me?” continued Sneak.
“I was thinking about going back for the dogs,” said Joe.
“Yes, and they would be torn to bits in a little less than no time,” said Sneak.
“Come on, then,” said Joe, setting forward again, and dismissing all fears of the fire-wizard from his mind.
“Let me see how much asafoetida you’ve got,” said Sneak, after they had walked a few moments in silence.
“Here it is,” said Joe, unwrapping a paper containing several ounces; “but hang me, if that ain’t rather too strong a joke of Mr. Boone’s about its collecting the wolves. I can’t believe that.”
“Did you ever hear of Mr. Boone’s telling a lie?” asked Sneak.
“No, I never did, and that’s a fact,” said Joe; “but I’m afraid he’s got into a scrape this time—Jingo! look yonder!” he continued, throwing his musket up to his face, and pointing it at a very large black wolf that stood in the path before them.