“Good-night, fellows,” Smoke called, as he closed the door.
In five minutes the candle was put out, but before half an hour had passed Smoke and Shorty emerged softly, and without lights began harnessing the dogs.
“Hello, Smoke!” Saltman said, stepping near enough for them to see the loom of his form.
“Can't shake you, Bill, I see,” Smoke replied cheerfully. “Where're your friends?”
“Gone to have a drink. They left me to keep an eye on you, and keep it I will. What's in the wind anyway, Smoke? You can't shake us, so you might as well let us in. We're all your friends. You know that.”
“There are times when you can let your friends in,” Smoke evaded, “and times when you can't. And, Bill, this is one of the times when we can't. You'd better go to bed. Good-night.”
“Ain't goin' to be no good-night, Smoke. You don't know us. We're woodticks.”
Smoke sighed. “Well, Bill, if you WILL have your will, I guess you'll have to have it. Come on, Shorty, we can't fool around any longer.”
Saltman emitted a shrill whistle as the sled started, and swung in behind. From down the hill and across the flat came the answering whistles of the relays. Shorty was at the gee-pole, and Smoke and Saltman walked side by side.
“Look here, Bill,” Smoke said. “I'll make you a proposition. Do you want to come in alone on this?”