"I don't care. She—she's a—cat!"
Mr. Ford, Paddy and Allen were consulting with the court officer, Will and Frank were discussing a prospective hunting trip, and the girls were planning Christmas surprises as the sled slid on.
"Here's the new line," said Paddy, as they came to a pile of stones. "And there's where it ought to be," he added, as they drove across the valuable strip in dispute. There was a difference of nearly a mile.
"That is my recollection of it," said Mr. Ford. "Owing to the death of the surveyor, and the destruction of some of his records, I was unable to prove it, though."
"Well, you can now," retorted Paddy, significantly.
Soon they heard the sound of axes and, in answer to a nod from Mr. Ford, the horses were turned in that direction.
Suddenly from behind a tree stepped the burly form of Hank Smither.
"You can't go any further!" he growled. "Turn back an' git off this land! You're trespassin'!"
"Oh, I think not," said Mr. Ford, pleasantly.
"Well, I tell you you be! Git off, 'fore I——"