"Gingham, you gull," interposed his brother, with a guffaw of laughter. "I've seen it in the stores. Where'd you get it, pop?"
"Poacher fetched it. When I got out o' my bunk this mornin' an' opened the door, he put up that ole muzzle of his an' give a sniff. Then off he sot. I knew he'd got somethin' on his mind. He's been runnin' deer, an' he found this on his way back."
"He's a beaut," said the other lad, eyeing him admiringly. "He's nosed out something. What'll you do, pop?"
"Swaller some breakfast an' make tracks for Morse's camp."
"S'pose it was some person," said the younger of the boys, uneasily.
"By gum!" and the man suddenly smote his thigh, "s'pose the ole woman had run after us with somethin'. Hustle on your coats, boys. Mebbe it's your ma."
The faces of both boys had turned white, and their hands were shaking. Seizing their coats, they rushed out of the cabin.
"Pop, it wasn't bitter last night," said the younger, in a hushed voice.
"Shut up!" said his father, irritably, and in profound silence the three proceeded through the wood in single file, following the dog who, without excitement, but with his dark face beaming with pleasure at being understood, rapidly led them over his own tracks of a few minutes previous.
Mile after mile they went in silence, until at last the father, who was leading, made a leap forward.