CHAPTER XIX.
AN ENCOUNTER IN THE WOODS.
The one in advance from whose lips that angry question had been flung, was Berlin Barker. Phil Springer was following. Barker’s face was almost snow-white, made thus by the rage that was consuming him. Springer looked greatly disturbed, and he muttered to himself:
“Now there’s sure to be tut-trouble.”
“What do you mean by it?” again demanded Berlin, as he faced Rod a short distance away, his gun gripped tightly in his glove-protected hands.
“I didn’t know it was your dog.” Slowly and awkwardly he shifted his position, in order to face Berlin.
“You lie!” retorted Barker; and every nerve in Grant’s body went taut as a bowstring.
With excited yelps, old Rouser came bursting forth from the woods.
“There’s the dog I reckoned was running this rabbit,” explained the young Texan, his voice a trifle husky, yet remarkably steady.
“That old has-been!” sneered Barker. “Why, he isn’t worth a charge of shot to put him out of the way; and he’s been bothering Silver Tongue. Of course you heard both dogs running.”