“Naw. Sh-sh! Listen! The boys are coming in. I’ll tell you later.”
We had a cheerful meal that evening. Everyone was pleasantly talkative and the Lodge was so warm we had to open the doors and windows. The odor of pine and approaching summer was in the air that floated about us.
“Charlie’s going to help us kill that lynx,” Brent said to Tom, across the table.
“That’s fine, Charlie,” Tom said. “I guess he means you’ll do the killing, if it comes to that.”
“Won’t make me mad!” Rivers said. He certainly was pleased.
“What a pleasant supper we had,” I remarked, after the boys had bidden us good-night.
“Yes, didn’t we!” Tom assented.
“In fact,” Brent said, “there was something almost brutally pleasant about the way Rivers spoke of killing that animal. You know, I don’t really mean that he should kill it at all. It’s just a hoax to try and find the hermit.”
“Why did you suggest asking him then?” Tom asked.
“Because,” Brent answered, “if he should get vicious, then it will be all right. But if he doesn’t, why I thought we could stop Rivers at the last minute.”