“Seen my cow, Mr. Carington?” said a voice, a few feet behind him, and the sweet prosperity of fancy was gone. It was Susan Colkett who spoke. He started. He had heard no step, as she came out of the wood, although she must have been very near.
“No; I saw no cow. Is yours astray?”
“Yes. What time might it be?”
“Six o’clock,” he replied, looking at his watch.
“Do you think to come up here in September, sir? Joe says caribou’s plenty up the river.”
Then Carington recalled Mr. Lyndsay’s warning, and said, “It is hard to say as yet. Most likely I shall not.”
“I did hear there’s bears back to the pond. If you was minded to go after ’em, Joe he’d like to guide. There ain’t no better hunter.”
“I’ll see about it. If I want him, I shall let him know. Good night.” And he left her.
After walking some thirty yards he looked back. The woman was standing in the road, tall, angular, and large, a long crooked stick in her hand. She was watching him, but instantly moved as she caught his glance.
“Confound it,” he muttered, “if I believed in the evil eye, and were a good Catholic, I should cross myself.”