“Jim’s idee an’ mine ain’t the same, exackly,” vouchsafed Blackstock, after a pause, “but I guess they’ll come to the same thing in the end. They’re fittin’ in with each other fine, so fur!”
“What’ll ye bet that ye’re not mistaken, the both o’ yez?” demanded Jackson.
“Yer wages fur the whole summer!” answered Blackstock promptly.
Long looked satisfied. He knocked the ashes out of his pipe and proceeded to refill it.
“Oh, ef ye’re so sure as that, Tug,” he drawled, “I guess I ain’t takin’ any this time.”
For a couple of hours after sunset the party continued to follow the trail, depending now entirely upon Jim’s leadership. The dog, revived by his rest and his master’s cold-water treatment, limped forward at a good pace, growling from time to time as a fresh pang in his wound reminded him anew of his enemy.
“How Jim ’pears to hate that bear!” remarked Big Andy once.
“He does that!” agreed Blackstock. “An’ he’s goin’ to git his own back, too, I’m thinkin’, afore long.”
Presently the moon rose round and yellow through the tree-tops, and the going became less laborious. Jim seemed untiring now. He pressed on so eagerly that Blackstock concluded the object of his vindictive pursuit, whatever it was, must be now not far ahead.
Another hour, and the party came out suddenly upon the bank of a small pond. Jim, his nose to earth, started to lead the way around it, towards the left. But Blackstock stopped him, and halted his party in the dense shadows.