"Nothin' there!" said he.
"It was there yesterday morning," protested Woolly Billy, his blue eyes filling with tears.
"Yes, yes, of course," agreed Blackstock, glancing slowly around the circle of disappointed faces.
"Somebody from the store's been blabbin'," exclaimed Black Dan, in a loud and angry voice.
"An' why not?" protested Big Andy, with a guilty air. "We never said nawthin' about keepin' it a secret."
In spite of their disappointment, the millhands laughed. Big Andy was not one to keep a secret in any case, and his weakness for a certain pretty widow who kept the postoffice was common comment. Big Andy responded by blushing to the roots of his blonde hair.
"Jim!" commanded the Deputy. And the big black dog bounded up to him, his eyes bright with expectation. The Deputy picked him up, and held him aloft with his muzzle to the edges of the hole.
"Smell that," he ordered, and Jim sniffed intently. Then he set him down, and directed him to the piece of bark. That, too, Jim's nose investigated minutely, his feathered tail slowly wagging.
"Seek him," ordered Blackstock.
Jim whined, looked puzzled, and sniffed again at the bark. The information which his subtle nose picked up there was extremely confusing. First, there was the smell of skunk—but that smell of skunk was everywhere, dulling the keenness of his discrimination. Then, there was a faint, faint reminiscence of Woolly Billy. But there was Woolly Billy, at Tug Blackstock's side. Certainly, there could be no reason for him to seek Woolly Billy. Then there was an elusive, tangled scent, which for some moments defied him. At last, however, he got a clue to it. With a pleased bark—his way of saying "Eureka!"—he whipped about, trotted over to big Andy Stevens, sat down in front of him, and gazed up at him, with tongue hanging and an air of friendly inquiry, as much as to say: "Here I am, Andy. But I don't know what Tug Blackstock wants me to seek you for, seein' as you're right here alongside him."