"Of course it's mine," interrupted Andy resentfully. "An' I want to find the other one."
"So do I," said Blackstock. "Drop it, Jim. Go find the other mitt."
As Jim went ranging once more through the bushes, the whole party moved around to the other side of the tree to get out of the downpour of the noon sun. As they passed the magenta mitten Black Dan picked it up and examined it ostentatiously.
"How do ye know it's yourn, Andy?" he demanded. "There's lots of magenta mitts in the world, I reckon."
Tug Blackstock turned upon him.
"I said I didn't want no one to tech that mitt," he snapped.
"Oh, beg pardon, Tug," said Dan, dropping the mitt. "I forgot. 'Spose it might kind o' confuse Jim's scent, gittin' another smell besides Andy's on to it."
"It might," replied the Deputy coolly, "an' then agin, it mightn't."
For a little while every one was quiet, listening to Jim as he crashed about through the bushes, and confidently but unreasonably expecting him to reappear with the other mitten. Or, at least, that was what Big Andy and Woolly Billy expected. The Deputy, at least, did not. At last he spoke.
"I agree with Mac here, boys," said he, "that there may be somethin' more'n skunk in this skunk smell. We'll jest look into it a bit. You all keep back a ways—an' you, Long, jest keep an eye on Woolly Billy ef ye don't mind, while I go on with Jim."