"Thinking of more dogs, eh?"
"Well, no; to tell the truth I had the master of one dog in my mind right then," came the reply, as Maurice entered the cabin to take the Marlin off the hook on the wall.
Thad looked a bit thoughtful, but said nothing.
Perhaps they were not so very far away from some shanty-boat that had sought refuge in a friendly cove from the gale; and he knew the general habit of these floating people was to harbor at least one dog to each craft, sometimes half a dozen.
That gun might come in handy should they find themselves confronted by an angry dog owner, demanding the reason why they had shot his canine property.
So they left their home craft, and paddled ashore in the little tender, one at a time.
The ax was soon at work, and the chips flying under the lusty strokes of both boys by turns.
Thad had been more or less impressed by what his chum said. While Maurice worked with the ax he managed to sit by the fire they had started, seemingly to keep warm, but in reality because the shotgun had been leaned against a neighboring tree.
And ordinarily Thad was far from being timid by nature; so that it must have been some sort of prophetic warning that bade him stick to the camp.
"Guess we've got about enough, eh, Thad?" demanded the other, as he threw the tool down, and breathing heavily, sat alongside his chum on the convenient log near the blaze.