"I'll go with him, Dave. Mind? Not a bit of it."
Tommy was scowling suspiciously.
"Quit your kidding, Bob," he said. "Come on, Luke, and you chaps. Humph—scared! Jacky might be, but I'm not; no siree! What! you're coming along? Gee!" A smile of keen satisfaction lighted his eyes, but Tommy's voice was still grumbling as he added: "Huh, but you fellows do sometimes make me tired."
After arranging where to meet, Bob Somers and Clifton began trudging off, with the others straggling in the rear. The crowd watched them until their figures had disappeared around a curve.
Sam Randall declared that there was nothing very pleasant in the prospect of loafing about Wild Oak for goodness knows how many hours, and all but Dave agreed.
Nothing could induce the latter to budge from a comfortable position; he treated threats, scorn and persuasion with equal indifference, smiling broadly all the time. And so they lingered until dusk began to settle down; then the five picked up their luggage, and, with many sighs and groans under its weight, sauntered down in the direction of the lumber-yard and sawmill.
It was a dingy, dark locality by the board fence, with piles of lumber towering high above. Pools had collected in the street; heaps of refuse lay about. So the crowd hurried along at a good clip. They walked out on the sawmill wharf to look at the Columbia, still tossing angrily, while dark, stormy clouds scudded before the wind.
"Seems that the universal custom is not in force here," remarked Dave, dryly.
"Oh, it's only because it's too near a place where people have to work," said Tim. "Let's skip."
The lamplighter was leaving a trail of feeble, glimmering spots to mark his progress; lights began to sparkle from cottage windows; starlike points, seemingly poised in space, suddenly started up on the hills. It was all very dark and dreary; and voices which they occasionally heard had a strange, uncanny sound.