II
When I awakened next morning the sound of Emett's axe rang out sharply. Little streaks of light from the camp-fire played between the flaps of the tent. I saw old Moze get up and stretch himself. A jangle of cow-bells from the forest told me we would not have to wait for the horses that morning.
"The Injun's all right," Jones remarked to Emett.
"All rustle for breakfast," called Jim.
We ate in the semi-darkness with the gray shadow ever brightening. Dawn broke as we saddled our horses. The pups were limber, and ran to and fro on their chains, scenting the air; the older hounds stood quietly waiting.
"Come Navvy—come chase cougie," said Emett.
"Dam! No!" replied the Indian.
"Let him keep camp," suggested Jim.
"All right; but he'll eat us out," Emett declared.
"Climb up you fellows," said Jones, impatiently. "Have I got everything—rope, chains, collars, wire, nippers? Yes, all right. Hyar, you lazy dogs—out of this!"