Jim had been acquainted with my dilemma, as was
manifest in his wet eyes and broad grin with which he greeted me.
"I think I'd scalp the Navvy," he said.
"You make the Indian sleep outside after this, snow or no snow," was
Jones' suggestion.
"No I won't; I won't show a yellow streak like that. Besides, I want
to give 'em to you fellows."
A blank silence followed my statement, to which Jim replied:
"Shore that'll be easy; Jones'll have 'em, so'll Emett, an' by thunder
I'm scratchin' now."
"Navvy, look here," I said severely, "mucha no bueno! heap bad!
You--me!" here I scratched myself and made signs that a wooden Indian
would have understood.
"Me savvy," he replied, sullenly, then flared up. "Heap big lie."
He turned on his heel, erect, dignified, and walked away amid the
roars of my gleeful comrades.
IX
One by one my companions sought their blankets, leaving the shadows,
the dying embers, the slow-rising moan of the night wind to me. Old
Moze got up from among the other hounds and limped into my tent, where
I heard him groan as he lay down. Don, Sounder, and Ranger were
fast asleep in well-earned rest. Shep, one of the pups, whined and
impatiently tossed his short chain. Remembering that he had not been
loose all day, I unbuckled his collar and let him go.
He licked my hand, stretched and shook himself, lifted his shapely,
sleek head and sniffed the wind.
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