The Fur Bringers | Page 7

fell
upon the two partners.
Ambrose dreaded to hear Peter call attention to the remarkable
coincidence of Poly's story following so close upon their own talk
together. He suspected that Peter would want to sit up and thrash the
matter to conclusions.
At the bare idea of talking about it Ambrose felt as helpless and sullen
as a convicted felon.
In this he underrated Peter's perceptions. Peter had lived in the woods
for many years. He intuitively apprehended something of the confusion
in the younger man's mind, and he was only anxious to let Ambrose
understand that it was not necessary to say anything one way or the
other.
But he overdid it a little, and when Ambrose saw that Peter was "on to
him," as he would have said, he became still more hang-dog and
perverse.
They parted at the door of the store. Peter went off to his family, while
Ambrose closed the door of his own little shack behind him, with a
long breath of relief.
Feeling as he did, it was torture to be obliged to support the gaze of
another's eye, however kindly. So urgent was his need to be alone that
he even turned his back on his dog. For a long time the poor beast
softly scratched and whined at the closed door unheeded.
Ambrose was busy inside. As it began to grow dark he lit his lamp and
carefully pinned a heavy shirt inside his window in lieu of a blind.

Since Peter and his family went to bed with the sun it would be hard to
say whom he feared might spy on him. One listening at the door might
well have wondered what the activity inside portended.
Later Ambrose opened the door and, putting the dog in, proceeded
cautiously to the store. Satisfying himself from the sounds that issued
through the connecting door that Peter and his family slept deeply, he
lit a candle and quietly robbed the stock of what he required. Then he
wrote a note and pinned it beside the store door.
Carrying the bundles back to his cabin, he packed a grub-box and bore
it down to the water.
His preparations completed, he went to his shack to bid good-by to his
four-footed pal. Job, instantly, comprehending that he was to be left
behind, whimpered and nozzled so piteously that Ambrose's heart
began to fail.
"I can't take you, old fel'!" he explained. "You're such a
common-looking mutt. Of course, I know you're white clear
through--but a lady would laugh at you until she knew you!"
Even as he said it his heart accused him of disloyalty. He suddenly
changed his mind.
"Come on!" he whispered gruffly. "We'll chance our luck together. If
you open your head I'll brain you! Wait here a minute."
Job understood perfectly. He crept down to the lake shore at his
master's feet as quiet as a ghost. Seeing the loaded boat he hopped
delightedly into his accustomed place in the bow.
During June it never becomes wholly dark in the latitude of Lake
Miwasa. An exquisite dim twilight brooded over the wide water and the
pine-walled shore. The stars sparkled faintly in an oxidized silver sea.
There was no wind now, but the pines breathed like warm-blooded
creatures.

Ambrose's breast hummed like a violin to the bow of night. The poetic
feeling was there, though the expression was prosaic.
"By George, this is fine!" he murmured.
Job's curly tail thumped the gunwale in answer.
"I'm glad I brought you, old fel'," said Ambrose. "I expect I'd go clean
off my head if didn't have any one to talk to!"
Job beat a tattoo on the side of the boat and wriggled and whined in his
anxiety to reach his master.
"Steady there!" said Ambrose.
Presently he went on: "Three hundred miles! Six days for Poly to come
with the current; nine days to go back! Fifteen days at the best!
Anything might happen in that time. . . . Poly said no danger from any
of the men there. But some one might come down the river! . . . If
wishing could bring an aeroplane up north!"
After a silence: "I wish I could get my best suit pressed! . . . It's two
years old, anyway. And she's just come in; she knows the styles. . . .
Lord, I'll look like a regular roughneck!"
Next morning when Peter Minot threw open the door of the store he
found the note pinned to the door-frame. It was brief and to the point:
DEAR PETE:
You said I ought to go by myself till I felt better. So I'm off. Don't
expect me till you see me. Charge me with 50 lbs. flour, 18 lbs. bacon,
20 lbs. rice, 10 lbs.