"Nope."
"I never heard of such a thing! I'm glad we're not going to live here!"
"Don't worry," he said gently. "We're not going to live here. The tight
pants some of those men got on wouldn't last too long if they got off in
the brush, huh? Don't the place smell sort of funny?"
"Yes it does. And isn't it exciting?"
"It's a real big place. Lots of houses."
"Oh yes, and--I don't know, Joe,--it makes me feel crowded."
"Is this Oregon?" Alfred wanted to know.
A high-piled heavily loaded wagon drawn by six oxen came up the street
they were going down, and two women riding side saddle swerved around
it. Next came a cart--Joe had never seen one just like it--driven by
what must be a dandy of the town. The cart was pulled by two
high-stepping perfectly matched bays and trailed by two black and white
dogs of a curious breed. They looked somewhat like hounds, but they
weren't hounds. Mightily Joe wished that Percy Pearl or Les Tenney was
along to explain these wonders to him. Joe gasped,
"Oh my gosh!"
He was too late. The two coach dogs swerved from the cart to take Mike,
one on either side. There was a shrill yelp as Mike slashed the first
one, and a scream of pain as he got the second. The two dogs streaked
back to their cart and the driver made a U turn that brought him up
beside Joe's wagon.
"Is that your dog?" he demanded furiously.
"Now, see here. Your dogs tackled--"
"Is that your dog?" the other repeated.