Barr glanced inquiringly at Pete, who stared like a vicious animal and
said nothing. There was finality in Barr's words. "Ask no more for it
shall not be given. Both have had your say."
The words hammered dully at Jeff's ears. Then he awoke with a start and
swallowed twice. For the first time he became aware of the shotgun
shells that weighted his pocket. They were even more harmless than so
many stones, for they were still loaded with paper.
But he'd been given a chance to speak and he had not spoken.
* * * * *
Pal went wild with joy when Jeff returned from Ackerton. He stayed as
close as he could get, for he had missed his master greatly and needed
him sorely. He smirked at the white kitten when he spotted it, but made
no hostile move because Jeff had brought it. Wholly contented, Pal lay
at Jeff's feet while he breakfasted and talked with Granny and Dan.
When Jeff rose to leave, Pal danced happily to the door and wagged his
tail in anticipation. Everything was once more as it had been and
should be. They were about to go peddling together on the trails. The
big dog glanced back to see if Dan was coming, too. Instead, the boy
grasped his collar.
"You stay here."
Pal flattened his ears and drooped his tail. But he was not allowed to
go. For a full minute he stood hopefully in front of the door. Then he
went sadly back into the kitchen.
Playing with a ball of paper that Granny had wadded up and thrown on the
floor, the fluffy kitten arched its back and spat. Pal paid no
attention. His heart was heavy and joy had gone with Jeff.
All the rest of the morning he was a wooden dog who did not even rouse
himself when Yancey Whitney came to the door, said that Jeff wanted his
pack, and went away with it. That afternoon he followed Dan about the
hill, but he had no eyes for the sheep, the cow, the mule, and he lacked
zest even for chasing blackbirds that came to pillage Granny's garden.
He cared only about the trail up which Jeff had come and down which he
had gone again.
That night, after Dan and Granny had gone to bed, Pal padded restlessly
over to the door. Eagerly he sniffed every wind that blew and every
scent that tickled his nose. He knew when six deer, feeling safe in the
cover of night, came out of the forest and climbed the hill to graze in
the sheep pasture. He heard a mouse rustle, and he was aware when a
night-flying owl cruised past the door. All these things he smelled or
heard. He felt only the absence of his master.
The night was very deep and very black when Pal's yearning for Jeff
became unbearable. He pushed his nose against the door, and when he did
so the latch rattled slightly. He pricked up his ears and bent his head
toward the noise, but he did not understand any of the mysterious ways
by which people fastened things.
Softly he reared against the door, sniffing at every crack. Getting
down, he trembled anxiously. Then, inch by inch, he began a second
inspection of the door.
It was completely accidental when, in raising his head, he pushed the
latch upward and the door swung open. Pal did not linger to think about
anything else; he knew only that the way was clear. He flew into the
night, found Jeff's trail and raced along it.
At Johnny Blazer's cabin, he scented Jeff's trail and that of five
Whitneys--the pack-laden Yancey had gone back there--leading into the
hills. Pal followed along.
He halted momentarily at the foot of Trilley Ridge, for Dabb Whitney was
sitting on a big rock and the smell of his pipe was rank and heavy in
the darkness. Pal slipped past, knowing that he could not be seen in the
night. He caught the odor of wood smoke. Then, mingled with it, were the
scents of Pete and Barr Whitney and of Jeff. Abandoning the trail, Pal
followed his nose to his beloved master.
He came to the cabin and scratched on the door.