RRR-R-UUF! R-r-r-r-uff! Swickey grabbed Smoke’s collar and stood astride of him, holding on with both hands. “He ain’t goin’ to bite—’cause he don’t growl when he’s goin’ to bite.”

Barney Axel came from the front room of the cabin, limping a little. “’Course not! Smoke ain’t got nothin’ ag’in’ me, have you, Smoke?”

The dog had paid little attention to the lumberman during the three days he had been “resting up” at Lost Farm, as Ross and Avery had been in the cabin most of that time; but this morning they were both out, toting in firewood on the hand-sleighs.

“He’s jest pertendin’,” said Swickey, patting the terrier and encouraging him to make friends with Barney.

But Smoke was inclined to maintain a position of vigilant neutrality. Somewhere in the back of his head he had recorded that particular man-smell, and he took many uneasy paces between Swickey and Barney, keeping the while a slanted and suggestive gaze on the latter.

“Pop says ever since Injun Pete was killed, they’s folks might shoot Smoke.”

Axel’s pipe didn’t draw well. The pine splinter which he thrust in the stove occupied his entire attention.

“Pop says they won’t, if he sees ’em fust.”

“Reckon that’s right,” said Barney noncommittally.

“The sheriff was up to see Pop and Dave.”

“So?”

“Yip. And Jim Cameron come, too.”

“Ain’t su’prised at that.”

“Smoke he didn’t growl at them.”

“That dog knows his business,” replied Barney.

The conversation lagged. Axel sat smoking, eyes ceilingward and chair tilted at a perilous angle. “Fisty Harrigan give me the dirty end of the stick,” he thought. “But I got holt of the stick and Fisty’s goin’ to git it back ag’in good and plenty. Here I be settin’ easy and com’f’table right on the job. Hoss Avery and his partner Ross is plumb square, both of ’em. And the young feller’s mighty smart, keepin’ the ole man from sellin’ even if he don’t know they’s a fortune of money up there in Timberland, layin’ right on the ground waitin’ for him to come and find it. And, by gum, he’s a-goin’ to find it. All bets is off with Denny Harrigan and me. He done me and I’m goin’ to do him; and Ross he pulled me out of the snow, dumb near friz, and I reckon when I show him what’s over on Timberland, I’ll be square with the whole bilin’ of ’em. Then me fur Canady. Them St. John’s folks need men. Guess I kin land a job, all right.”

Swickey wanted to talk, but Barney’s abstraction awed her. She left the room finally, and returned with her “Robinson Crusoe.” She sidled up to the lumberman and laid the book on his knee. Still he smoked, apparently oblivious to the girl’s presence.

“Barney.” The tone was cajoling.

“Wal, sis?”

“Kin you read?”

“Wal, some.”

“Pop kin!” This was a challenge.

Barney glanced at the volume. “You want me to read this here?” he said, his chair clumping to the floor.

“Yes.”

“Thanks. I was feelin’ kind of lonesome.”

He studied the first page for a long time. Then he settled back against the wall again, apparently absorbed in the book.

Swickey stood patiently waiting. She shifted from one foot to the other. Tick-tack. Tick-tack. The cabin was silent save for the rhythmic perseverance of the old clock. Smoke lay in front of the stove watching her.

“Barney!”

He glanced up, a surprised expression seaming his forehead.

“Kin you read—so’st I kin hear?”

“Why, sure!”

The suggestion seemed a novel idea to him. He turned back to the first page and began slowly, often pausing to illustrate the meaning with colloquialisms that to Swickey were decidedly interesting. He had already read the first page and he intended to make it last as long as possible. He felt fairly safe on the ground he had already covered, but new territory loomed ahead. “Let’s see,” he said, approximating the pronunciation of an unfamiliar word, “c-o-n-v-” but the stamping of feet on the porch saved him.

Avery and Ross entered, ruddy with exercise. Smoke raised his head and dropped it again with a grunt of satisfaction.

“Wal, Barney, how’s the feet?” said Avery, drawing off his mittens.

“Siz’able,” he replied.

“Kind of think you’d better not try to make thet explorin’ trip this a’ternoon. It’s heavy goin’.”

“Guess I kin hump along somehow. Jim’s comin’ up with the team fur me t’morrow, so I figure we’d best be joggin’ over there to Timberland.”

“Jest as you’re wishful. Me and Dave’s ready.”

“Kin I go?” asked Swickey.

“Reckon you better stay and keep Smoke comp’ny,” replied her father. “Dogs gits tol’able lonesome when they’s alone, jest the same as folks. They git to thinkin’ ’bout their famblys and friends and—”

“Has Smoke got a fambly?” asked Swickey.

“Wishin’ they was back home ag’in same as thet Robi’son Crusoe feller, all alone on a big island s’rrounded by cannibells jest dyin’ to git a taste of white meat biled tender—”

“They roasted ’em,” corrected Swickey.

“Thet’s right—roasted; and they’s no tellin’ what thet dog might do. He might take a notion to go home by hisself—”

“I’d shet the door,” said Swickey.

“Huh! s’pose thet’d make any diff’runce. Why, if thet dog sot out to do it, he’d go through a winder like a hoss kickin’ a hole in a fog. You stay by Smoke, thet’s a good gal.”

Swickey was silenced. The thought of losing Smoke outweighed the anticipated joy of lacing on her small snowshoes and accompanying the men on the trip about which there seemed to be so much mystery.

After dinner the three men filed out of the cabin and down across the frozen river, then up toward No-Man’s Lake, David breaking the trail, Avery and Barney Axel following. They crossed the windswept glare of the lake, carrying their snowshoes. Round the base of Timberland Mountain they crept like flies circling a sugar-cone, slowly and with frequent pauses. David carried a rifle, Avery an axe, and Barney his own complaining body, which was just a trifle more than he bargained for at the start. His feet telegraphed along the trunk-line (so to speak) to give them a rest. But Barney was whipcord and iron, and moreover he had a double purpose of gratitude and revenge to stimulate him.

They came to the mouth of a black, ice-bound brook, and, following his directions, skirted its margin for perhaps a half-mile through the glen which wound along the north side of the mountain.

“It’s somewhere right here,” he called from the rear, where he had been examining the blaze on a pine. The two men waited for him, and, following his slow pace, were presently on a comparative level where a branch of the stream swung off toward the east. The second stream ran through a shallow gorge of limestone ledges, their ragged edges sticking up through the snow at intervals.

“Fust time I ever sighted this stream,” said Avery. “Howcome we got a line of traps t’other side of the main brook.”

Axel leaned wearily against a tree. His vengeance was costing him more physical pain than he cared to admit.

“There’s where it is,” he said, pointing to the ledges. “Mebby you might poke around with the axe a bit. You’ll know it when you find it.”

Avery handed the axe to David, who scooped away the snow and tapped a sliver of shale from the ledge. “Nothing here,” he said, “except stone.”

“Try a piece furder along,” said Axel. “That surveyor feller, young Bascomb, could show you. He’s been here, and so has Harrigan.”

David tried again. This time he broke away a larger piece of rock and threw it aside to peck at a crevice. Presently he laid down the axe and came to Avery, holding something in his hand.

They crowded close to him. He held out his hand, disclosing a shining, dark-green mineral with little white cracks on its grained surface.

“That’s her!” said Axel.

Avery took the piece of mineral from David and looked at it curiously, turning it over and over in his hand.

“Thet green stuff!” he exclaimed skeptically. “Thet green stuff! And thet’s what they was a’ter. Wal, I’ll be henpoggled! What’s it good fur? What d’you call it?”

“Asbestos,” said David.

“That’s her,” assented Barney.

David picked a sliver from the mineral and shredded it to a white fibre. “Got a match?”

Avery handed him one. He lit it, and, holding the white shreds in the flame, watched them grow red, then pale to a grayish white ash, but the substance was unconsumed.

“That’s her!” said Barney. “And there’s miles of it strung along this here creek. Drillin’ and dinnimite ’ll show more. Fisty set a blast in up there,” he said, pointing above them, “but I promised him I’d never squeak about there bein’ asbestos on your land—and I hain’t nuther. I never told you they was asbestos here. I said they was suthin’ wuth comin’ a’ter, and you come and found it. I reckon I’m square with Fisty Harrigan now—and mebby with you,” he added, turning to David, “fur diggin’ me out of the snow.”

“What’s it wuth?” said Avery.

“Well, if there’s the quantity that Barney seems to think there is, it’s worth a whole lot more than Bascomb offered you,” replied David.

“Yes,” said Axel, “and Denny was in on the deal with young Bascomb. Denny put him on to it, expectin’ to make a fortune. Said he found it cruisin’ fur the Great Western.”

“Cruisin’ fur the Great Western?” exclaimed Avery. “What’s Harrigan been doin’ cruisin’ my land fur timber fur them?”

“Oh, they’ll get it some day,” replied Axel. “They’ve got a pull down to the State House.”

“Wal, they ain’t got it yit,” said Avery, pocketing the sample. “And they ain’t a-goin’ to.”

“They’s one thing more I was a-goin’ to say.” Barney Axel gazed at the rim of his snowshoe. “Denny Harrigan was my friend onct. That’s up the spout now. But Injun Pete was set on to do what he come dum’ near doin’ and mebby you kin guess who set him on. And the feller that set him up to it won’t quit till he’s done you up. I ain’t mentionin’ no names, but you licked him onct—and you’re the fust man that ever done it. The next time,” he continued slowly, “don’t you quit till you’ve finished the job—cold.”

“Much obliged, Barney,” said David. “I’ll remember.”

The next day, after Axel had left with Cameron for Tramworth, the partners had an interesting session. Ross was to go to Boston and bring a mining expert back with him,—but not till spring had swept an easier footway to the mountain and laid bare the ledges for a more comprehensive inspection. They wanted to find out what the asbestos was really worth, and then, if it promised well, to mine it themselves.

“It will take time and money,” said David. “These things always move slowly, and it takes money to interest capital.”

“Wal,” replied Avery, “you got the time,—next spring,—and mebby I kin rake t’gither a leetle dough. How much do you reckon it’ll take to git started?”

“Oh, a thousand or two for initial expenses; perhaps more.”

“Smotherin’ cats! But I reckon you know somethin’ ’bout sech things—havin’ a law eddication.”

“You could mortgage the land and operate with the money,” said David, “but it’s risky.”

“Say, Dave, ain’t me and you done purty fair so fur?”

“Yes,” replied David, smiling, “we have. But my interest in the trapping lets me out. It’s your land and your asbestos.”

“Ya-a-s,” drawled Avery whimsically, studying the other’s face. “It’s my land, and my asbestos, and you’re my partner, and Swickey’s my gal, and I reckon I kin pay the man what’s eddicatin’ her as much as I dum’ please.”

“If the man is willing,” replied David.

“If he ain’t, it won’t be for because ole Hoss Avery don’t pay him enough. We’re goin’ halves on this here deal the same as the trappin’ and the eddicatin’ and sech.” He put his hand on David’s shoulder and whispered, “Listen to thet!”

It was Swickey, perched in Avery’s armchair, spelling out letter by letter the first page of her “Robinson Crusoe,” to Smoke, who sat on his haunches before her, well aware that she demanded his individual attention to the story, yet his inner consciousness told him that it was a good half-hour past supper-time.