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 sud
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