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Wi' me in it we could 'a' sent our gold down to the bank by the dogs, an', bein' as my shack's so far from here, no one 'ud ever 'a' found whar the yeller come from. It 'ud 'a' been a real fine game a jo-dandy game. An' it's worked clear out?" he asked again, as though to make certain that he had heard aright. "Bottomed right down to the bedrock. Maybe ye'd like to see fer yourself?"
So Max, on reaching the extreme tip of the uneasy raft, climbed out as far as he could go, and called back to Toby to grip him by the legs so that he might have both hands free to work with when the critical moment arrived. It could not be long delayed, for as they swung slowly in the grip of the swirling current he could see the swimming Shack's head close by.
"I guess that's what made me sassy to you this morning!" It was his sole apology. They both laughed, accepting it as such, and Adelle, to shift the topic, remarked, "You've got a nice place up here for your house." The mason wrinkled his lips against the suggestion of sentiment. "The shack's all right kind of fur to tote supplies over the hill. But I can't stand those dagoes and their dirty ways.
And that was the picture the Master beheld; as he flung open the door and blinked gaspingly through the smoke for the dog he had locked in. Brought out of bed, on the jump, by Lad's unearthly wolf howl, he had smelt the smoke and had run out to investigate. But, not until he unbarred the tool-house door did he guess that Lady was not the burning shack's only prisoner.
I'm going back to tell Hilliard so. But I ain't going to be run out by Briscoe." "Good enough. Put her there, son. This shack's yore home till hell freezes over, Steve." "You haven't any doubts about me, Alec. If you have, better say so now." "Doubts? I reckon not. Don't I know a man when I see one? I'm plumb surprised at Arlie." He strode to the door, and called to Bobbie: "Roll along home, son.
The shack was completely enveloped in names. There were not half a dozen practicable water-pails in the tribe, and anyhow the fire was a good furlong from the river. Ambrose, seeing what a start it had got, guessed that it was no accident. It had been set, and set in such a way as to insure the shack's total destruction. He considered the sight grimly.
The door was locked, but it was the work of a second to tear off the axe-head's covering and pry it open. He stepped inside and closed the door quietly. Lighting the candle he took from his pocket, with his hand he shielded the flame from the one window, and looked about with a glance that took in every detail of the shack's arrangement.
A hail from the forecastle, announcing that the anchor was short, prevented Mr. Shack's answering. Captain Bunce waved a deprecatory hand to the first lieutenant, who came aft at once, while Mr. Shack descended to the waist, and the boatswain ascended the forecastle steps to attend to the anchor.
Poke Drury, I'm tellin' you, I'm glad your shack's right where it is instead of seventeen miles fu'ther on. An' ... Where's the girl?" He had swept the room with his roving eye; now, dropping his voice a little he came on down the room and to the bar. "Gone to bed?"
"Won't harm us; shack's on top of the ridge and we're safer here than anywhere else." He stopped and listened to the swelling roar and then resumed: "I'm glad we got that frame braced. It's a big slide and will probably come down the gully near the bridge. They're going to snowshed that piece of track and we'll haul out the posts if we can't get on with the other job."
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