"How's old Al Auchincloss?" presently inquired Dale.
"Poorly -- poorly," sighed Mrs. Cass. "But he tramps an' rides around same as ever. Al's not long for this world. . .
. An', Milt, that reminds me -- there's the biggest news you ever heard.""You don't say so!" exclaimed Dale, to encourage the excited old woman.
"Al has sent back to Saint Joe for his niece, Helen Rayner.
She's to inherit all his property. We've heard much of her -- a purty lass, they say. . . . Now, Milt Dale, here's your chance. Stay out of the woods an' go to work. . . . You can marry that girl!""No chance for me, Auntie," replied Dale, smiling.
The old woman snorted. "Much you know! Any girl would have you, Milt Dale, if you'd only throw a kerchief.""Me! . . . An' why, Auntie?" he queried, half amused, half thoughtful. When he got back to civilization he always had to adjust his thoughts to the ideas of people.
"Why? I declare, Milt, you live so in the woods you're like a boy of ten -- an' then sometimes as old as the hills. . .
.There's no young man to compare with you, hereabouts. An' this girl -- she'll have all the spunk of the Auchinclosses.""Then maybe she'd not be such a catch, after all," replied Dale.
"Wal, you've no cause to love them, that's sure. But, Milt, the Auchincloss women are always good wives.""Dear Auntie, you're dreamin'," said Dale, soberly. "I want no wife. I'm happy in the woods.""Air you goin' to live like an Injun all your days, Milt Dale?" she queried, sharply.
"I hope so."
"You ought to be ashamed. But some lass will change you, boy, an' mebbe it'll be this Helen Rayner. I hope an' pray so to thet.""Auntie, supposin' she did change me. She'd never change old Al. He hates me, you know.""Wal, I ain't so sure, Milt. I met Al the other day. He inquired for you, an' said you was wild, but he reckoned men like you was good for pioneer settlements. Lord knows the good turns you've done this village! Milt, old Al doesn't approve of your wild life, but he never had no hard feelin's till thet tame lion of yours killed so many of his sheep.""Auntie, I don't believe Tom ever killed Al's sheep,"declared Dale, positively.
"Wal, Al thinks so, an' many other people," replied Mrs.
Cass, shaking her gray head doubtfully. "You never swore he didn't. An' there was them two sheep-herders who did swear they seen him.""They only saw a cougar. An' they were so scared they ran.""Who wouldn't? Thet big beast is enough to scare any one.
For land's sakes, don't ever fetch him down here again! I'll never forgit the time you did. All the folks an' children an' hosses in Pine broke an' run thet day.""Yes; but Tom wasn't to blame. Auntie, he's the tamest of my pets. Didn't he try to put his head on your lap an' lick your hand?""Wal, Milt, I ain't gainsayin' your cougar pet didn't act better 'n a lot of people I know. Fer he did. But the looks of him an' what's been said was enough for me.""An' what's all that, Auntie?"
"They say he's wild when out of your sight. An' thet he'd trail an' kill anythin' you put him after.""I trained him to be just that way."
"Wal, leave Tom to home up in the woods-when you visit us."Dale finished his hearty meal, and listened awhile longer to the old woman's talk; then, taking his rifle and the other turkey, he bade her good-by. She followed him out.
"Now, Milt, you'll come soon again, won't you -- jest to see Al's niece -- who'll be here in a week?""I reckon I'll drop in some day. . . . Auntie, have you seen my friends, the Mormon boys?""No, I 'ain't seen them an' don't want to," she retorted.
"Milt Dale, if any one ever corrals you it'll be Mormons.""Don't worry, Auntie. I like those boys. They often see me up in the woods an' ask me to help them track a hoss or help kill some fresh meat.""They're workin' for Beasley now."
"Is that so?" rejoined Dale, with a sudden start. "An' what doin'?""Beasley is gettin' so rich he's buildin' a fence, an' didn't have enough help, so I hear."
"Beasley gettin' rich!" repeated Dale, thoughtfully. "More sheep an' horses an' cattle than ever, I reckon?""Laws-a'-me! Why, Milt, Beasley 'ain't any idea what he owns. Yes, he's the biggest man in these parts, since poor old Al's took to failin'. I reckon Al's health ain't none improved by Beasley's success. They've bad some bitter quarrels lately -- so I hear. Al ain't what he was."Dale bade good-by again to his old friend and strode away, thoughtful and serious. Beasley would not only be difficult to circumvent, but he would be dangerous to oppose. There did not appear much doubt of his driving his way rough-shod to the dominance of affairs there in Pine. Dale, passing down the road, began to meet acquaintances who had hearty welcome for his presence and interest in his doings, so that his pondering was interrupted for the time being. He carried the turkey to another old friend, and when he left her house he went on to the village store. This was a large log cabin, roughly covered with clapboards, with a wide plank platform in front and a hitching-rail in the road. Several horses were standing there, and a group of lazy, shirt-sleeved loungers.
"I'll be doggoned if it ain't Milt Dale!" exclaimed one.
"Howdy, Milt, old buckskin! Right down glad to see you,"greeted another.
"Hello, Dale! You air shore good for sore eyes," drawled still another.
After a long period of absence Dale always experienced a singular warmth of feeling when he met these acquaintances.
It faded quickly when he got back to the intimacy of his woodland, and that was because the people of Pine, with few exceptions -- though they liked him and greatly admired his outdoor wisdom -- regarded him as a sort of nonentity.
