But would that young fellow scare easily? There had been a look in his eyes that said “no” to the scare idea.
There was no shorter course between the Bend and Harlow than the river road. There was no bee-line through the woods that would cut so much as a yard off it. Mr. Watt knew this. He drove straight into the town and stabled his horse. Then he walked back beyond the up-river end of the town, accompanied by a middle-aged, middle-sized, seedy looking man with whom he seemed to be very well acquainted. So narrow is that small town that two men could easily keep an eye on all the ways of entrance to it at either end. Mr. Watt and his friend took up positions of advantage several hundred yards apart and waited.
The sun was low when Young Dan came out of the woods and headed slantwise across a wide field beside the highway.
Young Dan Evans slanted across the white field, heading for the highroad which led smoothly into the little town of Harlow. His journey was within a half-mile of its completion. He had worked hard ever since leaving Bean’s Mill, through thick timber and untracked snow; and now he was tired and hungry but in fine spirits. He had thought much of Andy Mace and Pete Sabatis during the journey—of their admiration for one another’s qualities of physical and spiritual fiber—and believed that they would soon take him as seriously as they now considered each other. Of course Andy was his firm friend and already thought highly of his “smartness” along certain lines—but he feared that he had not yet made a very deep impression on the one-eyed Indian. He suspected that Pete Sabatis considered him a trifle too big for his cap and boots. He had seen something of the kind in the old man’s one eye that very morning.
“I guess he thinks I’m just a cub playing at something and trying to fool folks into thinking I’m a smart man,” he reflected. “But when I have that big Luke Watt jumping to my say-so, and that thieving drunkard Jim Conley come to heel like a trained partridge-dog, and Mrs. Conley and the kids fed and looked after properly, I guess he will have to admit that I know what I’m doing.”
Thus engaged with his thoughts, he drew near to an extensive grove of swamp-birches and alders which grew along the snow-drifted fence like a screen between the field and the highroad. He carried his blankets and pack of furs on his back, his axe on his right shoulder and his cased rifle hung by its sling on his left shoulder.