"You ought to learn to run," came the voice from the safety of the wagon.
"Run!" laughed Dave. "Run with a dawg hangin' to you? Call him and see if you can get him to leave go."
"Dog?" repeated the voice in puzzled tones.
"Yes, dog--this yere Peter. He seems to have took up with you-all. He's got me by th' laig!"
Molly reappeared cautiously. Then she saw Peter, and advanced boldly. The two young people looked at the eager and determined little dog, and laughed with great good nature. Their crisis had passed, fortunately without harm to either. Molly took Peter by the collar. Peter at once let go.
"Good night," said Molly decidedly to Dave.
"Good night," said Dave, and turned back.
Molly walked on to the wagon, closely followed by Peter. As she climbed in, she turned and caught sight of the little animal, eyeing her wistfully.
Peter jumped to the whiffletree, then upon the seat, then into the wagon. Molly followed.
"Peter," said she, "we won't do that any more. I don't believe it's a good scheme. What do you think, dog?"
Peter wagged his stump of a tail, but as it was quite dark, this expression of approval was lost. "I hope he won't say anything about it," she went on reflectively. "But if he does"--she tossed her head--"much good may it do any of them!" Then, after some time, "Peter, let's go to sleep."
Copper Creek had begun as a half-way house, and had ended as a camp. Thus the hotel was its oldest structure.
Situated about half way between Rockerville and Custer, on the old Spring Creek trail, it often happened that the stage running from Rapid to the last-named town would stop for the evening meal, or even for the night, at the little log structure which Bill Martin had been sagacious enough to erect there. The soil was good for potatoes, which was lucky, for Bill Martin could never have prospered as a hotel keeper pure and simple; because purity, simplicity, and temperance principles have nothing to do with a Western inn. Bill cooked, made beds, and raised potatoes. Then a fortuitous "grub staker" discovered the Great Snake lode. A town sprang up in the night, so Bill Martin hired Black Jack and built additions. And finally, since his food was good and cheap, it came to be the proper thing to eat late dinners at two dollars a week in the long dining-room of Bill Martin's new building. After the Little Nugget, a later but more enterprising venture, Bill Martin's Prairie Dog, with its small office, its big eating room, its little square bedrooms above the office, and its ancient and musty copies of distant journals, was acknowledged to be the most important institution of the place.