"Likely. And I reckon they're in his favor, ain't they?" and M'Graw chuckled. "Ye-as? I thought so. Well, you take it from me, Mister: I'm working for Birdsall's youngsters, not for Neven."

"I believe that to be a fact," the lawyer agreed warmly. "I have already told Neven that there are other companies that will make a contract with us if he doesn't care to accept your report."

"I b'lieve I know this Birdsall strip a leetle better'n any other feller in these parts. I've lived on it twenty year, and knowed it well before that time. I've seen some o' this timber grow. Reckon I ain't fooled myself none."

After that Mr. Howbridge drew the old into the general conversation.

Ike approved vastly of the young people, it was evident. Agnes and the smaller children were popping corn. There were apples roasting on the hearth. The cider was handed about in gla.s.ses which one of the servants brought.

"We shall look to you for help in amusing these young people, Ike,"

Mr. Howbridge said. "Is it going to snow enough tonight to keep them indoors tomorrow?"

"No, no," the old woodsman a.s.sured them. "It's snowing some, but not much yet awhile. This here storm that's comin' has got to gather fust.

We'll get a heavy fall, I don't doubt, in the end; but not yet. Like enough, 'twill be purty fair tomorrow."

Rea.s.sured by this prophecy, the little folks soon after went to bed.

Nor were the older members of the party long behind them. They had had a long and wearying day, and the beds beckoned them.

CHAPTER XIV

BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON

Ike M'Graw, the timber cruiser, was an excellent weather prophet; and this was proved to be a fact before all of those at Red Deer Lodge had gone to bed on this first night.

Neale O'Neil chanced to raise the shade of one of the windows in the boys' room before undressing, and exclaimed to Luke:

"Hey! who said it snowed? Look at that moon up there!"

Luke Shepard joined him and looked out, too, at the rather misty orb of night that peered through the breaking clouds. But little snow had fallen during the evening.

"Going to be a good day, just as that old codger said it would,"

agreed Luke. "My, how white everything is--really, silver! And a lonely place, isn't it?"

"You said it," agreed Neale. He was feeling in his pockets, and suddenly added: "Crackey! I've lost my knife."

"You had it down there peeling apples for the girls," said Luke, who was beginning to undress.

Sammy was already in bed and sound asleep. Neale started for the door.

"I don't want to lose that knife," he said. "I am going to run down and get it."

The serving people had gone to bed, but there were dim lights on the gallery and one below in the big hall. Neale ran lightly down the carpeted stairs on his side of the house. The light was so dim that he fumbled around a good while hunting for the missing knife.

Suddenly something clattered about his ears--some missiles that came from above, but were not much heavier than snowflakes, it would seem.

Neale jumped, and then stared around.

He could not see a thing moving or hear anything. Where the white objects had come from he could not understand. Finally he found one that had rolled on the floor.

"Popcorn! Say! it's not snowing popcorn in here--not by any natural means," the boy told himself, immediately suspicious.

Suddenly he spied his knife, and he pocketed that. As he did so there came another baptism of popcorn. He dropped down below the edge of a table which stood in the middle of the room under the chandelier. All the light came from above, and there was not much of that; so it was dark under the table.

He heard a faint giggle. "Ah-ha!" thought Neale. "I smell a mouse!

That is a girl's giggle."

He saw that the way to the foot of the stairs that were nearest the girls' rooms, was quite dark. He ran out from under the table, but softly and on his hands and knees, and reached the stairway without making a sound.

The popcorn rattled again upon the table top, and once more he heard the giggle. He wormed his way up the stairs in the shadow and reached the gallery. Here a jet of gas from the side wall gave some light. He saw the robed figure hanging over the bannister and in the act of throwing another handful of popcorn at the spot where the boy was supposed to be crouching.

Neale O'Neil crept forward from the top of the stairs, still on his hands and knees. He was likewise in the shadow, although he could see the figure ahead of him plainly.

"Meow!" crooned the boy, imitating a cat with remarkable ingenuity.

"Meow!"

"Oh, mercy!" hissed a startled voice.

"Ma-ro-o-ow!" urged Neale O'Neil, repeating his feline success.

"Mercy!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the whisperer. "That's a strange cat."

"Ma-row-ro-o-ow!" continued Neale, with a lingering wail.

"Here, kitty! kitty! kitty!" murmured the girl crouching by the bannister. "Oh, where are you? Poor kitty!"

Immediately Neale changed his tone and produced a growl that not only sounded savage but seemed so near that the startled girl jumped up with a cry:

"Oh! Oh! Neale!"

"Ma-row-ro-o-ow! Ssst!" continued what purported to be a cat, and one that was very much annoyed.

"Oh! _Oh!_ OH!" shrieked Agnes, springing up and leaning over the railing. "Neale! Come quick!"

And there Neale was right beside her! He appeared so suddenly that she would have shrieked again, and perhaps brought half the household to the spot, had not the boy grabbed her quickly and placed a hand over her mouth, stifling the cry about to burst forth.

"Hush!" he commanded. "Want to get Mrs. Mac or Mr. Howbridge out here to see what is the matter?"

"Oh, Neale!" sputtered Agnes. "I thought you were a cat."

"And I thought you were a hailstorm of popcorn."

"You horrid boy! To scare me so!"

"You horrid girl! To shower me with popcorn!"

"I don't care--"